I never ever thought of that...

I'm reading a great story full of piercing and tattoos at the moment and it's making me think about them a lot. So tonight I was idly browsing clit hood piercing forums (I love the internet) and one woman revealed that she had five vaginal piercings. And people said no wayomghowisthatpossible a little, as they do, and she posted this

and said that it makes life interesting. You know, things like walking. Or going to concerts with lots of bass.

I just think that is so cool about the bass. Never would have thought of that. Doesn't it make you want to get one and go see Metallica?

Really, no?

babywords 3

I bought Coconut Mallows from Lidl the other day. Hey, they're gluten free, though since Bodhi got a nasty little candida infection on his willy, there is going to be far less sugar in the house.

Actually, interesting story, he woke crying with pain, and we were alarmed to see how swollen he was. We were wondering (worrying) whether to bring him to hospital or not. I found a webiste called JustAnswer.com, and for the sum of €8, got my query answered by Hilary the New York Jewish Pediatrician, who diagnosed it as balantis, male candida (I'd always thought men carried thrush but were unaffected by it. Not so). She suggested a several American over the counter painkillers and anti bacterial sprays and said to take him to the doctor the next day. I asked a qualifying question, and she wrote another immediate response, which included quite a sweet, if possibly brisk, reassurance:

It should not continue to spread, it just probably wont get any better without medication. So it should get looked at tomorrow, just does not need emergent attention.
Continue what you are doing and see the pediatrician in the AM. You are just fine and your son will be fine.
This is common in uncircumcised males. if this is the first episode, it is treated with antibiotics. If it continues or persists, some urologists may recommend circumcision. it is important to pull back the foreskin well and clean regularly during bath time.

Again, this was exactly what I needed to know - I'd post her first response, but the site has locked it, and I'd have to pay another three euro to gt to it, which I think is kind of shitty - note to self, copy and paste if used again.

Now, I was happy with her diagnosis and info, mostly. I take issue with two things. Number one is, I aint going to be circumcising Boshi. The chances are he will get repeats of the condition, as anyone who gets thrush does, so it needs to be adressed internally, not just have the site it affects sliced off.

It makes me wonder how many uncircumcised boys she sees, being Jewish and living on the East Coast and all. Because I'm fairly sure that pulling the foreskin well back and washing it carefully is EXTREMELY bad advice. It's not ready to do that yet, and you can really hurt a kid trying.

The other thing is that I'm reluctant to treat thrush with antibiotics - it just seems like a depressing vicious circle to me. Suppress, inflame, repeat.

Here's what I did instead: I did use Calpol, so he could get some sleep, and because it's just to horribly sore. I cut out sugar and what form his diet immediately (and yeast of course, it al lfeeds the bacteria). I talked to the homeopath the next day and we worried about whether we could take the time to treat him. She suggested giving him a day and going thenext if needs be. Ithink the antibiotics would take three days to take effect one way or the other, so better to try something quicker first. I bathed him in tea tree oil and Citricidal Grapefruit Seed Extract mixed in a little milk so it would spread in the water. He was to sore to touch, so I just let him sit and swish around.

I gave him Belladonna, which is for red, throbbing pain, wonderful for strong fevers too. And Apis, which is bee sting, and Cantharsis, which is for scalds. If you've ever had severe thrush, you'll know all about the stinging burning pain.

I tried to get him to take some probiotic and Citricidal internally, but he was having none of either.

A day and a half later, he was grand again. He only complained of pain once after starting the remedies. No €65 visit to the doctor, no antibiotics. I'm sure it's not gone for good, but I'm on it.

I am really pleased about JustAnswer.com's middle of the night help, I have to say. But also happy to have alternatives.

I know this is a bit domestic, but I'm interested by the process.

Back to the Mallows. Bodhi was instantly hooked, and demanded more frequently, moaning, 'Mellors, Mellors,' in a mournful, desperate tone, like a small, sticky, lonely Lady Chatterly.

would anyone like to read something beautiful?

I love when my day starts with an alert for something like this in my inbox.

This isn't really safe for work.

Bare by StellaLunaSky on Fanfiction. Warning to men: teen romance alert. Read at your own discretion.

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5115281/14/

das ist mein piggy

I
We're in the car, Bodhi's babbling but I'm not recently listening because my mind has wandered in a lewd direction.

Then, somewhat alwarmingly I hear Olivia say 'JuicyCock?? What's juicycock?'

Good lord.

'I don't think that's what he said, Olivia, I'm sure it's not.' Subject change ahoy.

Let's get back to talking about farting, shall we?


II

I lie Bodhi down on the sofa to change his nappy, and he tells me there's a small plastic piggy beneath him. I rescue it and hand it to him.

'Oh! Das ist mine piggy!' he says in delight.

things my children have said

Bodhi on phone today: 'Mama, I do a fart!'


Going asleep this evening


Me: I love you

Bodhi: I luv you, too!

Me: You're so sweet

Bodhi, hands on my face: No, you're sweet, sweet mama.


Aw! For god's sake, right?





On Harry Potter - Olivia and I are reading book 2 - we get to the bit where Dumbledore asks Harry if there's anything he wants to tell him. Harry thinks through the several significant issues he could do with help on, including the scary vicious disembodied voice he hears hissing about the cruel death it wants to mete out, but says 'No, Professor'.


Olivia, earnestly and with conviction: He should just tell him! If he just told him ALL of those things then Dmbledore would help and it would all be ok.

Me: Yes!! Thank you! I've ALWAYS thought that, and it really frustrates me, in every book Harry thinks he shouldn't tell even though he wants to, and it always seems like it would be the right thing to do.

Olivia: But it's for the story. If he told Dumbledore those things, than everything would be fixed really quickly and there wouldn't be a story and it would be boring. There has to be an adventure.

Me: my daughter is a genius



Bodhi on finding his Iggle Piggle doll: Look! Harry Piggle!

There's been a lot of Harry Potter round in our house recently (especially since I got the first dvd for a euro at a boot sale a while back). I love the idea of Harry Piggle though. Add a lightning scar and glasses and you've got instant Harry Piggle and The Garden Of Night.

Harry Potter and In the Night Garden crossovers. I love it.


* I just noticed I wrote cd, instead of dvd before. Who am I, my mother in law?

a little cautionary breastfeeding tale

can be found here. It's by me. About a friend. A good story.

Isn't it nice I have a breastfeeding blog now, and I don't have to rant here anymore?

You'll suffer the links though. Oh yes.

awkward

I'm sure I'm the last person to know about this, but AwkwardFamilyPhotos had me laughing like a hyena deep into the night last night.

The terrible pathos, the tragedy, the cringeworthiness, the gutwrenching hilarity of people's posed lives. And it gets better by each photo. I kept thinking I should post one, but there's too many.
My only problem is, it was getting late, I had to stop, but I don't know how to find my place again.

nightmares

Bodhi had a rough night last night. Molars. He was awake, and upset a lot, able now to express his pain in ows and requests for remedies. His dad was half grumpy, half sympathetic. I don't really know what to do with his aggressive responses to his children's expression of pain...

This morning, Bodhi told us about a dream he'd had, where there was a 'caterpillar on mine head'. Sometimes it was ladybird. He wouldn't say any more about it, but he told us again and again. And again. In mine hair.

Tonight, tired, at time to go to sleep, he was just about to snuggle down, when he stopped, and turned to me and asked 'caterpillar coming back?'
I asked him if he was worried about having the dream again, and he nodded, vehemently. I asked him if it had been a bad dream, if he had been scared. He stopped, and stared at me, eyes huge and round. His face reddened, gaze intensifying, his lip started to shake and crumple and he started to cry and nod.

So I took him on my lap, cuddled him against me, and told him about lucid dreaming, baby style. Happier dreams of driving to the zoo in a red car, and feeding the caterpillar to the monkeys, if it came back. Monkeys will chomp it. Mama and Daddy will throw it away.

It still took him ages to fall asleep. Crap. Two years old and plagued by a scary dream, scared to sleep in case it returns. It doesn't seem right somehow. This is parenting. It's like their dreams are your responsibility now. How can I guard his sleep?

cultural eye rolling

So I'm reading this story, and two friends are catching up with a girls' night in - Brat pack movies, wine and M&Ms etc. And it gets to the end, their friends return, they're giggly, and they realise they've had a WHOLE BOTTLE OF WINE BETWEEN THEM.

Gasp! Not a whole bottle of wine between two people?

Ok, maybe my Irish binge drinking in a field perspective is the skewed one. What is healthy about liver damage and hangovers, after all?

But I can't help it! A WHOLE bottle of wine. No. Such excess!

Your Ghost

I loved this singer, and this song, long ago - Michael Stipe is on the original, perfect harmonies, but sadly, the only available version on Youtube is the official one, and the record company have decided it's a good idea to block the soundtrack of the video. Clever marketing ploy, eh?

So instead there's this, as I first saw her do it in the Olympia long long ago. Neil Hannon supported, all alone! And she did her thing with just occasional cello accompaniment, and loads of funny stories in between songs. I loved her.

Give it a few minutes to warm up.

exquisite symbolism

I went to bed early last night! I was asleep before eleven - unprecedented. And Bohdi slept through, I woke up at seven with screaming back pain and sore engorged boobs. I had to wake him up and feed him, and finally we both went back to sleep - til 9.30, when I had to wake up with screaming back pain all over again.

Happily though, the first time I woke up I'd been having my first ever dream about Robert Pattison in which my brain had gone to convoluted lengths to get him out of his pants, and then in a master stroke of symbolism, found me holding my own knickers (with butterflies on) in my hand, because they had got all wet. Soaked with water. I had to wring them out. There was no explanation as to why. Snigger.

Sadly then I woke up, and the next dream I had I'd been contacted by my friend Vicki, with whom I was inseparable through school, until the end, when we sadly weren't anymore, and I've never really seen her since. But I dreamed she'd contacted me, and I was going to meet her in a cafe, deliberating about whether it was better to get there first or not, but being happy that my hair looked really nice. I suspect I was looking at my 18 year old self again in the mirror. Sigh. I wish I could rewatch my dreams when I wake up.

Sorry about the pants information, but it was funny, right? You know how I like a good metaphor.

convinction

So today I flew through Dundrum with an hour to find an outfit for a wedding, remembering what it was like to fit into size 14 jeans, and swearing to drink water and excercise most thoroughly for the next few days.

Then half an hour of getting stressed out by the kids and their screaming, and I'm roaming the kitchen, swearing to make BANANA MUFFINS by the batch load and thinking about butter.

Comfort eating, dears, is a harsh mistress.

when good dreams go bad

I just woke up from a Bad Dream. First I was running round trying to gather items for Olivia to bring to a big show and tell presentation outside the school. Her first teddy. Her first haircut. And so on, randomly shoving possible ideas into a little bag.

Then I was ... on a date? with an attractive stranger, visiting a group of, I'm sorry, there's no other way to put this - attractive young men, who showered me with jokes, smiles, attention and maybe beer. And I was nothing short of scintillating, all the while worrying about being too blobby to take off my skanky hoodie, but considering it nonetheless. Ah, the subconscious...

But THEN, a snotty school mother (who is actually a snotty teacher I once worked with) gave out to me for not having sorted out beer I'd apparently promised to source (beer theme again?) and while she was getting all stroppy, I realised I'd forgotten about Olivia - and ran to find her, only to find that she'd finished. When directed outside, I found her standing at the bus stop, alone, all sweet in yellow with a school bag on her back. When she saw me her face crumpled into heartbroken, miserable tears and she turned away.

And I woke up, scoriated with crushing shame, scored with guilt-clawmarks like I'd been mauled by a giant mean guilt monster. Gah! Between that and the stiffness and soreness from falling over yesterday, I could hardly walk down the stairs.

I hate parenthood. I want to frolic with pretty dream boys without repercussions. Ow, the muscle just above my knee is sore.

On the plus side, I just opened my gmail to find FOUR story updates waiting for me. FOUR! Yes, I'm spending too much time reading, neglecting my children, and worse still, my poor blog (and you, my readers). But at least it's an innocent past time, I could be by a pool, basking in youthful male attention. That would be really bad.