Chicken pox (and an award)

I must start by saying a belated thank you to That Girl? who very kindly gave me an award the other day. I'm not very au fait with blog awards or what exactly you're supposed to do with them. But given that I'm not regularly awarded anything other than title of person with fattest tummy in the house, it was nice to get. You can see the image of my award on the side of my blog. It's girly. Pink with butterflies. So I like it. An apparently it means this:

"Blogs who receive this award are "exceedingly charming". This award is a fine one because it focuses not on the glory and fanfare of blogging, but in the PROXIMITY to one another through this online-world. "This blog invests and believes in the PROXIMITY--nearness in space, time and relationships. These blogs are exceedingly charming. These kind bloggers aim to find and be friends. They are not interested in prizes or self-aggrandizement! Our hope is that when the ribbons of these prizes are cut even more friendships are propagated. Please give more attention to these writers! Deliver this award to eight bloggers who must choose eight more and include this clever-written text into into the body of their award."

I don't know if I can give it to 8 bloggers (because I should actually be working rather than reading blogs). But I will definitely give it to Katyboo whose blog makes me smile daily. And she's been kind to me behind the blog scenes. So Katyboo, please accept this award to bling up your blog.

Now, onto another matter. Chicken pox. We seem to have had several near misses with chicken pox but I do believe that our 3 year old has finally got the real thing. Either that or a very hungry flea has been eating him. I thought children who got chicken pox were supposed to be quite poorly before the spots came out. Our son wasn't. He did have an absolutely vile temper, demonstrated by throwing himself in a muddy puddle on a walk on Sunday and crying about very random things on Monday. But otherwise he was in perfect health.

Last night he came out in red spots and they have multiplied while he was sleeping. He desperately wanted it to be chicken pox so that he could stay at home and watch tv and eat his body weight in humzingers, instead of going to pre-school. So he told me: "It is definitely, absolutely chicken pox mummy, because the other day, I was bitten by some chickens." So it must be chicken pox, right?

This means I have been trying to work while every five minutes being summoned back downstairs so that I can:
- change the tv from Cbeebies to Peppa Pig video
- Change Peppa Pig to Harry & his bucket full of dinosaurs video
- help him go to the toilet
- open a babybel
- open a humzinger
- get him milk
- fix the dvd that's got stuck
- help him choose between Nemo and Madacasgar
- get him some malt loaf

You can tell it's been a productive morning, no?

And I have how many more days of this until the spots crust over? I will be putting him in the bath shortly with bicarb of soda which helps them get crusty in double time. I need to work. I have a greedy tax man to pay.

Thieving swine bastards that are car garages

Following yesterday's car drama, today I trundled off to the garage to have the stupid thing fixed. I call it stupid because it's a 7 seater people carrier. And it is the car equivalent of a cow. Big, slow moving, completely unexciting and looks about as gormless. You can probably tell how much I love it.

So I took it in. Thankfully a women was on the check in desk because they always seem to fully understand girl explanations of things that go wrong with a car. 'Any problems to report,' she asked. 'Actually yes, several,' I said. 'Firstly, the brakes make a loud high pitched squealing, squeaking, screeching type sound when I brake and it makes the same noise even when I'm just driving along.' She nodded and typed as though she fully understood what I meant. A man would have been: 'So can you describe the noise more carefully - do you think it's the brake pads or discs - and at exactly what speed are you going when this sound happens and are you sure you're not just imagining it in your teeny tiny lady sized brain?'

Given our obvious connection, I told her about the other problems (I would have stopped after problem one with a man). 'Well there's something wrong with the battery. Even if we jumpstart the car, it won't start again the next day.' 'Ooh, that is annoying isn't it,' she said. Again, a bloke no doubt would have asked if I had the jumper cables put on correctly. Full of confidence I said, 'Oh, and my seat belt is twisted and I can't untwist it.' (thinking this really was a problem I should be able to sort out on my own). 'I hate it when that happens,' she sympathised. I handed in my key feeling fully confident, not something I normally feel at a garage.

I then had to wait for a car hire company to come fetch me and give me my hire car - because I am nothing if not a realist and I knew that my list of problems was probably going to get longer once they started digging around.

And indeed, it was. A man just called. Apparently the brake pads (or discs - one can never be sure) were completely shot in the front and even worse at the back (the reason for the loud squealing/screeching sound). 'It was metal on metal,' he said in a tone that implied I was a car heathen and should be shot. It needs a complete brake fluid change. It needs two new tyres. And a new seatbelt. He didn't mention the battery come to think of it, which was the reason it went in. So all in, with parts and labour, they would like £1400. Fourteen hundred pounds! I'm almost tempted to offer to sleep with the mechanic in a desperate bid to get the price knocked down, but I don't think he'll go for it. Not unless I buy new knickers.

So I said, fine, I guess if we have to do it we have to do it. I then relayed this to husband who immediately said that we can get the tyres done cheaper elsewhere and to cancel all non urgent stuff so that we can sell it. But that would mean phoning the guy back and having to try explain this and figure out which are the non urgent bits and quite frankly, I'm just not up to it. I have told husband to do it but he hasn't and am sure they're now closed. There are certain jobs that are boy jobs, and cars are one of them. I hereby relinquish all responsiblity for the silly cow of a car.

All of this fannying about with a car has not helped my productivity this week. Let's add it up:

• A good hour long wait for my breasts to be fondled on Monday
• A trip to the dentist on Tuesday followed by a trip to the doctor for a child with possible pox
• A day trapped at home with children and no car yesterday
• Half my working day wiped out today plus an eye-stingingly awful bill that's definitely a greater sum than what I made this week working

And tomorrow I potentially can't work because pox child is still semi-poxy and the nursery will ban him. Meanies.

I am starting to realise why people don't work and are stay at home mothers. I mean it's just about impossible to get a full day's work done. I have a grand total of 4 days of childcare left until 5 September. And more work than I can possibly do. I need to splice myself into 4 people. But I think that would hurt.

I'd better stop moaning and go do my month end accounts and bath beasties - although probably not at the same time. Sigh. Sigh. Sigh.

I hope to post cheerier posts soon.

Chicken pox or not chicken pox - what to do is the question.

Youngest child may or may not have chicken pox. Symptoms: whinginess, bad temper, only eating one portion of food unlike his normal 3, a few spots on his left hand and arm that are sort of blistery, the odd spot elsewhere. For someone who is potentially ill, he seems to be full of beans. Quite frankly, I'd like it if he has chicken pox because then I can tick it off the list of childhood illnesses and I'd have a good reason for his vile temper. But he really doesn't seem very poxy.

This is annoying. We can't go play with other people in case he does have the pox (unless they're actively wanting to catch it themselves) but he really doesn't seem poorly enough just to sit around here all day. And they do seem quite intent on driving me mad this morning. This is largely because I am now reading yet another parenting book in a last ditch effort to manage the tantrums from son number 1. This book has so far told me what you're not supposed to do - which is everything apparently. You can't punish or give time outs. You can't reward or praise. I've yet to get to the bit where they tell you what you can do. (I do believe that I might get to the end and they'll just say: Sorry, but you're screwed.) But now I'm stuck in limbo, not really wanting to do anything to them but equally having to do something because they're systematically destroying the house and each other.

In accordance with the book, I'm trying to give them unconditional love, loving them for who they are and not what they do. This is a lot easier said than done. Especially when they smear syrup all over the furniture and decide that shredding a newspaper is a barrell of laughs. And it probably is. Except that they're not the ones having to pick up minute pieces of paper that keep appearing. But I am digging deep into my patience reserves and trying to ignore it. After all, it's just mess right?

My patience is also being tested by a deadly combination of moutains of clothes (about 1% of which are actually mine) which need washing and drying, but the tumble dryer seems to have decided to go on strike and refuses to dry anything, despite using up just about a year's worth of electricity and massively screwing up our carbon footprint, the washing line is still a dismal, wonky version of it's former self and even if I can manage to string a few things up without them touching the ground, the weather keeps changing its mind about whether it's sunny or rainy.

And once again we seem to have run out of food (except for pasta salad which quite frankly I cannot face and will be putting in the bin) which means a grocery shop. That might be a good outing with a poxy child as long as he doesn't actually touch another person. Then again, an online shop is infinitely more peaceful.

So that's my day. Looming large. It's been going since 5.30am and I'm ready to go to bed right now. But I shall soldier on. One very good line from the book I'm reading said something about how the breathing techniques you learn for labour really only come into their own many years later. I whole heartedly agree. And breathe in for four, and out for eight...