The Night Before The Future

Tonight I have told my 5 year old son that mummy has been sick and sad for a while because I was drinking too much wine, and that wasnt good for my body.  He asked me if I drank it because I liked it and I said "no, it was to help take my back pain away, but I drank too much and it made other parts of my body get sick." 

I explained that I would be going into hospital, probably tomorrow, and the doctors and nurses would look after me for a few days while my body got better, and my brain got better, so I could stop being sad and angry and be a better mummy for him and Ella.

Cue crying.

Cue tight hugs from Felix.

"Are you sad, Felix?"

Bottom lip trembling: "Yes, because I'll miss you."


I'll miss you too, my darling baby boy.

Ch-ch-changes

So, things have changed around here while I've been away.

Felix turned 2, we sent him to local child care to help him socialise with other kids and he was very quickly identified as "kid most likely to be gifted." The Terrible Twos started at 18 months and made me think that he would be identified as "Kid Most Likely To Be Homicidal Maniac."

Evil Felix

Impish Felix












Then there was a little thing called an Anniversary, followed two weeks later by much in the way of "How the bloody hell did THIS happen?"

Such musings were shortly followed by crippling pain thanks to a prolapsed disc at L4/L5 for the whole of the pregnancy, with pain so bad that I couldnt walk and at various times:

a) wanted to die,
b) wanted them to take the baby out at 28 weeks and GIVE ME SOME DAMN GOOD DRUGS,
c) was crying and swearing at the Senior Consultant at the hospital until I got me some damn good drugs but then had to deal with the perpetual worry of what said drugs would do to the baby.

At the end, even with the damn good drugs, the pain was so bad that they decided to induce 2 weeks early.

For those of you that have stuck around from tales of The Spud, cast your mind back to 2 years and 4 months previously. There was a little drama going on about the induction of the Spud. That 3-day event was a mere picnic when compared to the 5-day horror show that ended with this:



A gorgeous little girl, Ella Grace, who weighed in at 8.8lbs and was born via emergency c-section under a general anaesthetic and had the cord wrapped twice around her neck. I lost 1.2 litres of blood and had the delivery converted to a general anaesthetic when I could feel them cutting.me.open.

Yes, you read that right.

Thanks to the drugs I had taken during the pregnancy, Ella was kept in the neonetal intensive care unit for the duration of my post-5 day labour and c-section bloodbath hospital stay.



It was over 24 hours before I could even go to see her and hold her properly.


5 days later, these 3 shattered people were allowed to go home to a toddler and no help.



For all sorts of reasons, some of which I may elaborate on and some of which I probably still cant, this was a Very.Bad.Idea.

We all survived, but certainly not unscathed. It wasnt until Ella was about 8 weeks old that I realised that she did not actually hate me.



She made cute little noises and when she looked directly into my eyes at about 8 weeks and gave me a very obvious and beautiful smile, I finally felt like I could mother this child.




The crippling back pain that I was told would go away once I delivered did not, in fact, change in the slightest. Two MRI's and a second opinion later we have the pronouncement that more than likely this will be a permanent condition.

Mummy and daddy couldnt cope with everything that life was dishing out, so Ella was off to child care with her Big Brother, where she was instantly at home and deemed Happiest Baby Ever.




She has reached all her milestones early, as does her brother and at 11 months is so close to walking and talking it hurts.



Felix turned 3 and is so intelligent it floors me every day. He knows all the colours, knows his shapes, can actually count objects up to 12, can do simple arithmetic and shows a remarkable understanding of abstract ideas. He remains a whirlwind, will no doubt be psych-tested and deemed "gifted." He keeps us permanently exhausted, frustrated, amazed and amused.

This life, these challenges, these moments of agony and of perfection, are not what I imagined when I began the difficult journey to have a family. I didnt see past the goal of ending up with real live baby at the end of a normal 9-month gestation.

"Ooooh, its all worth it in the end" I hear so often I want to stab people with a teething rusk or whatever object happens to hand.

Lets leave that for the next session, shall we?

Walking Wounded

Well, hobbling more than walking.

After months of waiting I finally got me some knife action on my knee and so, rather than being all like "ooh look at me driving the car three days after surgery" LIKE MY SURGEON PROMISED, I find myself in a position of having to sit down a lot. Not running after the small squidgy item all day leaves a fair whack of the day in which to do the tippy-tappy thing I vaguely remember being interested in once upon a time.

Not that I expect anyone else to still be here anymore.

But for posterity's sake, here is a very exciting list of all the things that Spudly now understands, being the very grown-up and not-at-all-babyish 14 months old:

Bottle
Sippy cup
Glass
Truck
Duck
Puppy
Kitty
Ball
Phone
Bikkit
Hat
Shoes
Socks
Chair
Food
Spoon
Bowl
Glass
Stick
Monkey
Panda
Penguin
Pony
Cookie Monster
Elmo (god save me)
"Where's the...?"
"Pat the...(kitty/puppy/dadda/mamma/Alex-friend)"
"Where's your...(nose, head, ears, toes, feet, belly)"
"Clap hands"
"Wave goodbye"
"Give to mamma"
"Close the door"

and many others I'm sure he understands and cant quite articulate yet, such as "for fucks sake".



He my rockin' homie.

Brain Freeze

I dont know where my life has gone. Its all dishes, washing, tidying up toys, feeding the Spud, playing with the Spud, wrapping the Spud and starting again. Internet? What's that?

Spudly turned 1. He had two parties, one with his G-Unit from the Block and the other with the family, shared with his Great Grandpop who was 85 two days before Spudly's birthday.

He doesnt just walk now, he runs everywhere. His little dinosaur arms have straightened out and he walks like a big person. He understands about a dozen words, and quite by accident we discovered this when I said "look at your big belly" and he patted his tummy. Freakin' genius!

The Burrito Wrap no longer manages to contain Captain Squirmy-Pants, who regularly escapes at night and is driving us insane AGAIN.

Monkey Boy is all sorts of freaking out about starting his practical teaching placement next week and isnt he fun to be around right now. (Hint: no.)

I have gone back to being so tired my brain cells barely bump into each other anymore.

Here endeth the worst blog post ever.

Burrito Boy

In order to avoid thinking about other things I have spent rather too much time successfully creating a fabulous PowerPoint Slideshow on How To Wrap A Spud.

Enjoy.

My Life In The Tenth Circle of Hell

Ok. The dummy has been reinserted and I have about ten minutes before he starts screaming again because he really does want to get up now please.

In the last 6 weeks we have experienced the following at Chez Panda:

• Projectile vomiting from the Spud for TEN DAYS which left all of us drained, and him especially so.
• No sleep whatsoever for a number of nights which was definately heading towards "I'm gonna kill the baby and divorce my husband" territory.
• The return of Monkey Boy to university and thus the beginning of my life as a Stay At Home Mum Who Now Has To Deal With The Baby All On Her Own and doesnt THAT cut into your blogging time.
  
• A trip to the Sleep Clinic where we learned how to wrap the Spud like a burrito in a single bed sheet so he cant escape and will thus sleep through the night. And it worked. IT WORKED. He sleeps! He sleeps! He will not be killed! I will not be divorced!
• A phone call to the nursing home re my parents...and you know that has to be saved for a post all of its own because I cant possibly rant enough about having to go to the Guardianship Board next Thursday in the time I have left before the Small One wants out of the burrito.

It has been an interesting time.

Did I say interesting?

I meant fucked.

Except for that sleep bit.

Double Digits

Dear Spud,

I cant believe you're ten months old now. More to the point, I cant believe that we've all managed to survive the past ten months. We didn't kill you, we didn't leave you on the footpath for the recycling and we didnt kill each other. Mummy has a drinking problem and Daddy is addicted to caffeine again...but at least we're all alive.

In the past ten months you've discovered you exist seperately from everything else, you discovered your hands, you discovered your feet (and you're still pretty wrapped with them), you discovered food, which you LOVE (apart from the peas! Ugh! The peas!). You learnt to smile, flashing us your cute little dimple, and then quickly followed that with infectious belly chuckles. Now you've developed a sense of humour and think its bloody hilarious to get mamma to eat the remote control just like you.

You've always had amazing upper body strength, even from the beginning, and you figured out how to sit up at 5 months, figured out your very own style of bum shuffling (involving doing reverse donuts on the floor) to get around before you clued in about the whole crawling thing. You were SO happy the day you could crawl and get around on your own. It was like you'd been trying to figure it out your whole life, and maybe you had. Now we watch you come to grips with the whole standing up and moving your feet deal and marvel at how quickly you put it all together. Daddy still says we're not getting a leash for you but I think he doesnt know what we're in for once you are confident on your wobbly legs. We are looking into enrolling you in the circus.

You love everyone, especially little people. The squeals you come out with when you see another little person! You want to make friends with them all and I suspect that you will. You have your favourite people though, and surprisingly The Man Who Serves Us Coffee Every Shopping Day So We Can Live who you've seen every second week of your life gets the biggest smiles and even makes you go all coy because you love him so much. And no, there isnt something you should know. You've only ever not liked one person, and you cried as soon as he looked at you and said hello. I TOTALLY trust your judgement on people kiddo, because he turned out to be a total asshole.

You are so excited by life that you fight sleep with every ounce of effort you have. Sleeping merely wastes time you could be doing cool stuff like pulling chunks of plaster off the walls or squealing through the front door so the whole neighbourhood hears you. You also don't like being alone when you're sleeping and your favourite place to sleep remains in the middle of mummy and daddy's bed, preferably lying sideways so as to cause the maximum amount of discomfort for everyone except you. We love you, darling, but we heaps wish you wouldnt do that.

This has without a doubt been the hardest and most challenging ten months of my life. Its damn lucky for us that you're the coolest kid ever because that makes it a whole lot easier to deal with the challenging bits and not go completely insane. You know exactly how to press our buttons, you know what you can get away with and you know that delerium caused by sleep deprivation makes daddy VERY funny indeed. One day I hope you read this and realise three more things:

1. Mummy loves you more than she ever thought possible
2. You are the most amazing gift we could ever have
3. It is not funny to pee on mummy every time she takes your nappy off.

Love your guts, Squid-Boy,

Mamamamamama

Mission: Be Like Bree

So after one night of controlled crying (which involved more crying by the adults in the house than by the Spud and we vowed NEVER to do that again) we seem to have broken his spirit trained him to sleep fluked a freakin' miracle and he slept all night in his cot. Let me repeat that:

Slept. All. Night. In. His. Cot.

Reeling from too much sleep and not enough delerium (or perhaps just the right amount) I realised that I need to work harder at getting the relationship with Monkey Boy back on track.

Here's the best advice I could find on the matter:

from Housekeeping Monthly, 1955, The Good Wife's Guide

• Have dinner ready. Plan ahead even the night before, to have a delicious meal ready, on time, for his return. This is a way of letting him know that you have been thinking about him and are concerned about his needs. Most men are hungry when they come home and the prospect of a good mean (especially his favourite dish) is part of the warm welcome needed.

• Prepare yourself. Take 15 minutes to rest so you’ll be refreshed when he arrives. Touch-up your makeup, put a ribbon in your hair and be fresh-looking. He has just been with a lot of work-weary people.

• Be a little gay and a little more interesting for him. His boring day may need a lift and on of your duties is to provide it.

• Clear away the clutter. Make one last trip through the main part of the house just before your husband arrives.
  

• Over the cooler months of the year, you should prepare and light a fire for him to unwind my. Your husband will feel he has reached a haven of rest and order, and it will give you a lift too. After all, catering for his comfort will provide you with immense personal satisfaction.
  

• Prepare the children. Take a few minutes to wash the children’s’ hands and faces (if they are small), comb their hair and, if necessary, change their clothes. They are little treasures and he would like to see them playing the part. Minimise all noise. At the time of his arrival, eliminate all noise of the washer, dryer or vacuum. Try to encourage the children to be quiet.

• Be happy to see him.
  

• Listen to him. You may have a dozen important things to tell him, but the moment of his arrival is not the time. Let him talk first. Remember his topics of conversation are more important than yours.
  

• Make the evening his. Never complain if he comes home late or goes out to dinner, or other places of entertainment without you. Instead try to understand his world of strain and pressure and his very real need to be at home and relax.
  

• Make him comfortable. Have him lean back in a comfortable chair or have I lie down in the bedroom. Have a cool or warm drink ready for him.
  

• Arrange his pillow or offer to take his shoes. Speak in a low, soothing and pleasant voice.
  

• Don’t ask him questions about his actions or question his judgment or integrity. Remember, he is the master of the house and as such will always exercise his will with fairness and truthfulness. You have no right to question him.
  

• A good wife always knows her place.

See, that's my problem right there. I'm not gay enough.

Grim Fairy Tales

It occurred to me this morning that I am living the fairy tale.

No, not the "happily* married to spunky younger man who stays home to look after his child that we actually managed to achieve with good old penis-vagina sex who is adorably cute" fairy tale.

The Goldilocks and The Three Bears one. Or - more correctly - Spudly and The Three More Nights Like This And You're Out The Bloody Window.

Once upon a time there was a little boy called Spudly who wanted to have a darn good sleep but couldn't, for reasons unknown to the scientific community.

First he tried the Big Boys Bed and said "I can't sleep in this bed because its too hard and there's too much space around me."

Then he tried the Little Baby's Bed and said "I can't sleep in this bed because its too soft and bouncy and I cant turn over."

And then he tried the Grown-Ups' Bed and said "I can sleep in this bed because its not too hard and not too soft and there's heaps of room for me to thrash around and get comfy even if I am hitting mum and dad while I do it but isnt it great that they're here too because I like having company when I wake up for those three seconds every fifteen minutes."

Just then Mamma and Pappa decided they weren't too happy about there being a Spudly sleeping in their bed who was still there, so they jumped up and ran away into the forest and never again returned to the house of the Whinging Spudly.





*Happiness level in indirect proportion to duration of sleep deprivation.

Oh Yeh, I Have A Blog...

Seems I forgot. Sorry 'bout that.

But on the plus side I have a garden full of veggies and three rooms that are Spud-proof, which is lucky since he can now stand unsupported for 20 seconds, crawl at full-speed and is sleeping being put to bed in a COT in his OWN ROOM!

And, AND: Spudly has learnt the art of the tantrum. Food on plate equals food for him as far as he's concerned. It doesnt matter that its food he cant eat or wouldnt like. Mamma food = Spudly food, so dish up or screaming will ensue. Luckily I have learnt to deal with this behaviour before with our cat Basil. Now if I could just find that squirty bottle.

Messy Kweznuz

Right. I've just spent about a lifetime's worth of my download quota trying to get my template back up and running and I have to say "Blogger 1.1 easier MY ASS".

Off to the in-laws for their Griswald version of Kweznuz (which we do not celebrate, but have it forced upon us nonetheless) so things will just have to be unkempt until I get back.

In the meantime, some cuteness for you all and whatever it is that you do at this time of year, I hope it brings you joy.

From us lot to you lot, Messy Kweznuz.

Its Creepy Because Its True

Especially # 3, though I suspect #8 would ellicit a little more than 7 years bad luck.

Ten Top Trivia Tips about Spudly!

1. In Chinese, the sound 'Spudly' means 'bite the wax tadpole'!
2. The porpoise is second to Spudly as the most intelligent animal on the planet.
3. Spudly is incapable of sleep!
4. Only 55 percent of Americans know that the sun is made of Spudly.
5. By tradition, a girl standing under Spudly cannot refuse to be kissed by anyone who claims the privilege!
6. Julius Caesar wore a laurel wreath to cover up Spudly.
7. Wearing headphones for an hour will increase the amount of Spudly in your ear 700 times.
8. If you break Spudly, you will get seven years of bad luck!
9. The state nickname of Iowa is 'The Spudly state'.
10. A bride should wear something old, something new, something borrowed, and Spudly.

I am interested in - do tell me aboutherhimitthem

We Are SO Hosed...

One day shy of his 7th month, Spudly decided that crawling is for chumps and stands up on his own and beats his toy box to death.


We are so not ready for this. Arent they supposed to crawl for at least a few months, just to get you ready for the idea that your house is actually a death trap?

Send help. And possibly restraints.

Okay, Okay...

I will stop ignoring the Blogger Dashboard button on my browser as it sits there all silent and accusing, waiting for monumental inspiration (or at least three active brain cells) to give me the impetus to post something deserving of anyone's attention.

Sure, there's stuff happening. It just doesnt strike me as particularly interesting stuff. I mean, does anyone really want to hear about my monumental attack of Salmonella courtesy of a rather large portion of Blue Castello cheese, which left me with a fever and not one ounce of fluid in my body for 48 hours, or all the work I've done in my garden weed pit jungle backyard that means we can not only see soil but can also plant stuff like vegetables in it - vegetables that our vast collection of earwigs and grasshoppers enjoy snacking on overnight - or the fact that doing lots of work outside means that no work gets done inside and therefore there hasnt been a clean work surface in the kitchen for about two weeks and its driving me INSANE. See, its just not interesting.

But in a vain attempt to rescue this from being one of those posts where one blogs about having nothing to blog about....

We have a TOOTH! We have clapping! We have independant standing up! It must be his magical wizard powers...

Sleepy

For so long I have said to myself "I really must do something with my photography again." And what have I done? Nothing.

No more! Lala alerted me to JPG Magazine, the website where amateur photographers can submit their best work for publication. After much tearing out of hair that my photos arent good enough, I submitted this shot of Spudly falling asleep at my boob for their next issue.

I sure would appreciate it if you'd go vote for my submission if you deem it worthy.

Still Alive But Trapped Under Something Small And Screaming

Yeh, good one. Blog about how you dont get to do anything that resembles your old life and all you are is a wiper of bums and noses and then not be able to do ANYTHING other that wiping bums and noses for three whole weeks.

Perhaps I should blog about how all I am is a lady of leisure with wads of cash.

So, you know, there's no time for tales of dering-do right now, because something much more important has come up.

The Spud has today reached the grand old age of six months. SIX MONTHS!!!! At exactly this time six months ago I was about to have the epidural inserted, having given up all hope of dilating all on my very own like a big girl, and it was still 13 hours to go before he was pulled out of my twat with the Salad Tongs From Hell.

Right now the Bestest Baby Ever can sit unaided, manipulate two objects at once, play independantly with his toys, babble incessantly but most importantly says "Mamma". He loves solid foods, adores avocado and should probably never again be given beetroot unless I particularly want all objects stained purple as it goes in or his butt stained black as it comes out.

In the first few weeks of his life, I kept wondering when my life was going to get back to normal. Oh the naivete! Now I know better: that this is the new normality. I cant wear dresses or flimsy tops that allow no access to boobs. I cant stay up past 9.30 or stay in bed past 6am. I cant eat all the cheese I want without there Being Consequences. I cant go to the movies without some major organising. I cant shop for new clothes because every time I go near Target he starts screaming. Dinner has to be eaten quickly or or god knows Someone will start crying and it will go cold. Long showers without worrying whats going on in the living room dont exist. The washing AND the dishes have to be done everyday because there is no time to stand at the sink for an hour catching up with every piece of cutlery we own. I consider where to go out for lunch based upon how baby-friendly their facilities are. I dont care if my clothes are covered in baby puke. I dont care that every decision I make has to take into account a small nuggety type person, and I dont care that I cant do all those things previously mentioned.

Right now he is sitting on the floor on his playmat looking at me and saying "Mamamamama" and smiling. Oh, okay, now he's straining. And now he's stinky.

Its normality. And I love it.

Getting To Know Your Spud

The Spud Meme

Woohoo! I've been waching my mum do this tippy-tapping thing for months now and finally she lets me have a go. The adorable Lily from 2 Pink Lines has this thing called a meme going. I like her. She's heaps cute and older than me, but only just. Apparently she can crawl now and I'm heaps jealous. Soon enough I'll be able to chase her though and then she'd better look out.


3 Things That Scare Me

That Other Baby. He's not the one in the mirror I like so much.

Loud noises. Whats with all the hubub?

When my breakfast is too hot. I dont think food is supposed to hurt you.


3 People That Make Me Laugh

My mamma.

My pappa.

Auntie Lealu.


3 Things I Love

Being nude. I can get to my toes easier then.

Waddles the duck. I like chewing his nose.

When mamma makes Cookie Monster noises on my neck. It tickles and sounds funny and I go all squealy.


3 Things I Hate

Those long boring shopping trips to some yellow and blue place that aint so versatile as far as I can tell, and to some other place with a bullseye out the front. That's really dangerous.

Some yellow mush that mamma tried to get me to eat that she said was yummy but wasnt and then she tried it and agreed with me. See! I know what I like!

Getting dressed.

3 Things I Don’t Understand

How I get from mamma's arms to my bouncy sleepy place.

Why I have to be strapped in so damn tight.

Why I have to wear pants.

3 Things On My Desk/Table (or play mat) (or baby jail)

Waddles the Duck.

My favourite rattle.

A bib covered in last night's dinner. I'm saving it for snacks.

3 Things I’m Doing Right Now

Planning the Revolution

Subverting the dominant paradigm.

Filling my nappy.

3 Things I Want to Do Before I Die

Roll.over.dammit.

Stick my foot all the way in my mouth.

Have hair.

3 Things I Can Do

Stick my left foot in my mouth and chew on my big toe.

Play with two rattles at once. Two! Booya!

Get apple in my ear.


3 Ways to Describe My Personality

Happy.

Inquisitive.

Chilled. (except when that Other Baby visits)


3 Things I Can’t Do

Sit up on my own, but I will. You just wait.

Talk so people understand me. I think they're a bit thick around here.

Fart without pooping. Jeez that's annoying.


3 Things I Think You Should Listen To

Jamiroquai. Thats some funky beats.

My daddy coz he makes funny noises.

Buena Vista Social Club, cos when I hear those latin grooves I just gotta wave my feets around like this...weeheee.

3 Things I Think You Should Never Listen To

Other babies screaming. Its so unsettling.

The cordless drill. Me no likee.

My mamma saying "no".


3 Absolute Favorite Foods

Breastmilk.

Avocado.

Formula.

3 Things I’d Like to Learn

Where that yummy stuff is hidden.

Why there's an ouchy feeling when I shove my fist in my mouth and chomp.

How to escape the car seat, because then I wouldnt have to go to bloody Ikea all the time.

3 Beverages I Drink Regularly

Breastmilk

Breastmilk

Formula


3 Shows I Watched as a Kid

Big Brother: At first I thought mamma was getting a new baby. Why DO they call it Big Brother?

Bold & The Beautiful: their babies seem to grow up really fast. I hope I grow up that quickly.

The Simpsons: I'm glad I'm not yellow.

Delerious

I got nothin'.

As Cherice pointed out in her comment on the last post, I am currently the Minister for Everything (which doesnt seem to include Minister For Eating All The Pies, sadly) in this house and Spudly is definately not making the job any easier. Whinge whinge cry, cry cry puke, whinge whinge gas, gas gas brake...

Anyway, I've finally got my shit together and updated my Flikr account, so if you click on the clicky think over there in the sidebar you can check out more photos of Sir Whingealot.

And here's one we prepared earlier; Spudly Does Solids.

4 Months, Surgery and Why I Should Move Cities.

Lets start with the feel-good stories.

Spudly is now 4-and-a-bit months old. At yesterday's weigh-in he was 6.74kg and 64cm long. This explains why he is getting far to heavy for me to carry around, and why no matter how hard I try to stretch them, his cute little star suit and bunny onesie just.wont.fit. He's growing up, before my eyes, and while I delight in all the little achievements he's made, it just reminds me that one day he wont be a baby anymore. He'll be going to kindy and then school and dealing with Other Children and Other Adults and they wont necessarily think he is the most wonderful person on the planet and wont make him the centre of their universe. I KNOW! How is this possible? It just aint right.

Two achievements of the last week stand out. On Friday he discovered the joys of sticking out his tongue. Yesterday he discovered that if you stick your tongue out and then blow it makes FANTASTIC NOISES and sometimes even LOTS OF BUBBLES and this is the MOST EXCITING THING EVER!!!!! Today, in response to his increased formula intake, he has started on solids. Yes! Solids! Though why some bland mush is termed "solids" I'll never know. Spudly gave the appropriate facial expressions (what the hell is this crap and why are you putting it in my mouth???) but he did eat it. And then he opened his mouth for more. And more. And some of it went down his front but mostly it went in his gob and he didnt complain about it so I can only put that down as a Success.

Moving right along to My Role As Nursemaid... Monkey Boy now has two lovely incisions in his shoulder, a sling and a prescription for morpheine. I didnt really appreciate how much I rely on him for help with Spudly until he wasnt available anymore. Nor did I realise exactly how demanding Spudly is. He likes attention, does my boy. He likes attention and he likes it NOW. And no, I dont want to wait until you've gone to the loo and I dont want to wait until you come back into the room with my bottle, I want ALL MY PEOPLE HERE, RIGHT NOW! Monkey Boy will have the sling for another week, and will be out of action for another 4-6 weeks. By which time the rest of my hair will have fallen out.

And now for the number one reason why people want to leave this city, made only too obvious to me recently.

There may be one million people here but you can guarantee that there are only two degrees of seperation between them all. You cannot do a bloody thing without running into someone you know or finding out that someone you know knows someone else you know but through links you didnt know existed. And sometimes that person is someone you've tried damn hard to get out of your life for a long long time. And sometimes the person that knows them is family.

And so it was for me when we last had a family lunch with the rest of the Monkey Boy clan. Monkey Boys elder sister, Vegan Girl, mentioned in passing people she had brought down to the parents property in the country, people who'd hated it because there was nothing to do in the country. Then she mentioned their names. It was like a kick in the guts.

How do you know Skankface and Dr Evil? I asked. (and yes, thats their real names). She works with Skankface. Is very very VERY good friends with Skankface. Has a lot of RESPECT for Skankface. My sister-in-law. Respect. For the woman that almost 5 years ago took advantage of our friendship and my alchohol-sodden unconscious self and sexually assaulted me.

What does one do?

Well, first one freaks out totally and absolutely.

Then one gets home and gets on to gmail chat and freaks out to Lala who gives excellent advice.

Then one does the next hardest thing and goes to see parents-in-law and tells them the situation. Because a) Vegan Girl has to know that Skankface cannot under any circumstances know that VG and I are now related, where I am or that I even exist anymore. b) VG and her partner must know because the stories she was telling about Skankface made it abundantly clear that she had not changed her attitude to the appropriate/inappropriate behaviour distinction and they were therefore both at risk, and c) VG, being in the past prone to outbursts of uncontrolled anger, may not react at all well to what we had to tell her and therefore the inlaws had to be forewarned of the possibility of major fuckuppage as far as that relationship went.

The greatest fear for me was that VG would react the way so many of my friends did at the time of the assault. It took me a long time and a lot of therapy to accept that the way they handled it was unacceptable. You dont say to someone who has just been sexually assaulted by a friend "I cant believe that she would do that. There must be some mistake. Lets give her a second chance. Oh and by the way, we've invited both of you to the same parties so make nice and dont cause a scene." Okay no-one actually said that last bit, but it was still there, hanging in the air.

So while I was lunching with two internet buddies, Monkey Boy was lunching with Vegan Girl. Who not only took it much better than expected, but also wanted to know if we'd like to take out a contract on her. I dont want to know if she was serious. Not that I have the money anyway. But y'know... if you're a hit man with nothin to do...*

The truly worst thing about this is that I felt safe within the Monkey Boy clan. They are like a high wall protecting all within from the worst the world offers up. Until one of the worst things my world offered up to me managed to get inside, and now I know that no matter what I am not safe.

I'm thinking I might go build on my real estate on the Moon.

Erg. Heavy. Too heavy. Look at the pretty...




* I am joking. Dont come raid my house and arrest me n stuff.

Weekly Wrap-Up

Mamma still needs gin because she didnt get the birthday oysters on account of the fact that Someone wouldnt stop screaming in the car on the way back home for dinner, ergo straight to bed (him) without any dinner (me).

I did have a very nice birthday, thankyou very much. I even got to be assaulted by a kangaroo

and stalked by a peacock.

In addition, Spudly, now being a Very Big Boy, graduated from the capsule to the car seat...

and on the day he turned 4 months old, he grabbed his left foot with both hands and shoved it in is mouth.

We're very proud.

The shit that had hit the fan has been dealt with but has left a godawful stench, which I am currently trying to overpower with patchouli. Okay, okay, its not patchouli, its red wine. Will write about this later, maybe.

Monkey Boy goes in for surgery on his shoulder on Thursday, after a 2 year wait. It will be wonderful when its healed and he can do stuff without pain, but until then I get to be the Nursemaid, Chief Cook, Bottle-Washer and Sole Parent, and Wont That Be Fun.