My tummy hurts. This might be because I've just wolfed down two half eaten bowls of pasta, pesto and peas, a home made jam tart (burning my tongue in the process) and two carrots (in a bid to eradicate the calories of the other stuff). This wasn't my dinner. That's still waiting for me. This was me doing my duty to starving children in Africa and not letting food go wasted. It's the same reason I ate one and a half hot cross buns that were far from hot earlier today. The kids hadn't eaten them (despite demanding them for breakfast) and so they sat there folornly with the butter congealed, nibble marks on the side of them. Their sorry state didn't deter me in my efforts to stop world hunger. Sigh.
Remember how I was clinging to that resolution wagon with white knuckles? It's safe to say that I fell off a while back and the dust kicked up from the wagon has long since settled. My exercising has reduced to once a week on the weekend when I finally get a moment to myself. And the no drinking in the week rule seems to mean that our weekend actually runs from Wednesday through to Sunday.
So in general I'm not doing spectacularly well. I would ordinarily feel despondent. But I don't because I still have my resolution trump card - the 'make time for myself' masterpiece in the form of flitting across the ocean on a yacht for five weeks. Friday cannot come fast enough and I'm now desperate to know if I'm going to get a place on the race.
I've already got my PR machine in place to start my fundraising efforts. Just this week the Daily Express was looking for mums who'd taken a sabbatical from their families to do something for themselves. I got in touch and told them that I hadn't yet but was really hoping I could. They're dead keen on the story and hopefully if I get a slot on the race, I'll manage to get a good hit that will drive billions of people to my blog (which has yet to be created - don't want to put the cart before the horse and all that) which in turn will result in people throwing money at me so that I can sail this race without getting myself in debt. It's not that I live in laa laa land, I'm just optimistic. Hopeful. A dreamer. A Piscean.
Anyway, today's big news was that we went to the dentist. The last time I attempted to take the children to the dentist, they hid behind me, quivering in fear before throwing the mother of all paddies and charging straight out of the dentist's room, out through reception and out of the building. The dentist didn't get within a 100 yards of their teeth. It was a failure of the most spectacular proportions.
So of course I was really looking forward to today's visit. I'd given up on getting the 3 year old in the chair. He doesn't clean his teeth at the best of times, eats sweets whenever he can (including old congealed things he finds under the sofa) and is according to his nursery teacher 'the world's most stubborn child'. No, the appointment was for the almost 5 year old and I.
For those of you who don't know about my 5 year old, let me fill you in. I've been convinced since his birth that he suffers from bipolar disoder, a split personality or schitzophrenia. When he is good, he is Angelic. When he's not, he'd make Satan weep. The thing is, you never know which one you're going to get.
With a little knot of trepidation we walked into the dentist's room. The dentist said hello and asked who was going to go first. I was about to open my mouth, when 5 year old confidently marched up to the chair, sat himself down and said "me". He then lay back, opened his mouth as wide as a person can possibly open it without turning into a hippo and let the dentist carry on. He politely answered the dentist's questions. He examined the instruments when they were shown to him. He was the perfect picture of angelic loveliness. I was so proud - and not a little flabbergasted - that I had a quiet weep, which was a little embarrassing as I then had to lie down on the chair and have the dentist gaze into my tear filled eyes.
Anyway, it was all over in under 10 minutes and we left. I congratulated my son on being such a star. That was apparently the wrong thing to do. The angel had left the building. I was subjected to a half hour diatribe about how the dentist is stupid and he's never going again and why did I have to have my teeth cleaned because he was sooooooo bored and did I mention that he's never going to the dentist again. I gave up the fight and just nodded.
Then he asked: 'You made another appointment, didn't you?'
Loaded question this. 'Er, yes I did,' I replied.
'Who was the appointment for?' he asked warily.
'Me,' I answered, omitting the small fact that he was included in the appointment given his obvious hatred for the dentist.
'WHY DIDN'T YOU MAKE ME AN APPOINTMENT?? I WANT TO GO. NOW YOU HAVE TO GO BACK AND MAKE ANOTHER APPOINTMENT. TURN THE CAR AROUND NOW!'
Too tired to argue and arms not long enough to turn around and thump him for his sheer contrariness, I said: 'But it's also for you.'
'BUT YOU JUST SAID IT WAS FOR YOU. YOU'RE LYING MUMMY. YOU ARE A BIG FAT LIAR.'
He's right. But I prefer to think of it as giving myself an easy life. I obviously failed on that count.
Showing posts with label dentist. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dentist. Show all posts
Wednesday, 4 February 2009
Thursday, 7 August 2008
MISSING: One housekeeping halo
Despite having had no childcare for what is now the third day in a row, my inner calm is remaining in tact. This is largely because I've not tried to do anything other than be with my children. Sure I've rustled up the odd meal and put on the occasional load of washing, but really it's all been about them.
As a result, my mummy halo is starting to squish my head a bit and it's giving me a headache. I haven't had to raise my voice (well except for when the older beastie mistook his younger brother's head for a football and kicked it hard). I've also let household standards slip by some considerable margin. I'm ignoring congealed gloop on surfaces and the piles of loitering laundry. I did however finally wash our bed linen as it was about to start breeding small colonies of bed lice. Having remade the bed two nights ago with fresh smelling sheets, husband was perplexed last night when he found the bed in a completely unmade state.
'What happened to the bed?' he asked. 'The children happened to the bed,' I said. 'What? Did they pee in it?' he asked. 'No, they wanted to help me strip the bed having seen me do it the day before,' I replied. 'When did they do this?' he asked staring at the mounds of bedding on the floor. 'This morning,' I said. You could see his brain ticking over thinking, so this happened this morning and yet it's STILL all on the floor. Being a man who enjoys the use of all four of his limbs, he wasn't daft enough to actually say this out loud, but I could see that's what he wanted to say. So I explained that since they'd stripped the bed, we'd packed in:
As a result, my mummy halo is starting to squish my head a bit and it's giving me a headache. I haven't had to raise my voice (well except for when the older beastie mistook his younger brother's head for a football and kicked it hard). I've also let household standards slip by some considerable margin. I'm ignoring congealed gloop on surfaces and the piles of loitering laundry. I did however finally wash our bed linen as it was about to start breeding small colonies of bed lice. Having remade the bed two nights ago with fresh smelling sheets, husband was perplexed last night when he found the bed in a completely unmade state.
'What happened to the bed?' he asked. 'The children happened to the bed,' I said. 'What? Did they pee in it?' he asked. 'No, they wanted to help me strip the bed having seen me do it the day before,' I replied. 'When did they do this?' he asked staring at the mounds of bedding on the floor. 'This morning,' I said. You could see his brain ticking over thinking, so this happened this morning and yet it's STILL all on the floor. Being a man who enjoys the use of all four of his limbs, he wasn't daft enough to actually say this out loud, but I could see that's what he wanted to say. So I explained that since they'd stripped the bed, we'd packed in:
- getting dressed
- eating breakfast
- tidying away breakfast (sort of)
- caught up on emails (me), built a space ship out of duplo (them)
- gone on a playdate
- rushed back for lunch that wasn't eaten
- rushed to swimming lessons
- got lost on our way from swimming lessons to the Thatcham Discovery Centre
- had a bit of an altercation at the aforementioned centre as one wanted to feed ducks, the other wanted to play on the swings, I wanted them to clean their teeth in the public loos
- rushed to the dentist for their first ever visit (dismal failure - they refused to sit on the chair or open their mouths despite mummy pretending that the chair was a spaceship and gamefully showing off her not very clean teeth for the dentist as she hadn't cleaned them in the public loos)
- Raced home but had to find a petrol station en route as getting lost earlier had used up most of our tank of gas. Then older child said he needed to pee but there was no loo at the petrol station which resulted in quite a lot of debate about whether I was lying or not
- Got home at normal supper time and still had to make a chilli con carne.
- Played football/cricket/catch/trampoline bouncing/calvinball in a bid to distract the kids from their starving tummies
- Forced food down their throats while they wanted to resume playing with their duplo airplane
- Finally convinced younger child that he really does need a bath regardless of his protestations
- And got them into bed.
Admittedly I did then have a full two hours in which to make the bed, but I felt like eating my dinner and watching a film instead. So while my mummy halo is shining to a sunglasses-required-shininess, my housekeeping halo has packed its bags and gone in search of Martha Stewart. The halo that makes up the trilogy - the one I normally wear when I don my business superwoman cape - seems to be gathering dust, the result of doing absolutely no work combined with my shoddy cleaning efforts.
So today we need to tackle a few chores. Including a trip to the shops. I'm not looking forward to it. I fear it might push my new found calm, rational mothering skills to breaking point, but we need a few things. Including cotton wool as last night I had to remove my mascara using a sanitary towel as it was the only suitable thing I could find. As I said, my housekeeping is in need of an overhaul.
Must go wipe a bottom now.
Thursday, 31 July 2008
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:
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.
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
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.
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