icky delightful footbath

says Olivia, after standing in water Bodhi's spilled from his finger bowl. He likes to get messy, he likes to wash his hands. Handies!!

The other day we'd our first beach visit of the season, though it was fecking freezin in the wind. Walking back to the car, Olivia was hopping over the red strips of paving, because 'I don't want to step in the Rivers of Blood and Death. Harharhaaarrrrrr!'

successful Leptospirosis vaccination

Cuba has used homeopathic Leptospirosis on 2.5 million people to combat annual outbreaks of the disease. Results are extremely promising.

Here's an overview.

And here's a little more detail.

I don't have time to keep looking for negative views on the findings, so if anyone comes up with a less positive slant, do post it.

name meme

K8 got me. Which means I have to do Ciara's too. Mnrmnrmemesmnrshakesfistmutters.

The Rock Star (first pet, current car), Pippin Peugeot
Peppy and avant French femme rock, I reckon.

The Gangster (favorite ice cream flavor, favorite type of shoe), Chocolate Boot. Oh yes. Don't fuck with me!

The Native American (favorite color, favorite animal), Purple Baby Elephant. Hmm.

The Soap Opera star (middle name, city where you were born), Elizabeth Dublin. Looks like it's a lifetimes imprisoned in Fair City for her.

The Superhero (2nd favorite color, favorite drink), Blue Smoothie! Oh Yes! It is her mission to pep up the lightly depressed with subtle and charming compliments. Lookin' good today, readers.

The NASCAR driver (the first names of your grandfathers), Fred Harry. Sounds about right, but why no lady driver? Though Marty Doreen doesn't convince, really, does it?

The Dancer (the name of your favorite perfume/cologne/scent, favorite candy), Vanilla Lindt. How European, and ironic, considering my rigid and minimal calorie intake.

The TV weather anchor: Hill Hamburg. My damn toupee is slipping.

The Spy (your favorite season/holiday, flower), Spring Rose. Who me, officer? But I am so dainty!

The Cartoon character (favorite fruit, article of clothing you’re wearing right now), Pink Grapefruit Cardigan. Er. I don't know!

The Hippie (what you ate for breakfast, your favorite tree), Rice Crispie Silver Birch. Flakey. Lightweight, soggy but with an ethereal side.

I edited a couple for being too revealing or just not working or both.

how good does it get?

I am beyond happy about this.



Thanks to Raptureponies for alerting us to it.

The Cujo Family

New songs on myspace.

Smokin!

I am SO looking forward to this gig.

Who IS this?

Olivia took this photo of me on the way home from st Patrick's Day. Hence the green.

I don't know why, but I think it's hilarious. It might be the learner driver ten to two hand position, and seemingly nervous, upright posture. Or the mumsy, somehow English look to me, as if I'm on reality tv and my name is Cath. Maybe even Caff. I don't know. It doesn't look like me, it looks so funny.

I was right about it being funny, because I showed it to Axel as we were going to bed the other night, and he started to laugh, really laugh, saying he didn't know why, but it was cracking him up. We laughed til tears ran, wheezy, uncontrollable laughter bubbled out of us, contagious and unmanageable.

We used to do that all the time, lying in bed laughing til we couldn't breath, til it hurt. I think it's been years now, since we did, so I'm grateful for the stupid photo.

funny men

A little laugh for your monday morning mayhem.

Cleopatra, eat your heart out

Bloody hell, and I thought I had oversupply!

That's going to be one chubby baby.

My funny Italian friend said his mother had a hormonal problem that meant she never stopped producing breastmilk. I asked him what she did, and totally dead pan he answered,

'She opened a cheese factory. We got very rich.'

when all is right in someone's world

One of the reasons I don't do a feed reader, is because sometimes I like the just in case check, the bonus post when you're hoping for a little something, but not expecting, and you click and get something like this...

You'll have to read back a bit for the full story.

who nicked your givney?

I don't have Nick on my blogroll because I'm a lazyass longterm procrastinator ...

but til I do, go read this.

crap in my head

Hundreds of papers to correct in a few days.

Stupid day today. Fucking parades!

I don't know why, I don't know why, but I took my poor children to the Greystones parade today. Because someone suggested it, maybe, and my addled brain seems incapable of making a decision on its own, or knowing what is right. As my little tale will evidence.

Point number one, Jo, should have just gone to the funfair on the prom in the morning, as you planned.

Got there late after parking miles away, ended up on wrong side of street from my friend, in the cold shade, with a daughter in just a t shirt and a son with a runny nose. The parade was grand, standard crappy fare. The town was nice, meeting Darren and Lottie was an added bonus.

The kids were cold and bored, I don't know why I didn't make my way out sooner - was tempted to go for a wee drinkie with D&L but when we got to the Burnaby there was a monster pile of folded buggies in the doorway, we weren't allowed bring them in, so I thought, no, fuck that - then as we were making out way out of the town, Olivia announced an urgent need to use the loo. Sigh.

Point number two, should have either battled my way back into the pub to the toilet, or found the house of the woman I know on the way back to the far-away car.

Instead I dragged my poor child through the wilds of the Burnaby, thinking, just get home - and got lost, again, same as I always do, ending up by the golf course. Child has pain in stomach from needing to poo, and is freezing cold from refusing to bring a hoodie, and generally put out.

Child refuses to pee in the waste ground off the golf course, whinging escalates unbearably.

Point three, should have made her go.

Instead, under pressure, I knock on the least imposing door I can find (The Burnaby is full of mansions behind security gates) after seeing the non threatening figure of a little old lady in the kitchen. She answers the door suspiciously (Olivia is green haired and face painted). I explain we are lost and desperate on the way to the car. She reluctantly agrees to let Olivia use her loo, but informs me I have to stay outside. I see that she's a scared old lady on her own who fears I'm planning to rob, and agree, but when she she shuts the door on me, and then they're gone for what feels like a while I think, what the fuck have I done? Olivia finally returns, stony faced. 'Are you ok?' I ask, and the old lady says, 'She's fine!'

But it turns out, I find, as we walk away, that the woman staying in the bathroom with her, and wouldn't let her wipe herself. What the fuck?

And she informs me that she's wet, and uncomfortable, and cold and tired and miserable and that this is the worst day of her life.

And I feel like seven kinds of shit.

Minutes later, on the right track, we walk past the friendly house of the friendly and not paranoid or weird woman I know. AAAGHGHGHG.

We did see an incredibly beautiful pink Japanese type blossomy tree, on the plus side.

Then we went home, had lunch, I rang Axel and told him about the weird woman adventure, which made him angry and mean about my reckless endangering of our child. And then we hit the sea front, which was of course insanely crowded.

Point number four, I should have gone to the cash point when we got there, instead of walking past it, inexplicably, so the kids got to do v little, as the little rollercoaster ate my cash, Bodhi didn't like it (he's so out of sorts at the moment, he keeps smacking me in the face, which is not fun). So he only got one bounce, which he loved beyond belief, but lasted far too short a time.

And the fair is gone after today.

I feel like such a failure. I really do.

I can't make a decision in the moment. I don't assert myself even when I know I'm doing the wrong thing. That's what gets to me. The plunging headling into the thing I know isn't the right thing. And then it all gets worse and I don't seem able to manage to extricate myself.

My godmother said Olivia will thank me one day, as happy, fun filled childhoods don't lead to excellent first novels, so I think I'll cling on to that. And the fact that Olivia was delighted with her bounce/bumper boat/rollercoaster experience and an illicit ice-cream made up for the brief stay. So it ended up not being the worst day of her life. And Bodhi went to sleep grinning about his bouncy castle adventure.

But I just feel like a wet rag.

Bray School Project Roof-Raiser Fundraiser Gig

Thursday 2nd April
Greystones Theatre

The Juice

The Cujo Family

Blind Yackety






Doors open 7pm
Music 8 - 12
Tickets €10
Available from the BSP office/Box Office/Door

OUR SCHOOL NEEDS A NEW ROOF!

Anyone interested? Tell your friends! It looks like being a great night, and I'd love if there was a blogger contingent. The value! There might even be a raffle...

bagged

I've been pondering a bag purchase. My handbag has been titchy, of late. I've been eyeing my stylish friend Ciara's, which is a big green one with outsize eyelets round the edge, threaded with a scarf. It looks like it might contain giant storybooks with come to life pictures, and a hat stand.

I fancied something that would hold a book, a bit of shopping, nappies and wipes, a toy, etc. So in Dundrum, I went to Accessorize, so boldly, and found it, though not til I'd looked all round, rejected everything, and then saw it in the window.

I knew it had to be right when the petite Italian homosexual behind the counter in Monsoon muttered, in his cliched accent 'oh, what a beautiful bag' and seemed moved, out of his usual surliness, by its beauty. He knows better than me, I reckon.

He whipped out the crumpled pink tissue supporting it, and rewrapped it in a sheet of pristine pale pink tissue, respectfully.

Funny little man in his sweater and shirt, and perfect hair. I'm sure he's somebody's dream boat. He endeared himself to me with his love of bags on Friday.

I went to Dundrum today, the mecca of consumerism that is our sparkly euro class shopping centre.

I made the mistake of bringing my work to Starbucks for a much needed change of pace. I had a Frappacino, caramel, light (lite?), which was startlingly delicious. But it was busy, which would have been ok, except I forgot it would be full of BABIES. Everywhere I looked, babies, babies, babies. After an hour and a half, my whole self was thrumming with broodiness, my nipples were literally tingling with near-let down.

God.

Don't get excited. There'll be none of that, the cons outweigh the pros by a more than significant majority (like 98%). But, another excellent use for the off switch, indeed.

While I was there, though, I saw another stage of childhood oddly illustrated. About six 11 year old boys came in, I think alone. They had skinny jeans and spiky/mullety haircuts of the current unfortunate fashion and they got big mugs of hot chocolate? Latte? and muffins and cakes, and they sat round quietly together having a spirited but civilised coffee shop experience. It was weird. I wanted to turn to someone and say, would you look at the wee boys, all civilised, amidst the yummy mummies.

cousins

I missed the boat with the BBC elephant diary series, I've half finished post in drafts.

Some animals speak to me more than others. When my daughter was a tiny, I sat with her on the sofa a lot. I remember seeing a mother and infant orang utan on television and being overwhelmed with the understanding of our sameness. That she was me. Our babies were each others babies. Baby orangs look so human, act so like human babies. When I see them I see my children.



At the zoo I went to see the mother orangutan and her newish baby. a group of people were trying to see it, and she had her back turned to them, protectively. I started talking to her, across the moat, and she looked up and looked straight into my eyes, and turned to me and showed me her baby.

The current BBC programme is worth a watch. Wednesdays at 8. Not least for the sweetie babies, or the evidence of how like us they are. They're our cousins, and they deserve space in the world.

Not being orphaned and chained and caged, left alone in the dark to go crazy with grief and fear. Check out the episode previews. Think about adopting a baby, or donating...

I'd like to put up more photos but I cant choose just one...

hurrah!

Xbox is in print, and he's happy about it.

Share in his joy and my enviousness :)

helpless

I found a little notebook, put away, I'd bought a couple on sale as Christmas presents last year. A block of red paper, sandwiched between a perfect red leather square, with 'DIVA' printed on it in old typewriter font, and a definition, held together by a little leather strip and a leather heart, at one corner.

It's gorgeous, somehow, neat and perfect. A luxury, a little slice of design, pristine out of its protective plastic.

The tag on it says 'Made in China' and as I looked at it, stroked the smooth redness of the leather, I wondered if a child's hands had handled it as they put it together, for my throwaway luxury, this thing I don't need. And I felt guilty, and helpless as I thought about it.

Today as I walked out of Tesco with the kids, a woman with a big black eye walked in. She might have been a traveller, with soft hair,and a wide, open, freckled face and nice brown eyes. She looked kind, and a little apologetic, her jacket wet with rain.

And I felt sympathetic, and guilty, as if I should somehow be able to do something to help, to stop her from ever being hit in the face again, to enable her, or give her some strength, or something. Anything to make this awful, awful thing better. Instead of just colluding, looking away, pretending that there's nothing wrong. Helpless.

oh, right...

How can my period be here again so soon? Seems like I only just had it. Still, it does explain the weight gain. And my skin.

And last Wednesday.

if I was in charge...

If I had Creator powers, my first redesign of human physiology would be to include on/off switches.

Hunger, on/off.
Fertility, on/off.
Hearing, volume control at least.
Sense of smell, on/off.

Perhaps also some sort of self cleaning function, inner and outer, like ovens of the future.

And active regeneration of skin, nails, teeth - and organs while I'm at it.

Also follicular control would be nice. No more unwanted body hair, and ready made extensions.

food

Food is not my friend at the moment.

It's an ongoing wrangle with my daughter, and she's currently meant to be avoiding gluten and lactose. Which is actually going well for her, except she ate so little as it was and it's a restrictive diet.

And a lot of the substitutes taste pleh.

So tonight she wants to eat her a third bowl of cereal of the day as her dinner. I'm bankrupting myself on soya milk. She's angry and ornery again about it. Her stomach pains have cleared, but now I seem to be getting stress cramps instead.

I'm getting Bodhi to stop feeding at night again, and while it's working, he's sleeping fitfully and is up early. I've been munching constantly through tiredness and it's a side effect of the correcting too. I feel enslaved by my constant food desire.

I wish we could just clear the fridge and cupboards and live on nutrients from the air and water for a week. Release ourselves from the constant wrangles and drudgery of food preparation. The sugar cravings, the boredom-hunger, the shopping, the waste, the wondering what to put in the lunchbox at 8.30 every morning.

I'd like a break, a clear out, some freedom from food.

a weird one

Twenty had an anti-Fianna Fail rant of epic, blood pounding proportions today, and a song my mother used to sing me as a lullabye popped into my head.

The music has it firmly lodged there, if you don't know the melody and rhythm, check them out, they make it, though I think the words are mighty too.

The Battle Hymn of the Republic

We also sang a school version about 'the man who packed the parachute forgot to pack the string' which included the lines 'he landed on the pavement like a lump of strawberry jam' and 'they put him in an envelope and sent him to his mam'.

Sensitive, non?

My mother also used to sing 'All the Pretty Little Horses', 'Oh Little Town of Bethlehem', but with an alternative, haunting melody, 'Jesus Loves Me', which is extremely warming.

And daytime songs were 'Someone's in the kitchen with Dinah', and 'Mama's Little baby Loves shortnin' Bread'.

All her growing up songs, I suppose. The stuff you go back to automatically when you have children.

Bodhi never said Mama that much, but he's started copying Olivia, and saying 'Mommeeee' in a little sweetie voice, which I find discomfiting. Especially when they both do it repetititively, with glee, from the supermarket trolley.

overload

I've got to stop saying yes to things, volunteering myself for things, when I'm so over extended. It's ridiculous.

I'll just do a batch of cupcakes for the PTA coffee morning tomorrow and then that's it.

by 'eck Petal!

I sat in the classroom, chatting to the two students there early. Something kept making itself known, advancing and retreating, a comforting foody smell.

'Is it just me,or is there a smell of dinner?' I asked the pretty noughties girlies. They laughed, sweetly, carefully, shook their heads and gave each other amused eyes.

No cooking classes on, then.

I pondered, sure I could smell it for real. Fried onions, savoury, the promise of something nice. Not deep fried greasy, more sauteed. Frenchly.

And then I realised. Me at the cooker, frying onions and garlic, for soup for the kids' dinner, before I rushed off to the class. It must be in the front of my hair; newly washed, shiny, light - and oniony.

I'm tasty, me.

Watch out!! It's Radioactive Paedo Man

Apparently.

I read in the weekend paper, some paedophile escaped in the midst of radiation injection treatment, and got on a ferry to Wexford, apparently going to see his Irish mother, without staying the requisite 6 days to detoxify in hospital.

So not only is he a convicted maker of child porn on the loose, he's also actively - radioactive.

You couldn't make it up, really, could you? The villains are getting more villainous.

Oh! Look!

Look what my friend Ciara did!

A Year At My Back Door

Check it out, and the blog where it started, gorgeous!