småbarnsförälder

Laundry

ailbhe@livejournal.com — Thu, 09 Jul 2009 09:37:50 GMT

Washing machine. Grinding noises. Stopping mid-cycle. Rewound it to the start of the rinse stage, started again, seems ok. Aiee.

I wish I knew more about this stuff. It's probably got a pebble from a child's pocket in it somewhere, or needs an internal filter cleaned out, or something.

Bah.

Yes, we have no piano

ailbhe@livejournal.com — Wed, 08 Jul 2009 19:23:17 GMT

We have no piano today!

It's out in the street, and the biggest panels and the hinged bit on top have been removed, along with all the keys, by a freecycler. Rob and I got it out of the house ok and now we have a little more space in the dining room.

There was a cigarette card under the keyboard, with a First Aid tip on it. We gave it to the child who took the piano keys.

Today I was reminded

ailbhe@livejournal.com — Wed, 08 Jul 2009 14:50:21 GMT

of why I founded plan_survive on LJ and DW.

All biology, all the time

ailbhe@livejournal.com — Wed, 08 Jul 2009 13:30:44 GMT

I lead a very glamorous life. I dress for breakfast, and again for lunch, and sometimes also for dinner.

Really, really glamorous.

Also, containing a lot of laundry.

(The good news is, if someone else is digestively disturbed too, it was probably a virus and not hormones for me).

(Also, on Monday night I got a vast quantity of clothes from my neighbour's big black charity bag, and so it's been more fun than usual to have to change early change often).

Menstruation, Dysmenorrhea, hormonal psychosis, cramps, anaemia, and whinge

ailbhe@livejournal.com — Tue, 07 Jul 2009 20:46:16 GMT

In my teens, I was maaaaaaad. Wild and wacky. And recovering from A Colourful Childhood, the complex and frightening custody arrangements about my parents' legal separation (no legal divorce at that time!), depression, irritable bowel syndrome, dysmenorrhea, and really not liking the idea of getting drunk (though I remember with varying degrees of pleasure the few times I did drink alcohol as a teenager, they were definitely atypical). Oh, and I was suicidal a lot of the time, but that started before puberty.

Every time I ran away from home, or exploded a relationship in my own face, I had a period start just a few days later. They lasted for 3-20 days on average, and started 21-48 days apart. I didn't try to predict them, but I did record them, on and off.

Then I went on the pill for YEARS and it was WONDERFUL and although I still had cramps that made me collapse in public and fall off buses into the gutter and so on, it was nothing like as debilitating as the other. Then I came off the pill and started trying to get pregnant, and gradually I got sicker and sicker, though that could have been the series of jobs in which everyone got really ill, not just me, and my periods were more and more regular and predictable, and then I got pregnant, and was weller and more marvellous than ever in my whole life and also pregnant and full of joy and indigestion and mad cravings for raw red meat on the bone.

Then I had a baby and when my periods came back (fast) they were shorter and less painful and more predictable and so on than EVER. And my ovulation signals got clearer and clearer. And when my baby was 18 months old I got pregnant again, and then the bayb was born, and that was almost three years ago now, and I'm wondering...

Are my hormones resetting?

I've just had a hideous period, 11 days long, so heavy even Rob noticed, which left me anaemic and ill. Before ovulation I felt unhappy, ugly, and very slightly suicidal in a habitual kind of way, not an intent kind of way. At ovulation I was in agony and feverish, and now I'm sick and headachy.

It might just be swine flu. But I'm somewhat frightened that it might be Proper Periods again. I don't want to do that again.

So far today

ailbhe@livejournal.com — Tue, 07 Jul 2009 10:41:48 GMT

Packed things for posting: Oscar gift, Mum recipe, Niall socks, Orla photo

Phoned to book Sail Rail for trip to Dublin 20-24 August

Made some updates/plans for ORCG website

Got number to call for spare part for dishwasher (powder-compartment door won't close any more, looks like entire compartment should be replaceable)

Fed both children once

Facilitated drawing with markers and cutting with scissors in reckless non-houseproud way

Made a tent out of a laundry rack and a blanket

Fretted about possible political issues within LETS, which is infuriating

Been sick and felt sicker

What a way to start the day

ailbhe@livejournal.com — Tue, 07 Jul 2009 08:51:57 GMT

I woke cheerful and earlier than the children - not unrelated - and spent a happy twenty minutes putting away an enormous haul of handmedown clothing for ME, from our neighbour, who buys wonderful things in charity shops and treats them excellently well. Then I threw up on the bedroom floor and Emer woke up.

I'm feeling a lot better now but am still not having breakfast. I've dressed in one of the new skirts - it's on-the-knee-length, which makes me feel all naked, but I think it looks ok. I need to work out what to do shoewise. My usual shoes and socks make me look divided into several short chunks, which is unfortunate. I may start looking in charity shops for chunky brown sandals, since a lot of what I got from the neighbor won't go with my blue ones.

Yesterday was good. I was in a lot of pain, but Emer and I painted the front of the dollhouse and then I did the roof on my own, and I got some laundry done and tried something new with polenta, which we had lots of because it was cheap.

Friends came over in the afternoon and then we had our neighbour round for dinner, and after dinner I went out to the community garden for a committee meeting. I may or may not be doing things so that they have a reasonable website in the near future.

After that I went to our neighbour's house and spent about an hour sorting through and trying on clothes. It was fantastic. I have stuff I wouldn't buy, because I'm not very adventurous when buying things, and am really looking forward to wearing some of it, though I clearly need to have more Dressing Up occasions.

Breakfast

ailbhe@livejournal.com — Mon, 06 Jul 2009 08:08:07 GMT

White flour, rice milk, eggs, mixed spice, sugar, yeast, warm water -> bread.

Black coffee.

DADDY, MY HIDING!

ailbhe@livejournal.com — Sun, 05 Jul 2009 23:17:49 GMT

Rob: Oh dear! Emer's gone! Is Emer under the bed?

Mysterious Voice: No, my no-ot!

Rob: Is Emer... in the saucepan?!

Mysterious Blanket: [quivers madly with excitement, suppressed giggles escaping as from pressure cooker]

Rob: Is Emer... behind the curtains?

Mysterious Voice: I in HE-AH!

Rob: Is Emer... under the blanket?!

Emer: YOU FOUND ME I WAS LOST!

Rob: There she is!

Audience: ded of laff, applause

The weekend: Friday

ailbhe@livejournal.com — Sun, 05 Jul 2009 17:02:03 GMT

Friday was a difficult day with lots of good bits. As usual in the heat, neither children nor I had enough sleep. I did some laundry and lured, tempted and harangued them out to get Emer to the dentist. They did eat breakfast and brush their teeth, before we left, so that was a considerable bonus in my scoring system. I brushed Emer's doll's teeth too, because I was asked to, and then said "There, that's Baby's teeth all done," whereupon I was scornfully informed "Him a doll, she hab no teef."

The biggest delay leaving the house was the discovery that the soft sweat-absorbing pads in Emer's cycle helmet had been removed, which, of course, alters the fit slightly. And leaves nasty scratchy velcro next to her skin. So I spent ages looking for them and then left the house without my OWN helmet, which I only noticed partway to town. We kept going.

At the dentist's, the children climbed up to look at the fish (Emer took her shoes off and put her socks on first because it involves kneeling or standing on a chair) and played with the bead toy. Then we were called in and we went upstairs. Emer was quite cheerful, and because we had brought her doll the dentist looked at the doll's teeth in the mirror ("NO teef!") first and then, miracle of miracles, Emer sat quietly on my lap and allowed the dentist to look at ALL her teeth properly, and then allowed the dentist to scratch them with the, ahahaha, Tooth Tickler, while Emer listened to hear the sound of it.

The verdict, friends and neighbours, is this: Emer's teeth are ok. The enamel is unpleasant to look upon, especially where it has healed up after eruption, but the damage was all pre-eruption, probably when she was ill at 6-8 months old, and there is no decay at all, none, not one bit. It's all cosmetic. Well, slightly relevant is that because the surface of the teeth is a little pitted, they are more prone to trapping sugar and bacteria than perfect teeth, but they are not notably weak in themselves.

I didn't cry.

We next went to John Lewis to get Linnea's feet measured and her shoes checked out. Sure enough, her feet are a size and a half wider than they were a few weeks ago when we bought all her shoes, which is probably why her toes were looking a bit squashed. So I got her a new pair of canvas runners, exactly like the old pair but wider. (I'm writing this two days later and the difference in Linnea's little toes is startling). The bit I'm leaving out is the waiting and trying on and checking and rechecking and running around and hiding behind displays while I paid and all that. I still didn't cry.

Then we went out and got the trike from the bike stands and brought it to the sausage man and got sausages inna buns and sat in the trike eating them, and then we cycled to the Forbury for a Slingmeet, which was pleasant and involved a lot of running around and playing.

Linnea went to the bandstand and met a small toddler, whom she tried to pick up. I ran over and stopped her, and the toddler's mother said something like "She really likes babies!" and I said "Oh yes, she wants me to have triplets," and the mother said "If you had triplets you'd end up in the river!" and I didn't cry. Or, in fact, say anything, though when I went back to the slingmeet I sanity-checked with some people and discovered that actually that's a weird thing to say anyway, even if one isn't hypersensitive.

In the Forbury, Emer wanted a drink, so I gave her a two-pound coin and sent her to find Linnea and ask Linnea to buy her a drink. Linnea took the money to the kiosk, accompanied by her new friend Ben, and bought a bottle of water. The kiosk attendant gave Ben the pound change, and he used it to buy another bottle of water, which... confused the grownups somewhat. It hadn't occurred to me that Linnea wouldn't buy a bottle for herself.

AFTER all that we went to the supermarket to buy imported out of season fruit and bought British berries instead. Yay summer. Then Rob came and we all went to see Darrell and Becky at the shop and then we came home and had pasta and salmon and peas.

Things to post at the post office

ailbhe@livejournal.com — Thu, 02 Jul 2009 23:58:28 GMT

Niall's socks
Oscar's birthday card (and present)
Niamh's birthday card (and present)
Pomes to publisher aiee argh ow
Recipe to my mother

Whoops

ailbhe@livejournal.com — Thu, 02 Jul 2009 23:52:33 GMT

We forgot to put the recycling bin out, and it was full, because it had been six weeks. So we had to repack it and eliminate some of the empty spaces. We're good for another two weeks now, and we technically could repack it again, better.

The landfill bin went out last week, half full, for the first time in six weeks. We're hoping to go a full three months without having it emptied, this time.

We're also almost ready to buy a Green Cone for the back garden.

Tomorrow - well, later today - is Friday, so there's Emer's dentist appointment, and Linnea needs wider shoes, and then there's a slingmeet AND there may be something happening at ERAPA.

And I still haven't got Linnea's hat back from where we left it last week.

BUT tomorrow will be much less hot and miserable than the rest of the week so Emer can go out in the sun and not turn red and prickly and blistery.

And I'm wondering whether we can squeeze a winter holiday out somehow, maybe in February. I'm already noticing the shorter, darker evenings, even though the children can't sleep because it's too hot and bright.

Dress me!

ailbhe@livejournal.com — Thu, 02 Jul 2009 17:09:41 GMT

You were all so helpful last year that I'm asking again, as the bras I bought are no longer comfortable; as far as I can tell the elastic has gone brittle and they've shrunk. It occasionally happens that the temperature and spin speed dials on our washing machine are adjusted mid-cycle, so that's quite plausible.

My current measurements are:

under bust 72cm (28.5")
fullest part of bust 89cm (35")
waist 64cm (25")
fullest part of hips 94cm (37")

My old 30G bras don't fit. You'd think they should be too loose, since they are old and I am smaller, but they are too tight in the band and too loose in the cup. However, I am back in my favourite skirts again, so that's some consolation.

I think I'm going to order exactly the same bras, one cup size down, and just resign myself to their not lasting more than a year. They're nursing bras, you see. That's very limiting, though not as much as if I was looking for a 28 band. Perhaps I should experiment with those low-cut cups in a non-drop-cup bra, instead, since engorgement isn't as much of a problem any more. Bras that don't fit are a horrible pain though.

Lunch

ailbhe@livejournal.com — Wed, 01 Jul 2009 11:52:48 GMT

I had cucumber and hummous, rye crackers and tomato, pickle, and orange juice (diluted, with xylitol, because Emer isn't allowed juice even at meals otherwise).

Linnea had cucumber, and pickled cucumber, and orange juice.

Emer had pickled cucumber. Lots of. Then she took the spread from her cracker and started putting it on her arms for sunscream.

Still, the table was beautifully laid. That's something.

Three things

ailbhe@livejournal.com — Wed, 01 Jul 2009 10:49:53 GMT

Emer
I had a shower this morning while chatting to Emer and then said "Oh, damn, I forgot a towel," (yes, I swear in front of my children. I have no idea how much. Quite a lot, I suspect.) Emer said "I know, you can use toilet paper!" which I thought was genius. I love problem-solving.

Linnea
Linnea and I are discussing opening a bank account for her - though what she most wants is a wallet. Also, her hair is now long enough to pull into a ponytail including the bits at the front which used to be a fringe. She looks mindbogglingly grown up.

Accomplishments
I still haven't managed to wash the tent, but the passports arrived this morning, so that's that done. And I'm discussing via email getting rid of the piano - three people have said they'd like to use the wood, so I'll see who can take what.

Baby Seri

ailbhe@livejournal.com — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 18:12:51 GMT

Last year, around the time of DWCon, we raised half of the money for a wheelchair for Baby Seraphina. She couldn't get it on the NHS because they don't fund them for children that age. And part of the reason is this: She already needs a new one.

If you do Causes on Facebook, the link is this: http://apps.facebook.com/causes/304589?m=3f1cca43

Surplus to requirements: One piano

ailbhe@livejournal.com — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 09:43:22 GMT

We bought a second-hand piano about six years ago, because it was extremely cheap and we had the money. We got a piano tuner to look at it a while ago, and after we'd booked him in at full tuning-the-piano cost he said, in essence, "It's not possible to repair that kind of piano, there's no-one in Europe doing it any more, and incidentally I have a piano here you might like to buy," so we ignored him. And this morning I got the piano repair guy around the corner ot come and look at it, and he said "No charge to come and look," first off, and then when he looked he said "If it's of great sentimental value it can be repaired, but the first stage would be £2000 and it would need more work after that too, but isn't it lovely?"

So we need to get rid of it. I'm quite sad, because the wood is nice, and some of the woodwork is lovely, and if I had an infinite amount of space I'd keep it just because the case is nice, but there you go.

I'm thinking of offering it up on Freecycle in case anyone wants the case as a stage-prop or the wood for almost anything, because the only thing the piano guy could suggest was getting the council to take it to landfill. The marquetry panel in the front would make a very pretty table. The hinged lid on the top would make a couple of lovely shelves. All the fiddly bits would make beautiful picture frames.

I wonder is it really walnut?

Productivity and progress

ailbhe@livejournal.com — Mon, 29 Jun 2009 13:44:03 GMT

This weekend we started the emptying of the attic again, and did almost the whole week's laundry in one day (I'm experimenting with having the washing line away most of the time), and Rob put some of the skirting boards we removed almost a year ago back where they came from, and we started washing the tent inner pods, though I have to have another go later today, and I scrubbed corners of the front room which haven't been cleaned for ages, and the kitchen is also being slowly degunked, and this morning I phoned someone about having the piano tuned or repaired or whatever it needs and he's coming tomorrow morning to give me a quote, and in four days Emer will have her dentist appointment and nine days after that the work starts on the new bathroom.

Coo.

Tiiiired

ailbhe@livejournal.com — Sun, 28 Jun 2009 22:04:55 GMT

It's probably not a good idea to tell someone that they don't know what you're about to tell them about themselves and their experience. Not unless you know them really well.

Two things about Emer

ailbhe@livejournal.com — Sun, 28 Jun 2009 21:01:37 GMT

Today she said that a piece of her tooth came out at Meeting and she took it out of her mouth with her hand and it's gone. I can't tell whether or not that's true. It's five days until her dentist appointment. If I could rot my own teeth instead o fhers, I would. If I could repair her teeth byt strength of will, I would. If heartbreak and regret could undo the damage, it woudl be undone.

But it can't, and it's not, and I am crying. I want it to be ok. I don't want her sedated. I don't want her to lose a tooth before she's even three. I don't want her to have fillings and gaps and most of all I don't want her to have been so very very ill when she was eight months old and I don't want her to have had the antibiotics for that illness. The illness or the fever or the antibiotics are probably what damaged the unerupted tooth bud, then forming in her baby gum, and the antibiotics we forced into her, holding her mouth shut while she gagged them up and reswallowed them, going purple all the while, that's what gave her the oral aversion. And the oral aversion is what made toothbrushing so traumatic, so where Linnea at this age brushed her own teeth almost perfectly and opened gleefully for a grown-up finish, Emer fights and screams and cries and locks her jaw.

The only good thing is that since the more intense toothbrushing regime, her teeth no longer hurt her - the fighting is fury, not pain, now, and that's very clear. I'm trying to work out how to change the way she likes to breastfeed, too, because the teeth most exposed to milk are in much better condition than the ones which hardly ever get touched. But her positioning preferences are very strong.

This evening, Emer tied the arms of her nightie around her neck, and hung it red behind her back, because "My Am A Hupahewo."

then she took it off and gave me a careful step-by-step lesson in how to tie a knot; "And den dis bit like dat, and den dis bit fwoo heah, and den dis bit UP, and den..."

There is a whole lot of love in the world.

So Michael Jackson is dead

ailbhe@livejournal.com — Fri, 26 Jun 2009 08:30:16 GMT

I knew this before I went to bed last night, of course. But what I'm surprised by is that I care. I put on TMF this morning and it's all MJ music videos, of course. We never had MTV or anything similar when I was growing up so I'd never seen most of them before. The video for "Heal the World" made me cry, which is probably partially hormones.

When I was a teenager I briefly tried to fancy Michael Jackson, because teenage girls are supposed to fancy famous people, and I somehow never did. I thought I'd try to develop a crush on Michael Jackson because I felt rather sorry for him and liked a lot of the music I'd heard.

Didn't work. Closest I ever managed to a celebrity crush was Helena Bonham Carter but I really only ever managed crushes on people I knew.

There was a music video on this morning in which MJ was still medium-dark. I think the Thriller album had a picture of him looking like that, with a lion cub. But I'd never seen him moving-while-black before.

His life seems to have been really desperately screwed up the whole way along. Poor guy.

'scuse me, I'm going to go melt now.

ailbhe@livejournal.com — Thu, 25 Jun 2009 15:48:44 GMT

Emer: I want a bun with 'pread on.
Ailbhe: Shall I cut it up for you?
Emer: Yeah, and 'pread on.
Ailbhe: You like it with spread, don't you?
Emer: Yeah. You 'ike it with 'pread on too.
Ailbhe: And I love you.
Emer: And you yub Nea.
Ailbhe: Yes, I love ALL my children.
Emer: And Daddy.
Ailbhe: Yes, and Daddy.
Emer: And a helf.
Ailbhe: A shelf?
Emer: No, you.
Ailbhe: I love myself?
Emer: YES! You lub you helf.
Ailbhe: Oh, yes, yes, I do.
Emer: And you helf lub you. pats me on the arm.

Xylitol ho!

ailbhe@livejournal.com — Thu, 25 Jun 2009 14:19:08 GMT

On our way back from BfN / library today (15 Rosemary Sutcliffs FTW) I popped into a chemist to ask for xylitol again, and was told the didn't have any, and explained its uses to the pharmacist and got sidetracked into a conversation about his brother who used to live in Stavanger, Norway, and wished he'd had a family because families were so well-treated there. Er. I think that was because Linnea was wearing my honeymoon hat, which I bought one morning in Flåm for a fiver because I'd left my own one in Reading.

Anyway, as we were leaving I went to tidy the things the girls had looked at while I was talking, and one thing was a box of Dentinox toothpaste, which I had seen the_changeling mention but since the Dentinox website doesn't mention it at all, I couldn't work out where to buy it. So I bought that. And told the staff that it contained xylitol and if they'd only known that when I first asked two months ago or more, we'd have all been much happier, hah.

So now we have xylitol toothpaste, which we can use after the fluoride one, just smear it on her teeth last thing, without washing the fluoride one away. Yay. I may experiment with putting both kinds on her brush at once, too.

I really do want to ask the dentist. I hope there's some improvement the dentist can see.

PMS depilation

ailbhe@livejournal.com — Thu, 25 Jun 2009 13:14:55 GMT

One of the things PMS does to me is makes me look in the mirror (which is unusual enough) and loathe what I see (very unusual indeed) and particularly loathe my lack of femininity (mm, quite, Ailbhe as masculine, yes indeed) and have a strong urge to depilate the feminine minimum - underarms and lower legs.

Normally, I quash this urge with a strong dose of militant feminism and a strict talking to about setting the example of being comfortable with my body image for my infant daughters. And it passes within twenty-four hours.

This month I succumbed and shaved. And remembered why it's such an awful idea. It felt better for less than two hours, and then it got really annoying, and as it grows back, it's getting worse and worse - the growing-back effect is annoying enough I may do something drastic just to avoid having to tolerate it, like, ew, shaving again.

The only upside is I feel slightly more confident in a skirt or dress which shows my lower legs, and really, that's part of why I DON'T shave normally. Me and my hairy ankles have a right to learn to feel comfortable in public.

Ho hum. Ailbhe, tool of the patriarchy, strikes again.

BLOODY NATWEST

ailbhe@livejournal.com — Thu, 25 Jun 2009 09:19:27 GMT

OK, there's a reason we moved all our accounts away from them - though they are STILL REFUSING TO CLOSE THEM DAMMIT - and one part of that reason arrived in today's post.

I filled in an ISA transfer form in 2008 and moved my ISA from NatWest to the Cooperative Bank. But SURPRIZE they actually just transferred the funds over and didn't transfer the entitlement to an ISA itself, so I have TWO extant ISAs and although I only saved the limit of £3,000 that year it was in £1200 to NatWest, transferred to Co-op making another £1200, and £1800 to the Co-op direct.

Luckily it's small enough beer, my nonexistent £1200, that the tax people aren't going to do anything other than write me a warning note. But bloody hell, I am so DONE WITH THAT. I have no idea how to make NatWest close my accounts but I think it might involve waiting for my passport to arrive and going into the branch and refusing to leave until I see paperwork showing them all to be closed.