holy pregnant dancer, batman

Yeah, I didn't feel likethis when I was 8 months pregnant. Certainly not. She's just muscle and baby, no pregnancy fat anywhere! It's beautiful.

finally I freaked Olivia out

I watched her eyes get bigger and bigger as she did what this viral ad said - 'It's so disturbing!' she laughed.

Go on, I dare ya.

a tonic

Twins... wow. There's a part 2 as well, I see...

They remind me of Morph:

tea

I'm drinking Twinings white tea with pomegranate at the moment, which is said to be even better (the white tea, that is) and tastes nice instead of a bit seaweedy. Oh, we should all be eating seaweed too. It's the food of the future now there's no land left, apparently. They're doing experimental farming in Holland as there will not be enough land left to feed us all by 2050.

If I live as long as my mother did, I only have twenty or so years left, and will miss out on the impending worldwide food crisis.

Such a dream I had this morning, one of those ones, frustrating ones that tell you things that you can't quite accept, that you'd decided against rationally. And I woke up with a jolt, riddled with anxiety and guilt. I hate you, subconscious. Especially for the ridiculously obvious muffin symbolism, that's just fighting dirty.

Alright. Because it's too good to waste, really - I was making muffins. Muffins. Came into the kitchen to find Axl had taken them out and was 'testing' them by cutting into them, cutting all the tops off, and they were hollow and swimming in butter inside, all ruined by his actions. And I lost it and had a hysterical fit because he'd never appreciated my baking.... which is fairly true in literal terms, I might add. Still. For God's sake. And as for the rest, I could beat my head off a wall, really, and the dream gives me no solutions at all. Gah!

oh lord, this day

 A weird one - I was up correcting til I couldn't go anymore, just before 3 am, then up at 7.15 to finish the last four essays. Same the night before, give or take a few. And the night before that was Saturday, coffee fueled late fest then. So I came home from dropping Olivia, collecting more work, went back to bed - couldn't sleep. Then Axl started doing gardening work, right outside the window - or possibly just hitting the wall with a mallet, I don't know, that's what it sounded like. Then he finished and went into the adjoining  bathroom to hit the wall there with his mallet (at least, that's what it sounded ike to my fragile brain). Then I kept being cold and feeling weird, and finally fell asleep to be woken at 12.45 by the dentist ringing back. More tooth issues, sigh.

So I feel odd. But I've had porridge AND eggs on toast now, and feel a bit better. I didn't get round to my work yet though, sadly. I had to suffer the indignities of the automated service with the credit card company, and try and sort things with my health insurance policy renewal.

I wish someone could tell me what to do about health insurance. I can't afford it. Axl has said to take him off, and I might as well have done that years ago and not let unused hundreds be squandered needlessly. Money that ends up on my visa bill because I can't really afford the monthly fee.

But I'm too scared to do without it either. Not with the spectre of breast cancer hanging over me.

The fee's gone up in the last couple months, so what had gone down to a more manageable €80 minus Axl is up to €120 again, and I can't afford it. So if I take a plan with less benefits, that doesn't give back 50% on doctor's visits etc, then it's just over 70 a month and gives me semi private cover in public hospitals. I can live without private rooms etc I guess, it's more waiting lists I worry about. I do use the option of claiming back, it's great, but it's not til the end of the year you get it, and for the last couple years I've been paying insurance, and therefore not being able to afford to go to the doctor or osteopath or whatever. Which is self defeating and stupid. So now it's a bit cheaper but I still won't have anything left over for those essentials, and I don't have the option of claiming money back. It's all so theoretical, I have no way to know whwat will happen or what I'll need.

I'm so stressed by the whole thing, by the way Axl says 'well waht are you paying health insurance for?? when I can't afford to take the kids to the gp... by paying money pointlessly, I might as well have thrown it down a hole in the ground for all the good it's done me over the last 7 years or whatever. But it seems so dangerous not to have it either.

I'm going to go on the cheaper, no benefits back plan but I really don't know if it's the right choice. God.

little poignant stories, all around

I always love to see photos of this man here - I posted once before about him.

I'm always so confronted by images of him, regardless of who he might remind me of, as his face is so joyful and ... authentic? Though think I like his beard wilder, I must admit :)

But I know I'm not the only one, the comments his photos get at The Sartorialist are always  very effusive - today, there is one, such a sad little glimpse at the life of a daughter, the life of a man -

He looks so much like my father, if he smiled

intolerance!

I had a nice night - except for the bit where I failed to realise there was an A La Carte menu as well - but just one in circulation, compared to the one-per-person set menu card. Fuckers. Ah well.

Not sure I would recommend Siam Thai restaurant in Dundrum - they were full and really busy and ours was a v big group - so, they brought the rice first and then served the main courses a good ten minutes later, brought my friend's noodles a third of the way through her main course after being asked. Didn't refill water jugs, waiter rushed and stressed, food not great... hmmmmm. I met nice people though - and was interested to note several people I'd been to school with had become larger ladies now. Also got told I hadn't changed in twenty years, which is a nice thing. God bless atmospheric lighting.

But! Point! Was sitting beside some nice younger girlie who I think my friend knows from her church. Born again stuff, that I was always a bit alarmed by when she was a rebellious younger teenager and her mum was a ... a bit alarming.

But I'd completely forgotten about that, then this wee one mentioned the hour going forward (grooooaaaaan) and I thought I heard her say 'I'm tempted to miss church and pretend I forgot, and just show up for the coffee and biscuits'. I could feel my brain gears grinding in an effort not to instantly reveal how little conflict I would have in her place, and feel myself smiling vaguely and turning away awkwardly, as if she'd just mentioned that ... I really don't know what the alternative is at this point, I'd probably find an embarrassing sexual problem easier to engage with that the idea  that someone is considering mitching off church in the morning. I don't feel very proud of myself, but I really have no idea how to talk to people when they talk about their church going. I feel a vague sense of my black soul, but much more a discomfort other bigotted people might feel around homosexuality or something. Terrible. Oh well.

Amusing ending to the evening: Jo forgets which level the car is on, and in addition to the Dundrum marathon in heels and up the non-moving travelators, I do the right level-wrong level-right level up and down lap, carrying my coat and bag and scarf and restaurant heat and sweating out my not particularly tasty curry.
Came home an hour later than planned and found all lights on and the computer (in fairness, no one in the house knew how to turn off the computer), having missed Earth Hour. We're going to observe it tomorrow night instead, I think, the kids will like that. Facebook friends reporting wonderful sessions of candlelit reading and scary stories and giggling. I think it would be a nice thing to incorporate into weekly life, actually.

I leave my computer on a lot - pop in, check mail and facebook and blogs and pop out again... pop back in a bit... I think it uses up more electricity to turn it on and off than let it sleep, but I worry it doesn't. I wish I had one you could just turn on and off simply, but I don't know if they exist yet. Macs, perhaps. Well, a Mac is on the list long after the boiler, hoover, washing machine, emersion, carpet, sofa etc.

I think I spotted a news headline about the banks asking for another 27 billion yesterday. Could that be real? Time for a referendum, I think. Japan is rebuilding itself for less than our failed banks are costing. The mind boggles.

Babble babble. My social/babble switch is still turned to on, can you hear the manic? And the late night cup of coffee. I was gonna work, but now it's 12.45, and the clock's gone forward so it's actually1.45. Bugger. I needed that hour this weekend!

Ok - I've done some work, but nowhere nowhere nowhere near enough. I've spent about three hours, I think, cleaning and hoovering and making dinner. I've had a shower, I managed to get to the bathroom (don't laugh, sometimes I miss that timeslot in a busy day). And I've 55 minutes before my mother in law comes over and I go out for a hen night Thai dinner (I forwent the paintballing this afternoon - I'm all for gender equality but for me, a hen night is face packs and martinis, not running round in the cold getting bruised up for the wedding!).

I can't really afford to go - but I said I would weeks ago, when I thought I'd get paid a little bit more for March. It's a hen night too, it's mean to say no to those, even though my friend (who is an old schoolfriend) asked me on facebook when I admitted I'd split up with Axl - to make me feel better? I'm not sure. These days I feel antsy around talk of weddings and babies and harmonious joy. I feel like this cynical evil has-to be divorced-or-at-least-unhappy couple:

This is from Awkward Family Photos, of  course, of course. The genius. It's hilarious, but still, I feel like I'm shining a dark light when I read people blogposts of newly wed joy, or blissful domesticity or whatever, and I really shouldn't comment at all, for fear of tainting the moment. Peering grimly through the window of ruined dreams :)

That bride is a cutey but her hair is weird - it looks like it's been sprayed to her shoulder.

Anyway. What was my point. Oh yeah, going out in 45 mins, better get back to work. I'm not bringing anything, I got nothing, no ideas. I figure it's up to a maid of honour to organise that, and this one didn't, she just vaguely said, feel free to bring fun things... but what is that? I need more guidance at this time. Oh! I do have an unused cockring I could gift her with, but I promised that to someone else... hmm... dilemmas... somehow I feel it might be a bit of a cursed gift too... the evil fairy godmother and the cockring of doom...

Apologies to the more delicate of you for saying cockring... it's ok, it never got used....

I have no idea

This is a video of women saying what they would have told themselves right before they became mothers. Which I presume means right before their babies were born, or could it be right before they got pregnant? I hope it's the latter.

I don't know, I suppose it's a nice idea, though I have to admit, none of the signs really speak to me, particularly. I have no idea what I would say to myself that would in some way help or make it all better. To take Olivia to the osteopath as a baby, maybe, to recognise that it wasn't just sadness and bereavement, it was PND - but what then?  Don't put any more money on your visa card. Save your money for a cupcake shop. Don't be a hormonal bitch and save your marriage? Don't hire the wrong midwife! Yes! That one! That'll do. I don't think they'd let me in the video though...

Ugh. I will admit to being a wimp,and having avoided all the incredile, horrible footage of the Japan disaster at the time.

*Japan terribleness warning, avoid at will.*

I just read this hero story, though, in both the colourful, and LA Times versions of it, and it stirred me, completely. Was he lucky? Was he special? Could anyone do it, or would most people have got instantly mushed. Does it mean action is always better? Puts the onus on the individual a bit terrifyingly, maybe.

Then I went back and watched the video from the first link, of the water coming and coming and coming, rushing in the town until it's ten deep and dislodging buildings and swirling cars around. It's so terrifying, so deceptive looking.

I know nobody needs a 'oh, it's awful' blogpost about it. My real thought is that I wish I hadn't watched it because it makes me wish I'd never had children. You don't see anybody hurt in the video, but I wish the visceral image image of my child being wrenched out of my grasp and washed away wasn't so strong, the idea of driving and looking in your rearview mirror as the water rushes towards you at, what, 150 miles an hour? It has me bent over  and gasping in panic and pain just thinking about it.

And then there's the reactor cleanup suicide crews.

Ireland, for all its flaws, has no great storms and hurricanes, no tornadoes, earthquakes, volcanoes. I will take it. We don't even have any nuclear power plants (though we are being made ill by the waste that blows in from Sellafield, or whatever it's been remarketed as now). However. We do import our power. From places where its made using nuclear stations, no doubt. That's an uncomfortable truth, right there.

I wish our government would invest some time and thought and money into serious development of sustainable, clean energy, instead of considering nuclear power. We have a lot of wind and waves here. And we're cack handed at  best, when it comes to operating things. The clock in the dock, anyone?

Axl says, oh, each nuclear station only produces one cubic metre of waste a year, that's all. That's all? One cubic metre a year... and then what? Where does it go? We bury it in barrels under the sea? We shoot it into space? We put it in concrete to bleed into the soil?

I think it would be better to get used to using less power. We do need to go back a few steps. Simpler life, less luxury. Less potential for disaster.

linky

Delightful post by Tinman about the bizarre things there are patron saints for. Many I need to look into further, like the saint of lost keys, obviously.

http://thesartorialist.blogspot.com/2011/03/joan-burstein-browns-london.html

Grow grey. Show kindness. Learn wisdom. Hold poise. Allow your taught, dewy skin to become inscribed with a map of your past loves and tears and laughter. Recognise beauty that is not constructed by anyone but you.

Or... don't...

Not that Joan Rivers doesn't have wit and wisdom in spades, of course, she's a feisty funny lady. I just like the first path better.

Bodhi is not two year old youtube breakdancing sensation or anything, but he has the best moves. He seems to insitinctively know how to dance to any sort of music, like the time I played him the Cocteau Twins and he sponstaneously started doinga wonderful, wavy armed floaty dance.

Today in the car Axl was playing me Adele's cover of Lovesong (which is a great cover, but no one will ever beat the Cure at the Cure, I'm sorry, it just made me want the original) - Bodhi announced 'I'm loving this!' and that he was 'flicking his fingers to it'. I looked round to see him in his carseat, eyes closed, smiling beatifically, twisting his head from side to side a la Stevie Wonder, with his arms in meditation pose, flicking his middle fingers off this thumbs! I so wish I'd had the camera.




I was wrong, the other day, about my birthday, maybe. First, it's on the bank holiday monday, so it's all good - and Axl was just worried about getting extra time off work - but he doesn't have to, all will be well.

Yup, have to listen to the Cure doing it now, feels so much righter! But then, I do have a personal connection with that whole album... 

hypothermia

It's so cold. The boiler is still broken and ohmygodits'socold.

I am wearing; comfy trousers, kneesocks, giant wooly socks, and double layered skirt, a t shirt a woolen jumper dress and a great big shawl and ohmygodit'ssocold. The hand that is exposed by resting on the mouse is burning and stiff from the coldness.

I totally used my son earlier by putting him to bed in his dad's bed (the computer's in here) and snuggling in with him and his hot water bottle and holding his hot little squidgy foot. But that was a while ago and still no one has come to talk to me (frown) so I think it's time to  go get my own hot water bottle, and possibly Olivia's too, as she's staying with her granny (where there is heat!!) and go to bed and huddle, and read the rest of my man romance, seeing as it's 930 and no one is coming to talk to me so why am I sitting here freezing to death?

Shiiivvvvvvvvverrrrrrr!!!!

Oh. My birthday falls on Easter Sunday this year, which is a big fat pain in the butt.

My godmother just invited me to lunch, and said she'd make me a birthday cake, and the idea of someone making me a birthday cake has me vibrating with delight. But it's Easter. I mentioned it to Axl on the phone today, and he said 'Yeah, leave it with me' in the light, panicked, I don't want to go but I won't say that and I don't know how to deal with it so I'll just put it off and sleep until she's gone' voice he uses for such situations. It's a bit complicated this time, though, what with it being my birthday. How to explain him not being there to the kids? I don't want to get stuck going to my mother in law's house. On my birthday. I do not.

brand new day

The mocks are corrected! A morning off... late wakeup and a gift of smutty books  sent in the post!

And now, what to do with this sunny day? It's already midday, though, time runs short. I've written up reports on the tests, two, mailed them off, and read through my blogs, and it's 12 already. So much I could do/need to do:

Clean and dust and hoover
Go on an errand to pick something up
Pick up Bhodi at 12.30 and take the kids to the funfair
Excercise!
Visit godmother's house despite lack of cash for petrol
Send mails
Clean out gerbil house
Visit granny
Laughing at http://www.engrish.com/ with Olivia
Send other smutty book to other friend
Shop for food with no money at all
But I won't get all that done, no. Pick three.

And the boiler is still broken, and it's sunny but freeeezing... flannel shirt, Indian shawl, wooll socks, comfy trousers and my fingers and toes are still hurting. Bodhi has a cold from running around in his vest but that doesn't stop him whipping his top and socks off the minute he can, little sniffly fecker. He wanted to go to school in a t shirt.It's so cold!

Brrr!

Extra hours and warmth, please, is what I need.

complimentary

I got a wonderful referred compliment from a friend's husband the last night. Ever since she bought him a batch of my strawberry cupcakes for his birthday (and he's sampled some chocolate ones and Christmas ones too), he compares all other cupcakes to mine and finds them lacking.

*This is actually a little bad, as his accomplished baker of a wife is making them now too, so, it's probably time he shut up and transferred his praise elsewhere ;)

However, she said that he recently declared that I should be selling them - no, that people should be lining up outside my house to buy them! I like this idea. It would also make me clean up more.

I do love it when my baking gets love, I can't deny it.

PS: How fancy is this place? Swoon!

built-in break down song

So, we bought our first house and moved in nearly 9 years ago. What this means, is that all the new shiny wedding-[resent appliances and other things are reaching their built-in mortality age, and need replacing, or at least repairing.

Sadly, the assumption that after ten years of marriage and children we have naturally been becoming successful and established, making money and saving and able to pay for new appliances and repairs is misguided. We have nothing, and our stuff is starting to become as broken down around us as our marriage is.

The washer drier has not dried in years, and makes the clothes smell mouldy if left in for more than a few minutes after the cycle ends. The fridge leaks, the dishwasher leaves gunge on the dishes (well, I did just give it a through washing out and it's ok again, for now), the toilet hasn't flushed properly in years and the drains are currently blocked, the emmersion doesn't really heat enough water for a bath, the sofa is a destroyed embarrassment and now...

Since last night, when you turn on the grill, it makes this noise (bear with it, it takes a second to start):



There's something zen about this - the grill breaks down, and lets you know about it by resonating at you. It scared the pants off me this morning.

While cleaning it so I could take a vid (and kidding myself that a lash of the dettol wipe would make it presentable enough to put on the internet, *denial*) I noticed that the metal thingy at the front has lost a screw, and maybe that's the problem, but ... I dunno... maybe not. Anyone ever come across anything like this before? It's so loud! Next my toaster will be chanting at me.

Sigh. I just made soup. And I over-cinnamoned it. So it's not going to be nice. Pooooo.

 I woke up this morning with Mic Christopher in my head, which makes a change from Adele’s Rolling in the Deep that I seem to wake up every day lost in. It’s an amazing song, but I’m a little relieved to have replaced it because it’s so intense – it’s like being lost in huge wave and swept away (free association: my mother was once swept off the rocks in California by a huge wave, tossed around and thrown back up again, bleeding from hundreds of tiny cuts from being scraped on the rock, but otherwise unharmed and undrowned. Here’s to being swallowed and spat back out again).

I talked about politics with my grandmother last night – at 92 she’d got herself brought out to vote, despite the fact that it was a pain for her, and not to vote Fianna Fail. I was impressed that she went, and she said oh, she always voted, always – women tied themselves to railings so that she could vote and she wasn’t going to let them down by being lazy about it. I told her of my principled friend who ended a friendship because the person in question didn’t vote, and he couldn’t be friends with someone so irresponsible, and she said that she could see where he was coming from ;)

Actually, Axel’s little Tiger cub friendies never voted before, but went out and did it for the first time this time, which hopefully will set a precedent. We do have civic education in school now, but I think the voting bit needs to be hammered home more. That and breastfeeding J

Radio na Gaeltachta

Oh, I just found a lovely find. I had the best radio experience on the way home from visiting my granny. Dark roads, only one of my headlights working (gulp) and I turned on Today FM only to hear some gobshite that was too much of a fucking moron to bear listening to. Literally. I mean, it's too stupid ot even repeat  So I turned him off and hit Lyric fm playing some creepy ass vampire violin thing, kept going and hit Radio na Gaeltachta, which I, as an non Irish speaking person, never think of listening to. But I hit paydirt - the Swell Season and Colm Mac Con Iomaire unmistakeable on the violin, all lovely and chilled. And then The Cowboy Junkies, woo, and then this fabulous song by Declan De Barra, who I should no doubt have heard of, which I will put here for your listening plaisir. God bless Youtube.

The programme's called 'An Caifé Ceol (The Music Café) and oh, the lovely voiced dj was playing some beautiful mellow choons indeed. It's on 9-11 my time each night, and you can find it here: though you might have to fiddle around with that link.

Blogger is being an arse, so I'll tell you the other thing tomorrow.

er

I have no idea what I was just going to write.

Um, so... happy pancake day?

Back later, maybe.

monday

Fights and tears to get Olivia to school. I am a crappy, crappy mother. Considered drowning sorrows in a chocolate muffin but chastised self - how would being fatter and feeling even more pathetic make me feel any better. Came home and had smoothie with tsp of green powdered veg and porridge with blueberries but still feel no less pathetic.

Read the news. More snow and - temps on the way.

 New govt voting to sell off Ireland's woodland on Wednesday. Know I should be screaming outside the Dáil along with all the rest of us, but apathy and financial desperation means no one will do that, me included. Have to work. Visions of a logged Ireland haunt me. If they cut down al lthe trees and sell them off, I really will not want to live here any more. They're selling our power to, in this era of insane oil prices and ecological crisis. Stupid. They're selling our soul.

Please sign the petition here if you haven't already.

We're also getting visited by the Queen, then the Pope. Why? Nobody wants this. we can't afford it. I highly doubt the queen and pope want it either. Please. Some common fucking sense. Please!


OH: It gets worse: http://www.broadsheet.ie/2011/03/07/guess-who-shell-are-using-to-work-on-the-corrib-wells/

Great.

cupcake rage

Ahh, I know I'm touted (like, gently, mildly and in a small pond) for being honest 'n' real, but I have to confess to a certain level of uncomfortablity with the  too-raw expressions of feeling I am moved to post at times, so, it's always nice to have something to move swiftly on to (Dear Me, I almost split an infinitive there).

As always, cupcakes are a big feature of my virtual wordcloud and yesterday  I was alerted to this story of a cupcake rage incident - in Wales, of all places. On the face of it, it's pretty hilarious - some poor woman got to the shop, found them to be sold out of her favourite fairy cake flavour, and trashed the shop - broke glass display cases and reached over the counter and grabbed the owner by the hair!
Move over bulls in china shops, a pms-ing woman in a  cake shop, it's got to become a new saying. It wasn't me, I swear! I thought the saddest part was that she didn't even give the owner a  chance to tell her they'd put on a new batch for her if she waited.

But then, I spotted the real sad part - she had two small children with her. And suddenly, it wasn't so funny anymore, when I thought about two tots living in a world where their mother loses the plot and smashes up shops over tiny little disappointments. Mammy is not well. Children are not safe.

It reminded me of everyone posting Charlie Sheen's rantings all over the place and having a laugh at his expense - or even elevating him to some status that the cool and irreverend and self destructive are so often elevated to. Then I read someone else's article saying, please stop laughing at him, it's not entertainment, he's just showing classic symptoms of bi-polar disorder. And other people saying, please stop lauding a wife-beater.

Now, I have to confess, I haven't really read any of the reports about him, old or new - and I don't know if he's manic depressive or not, though I think it's safe to say that all is not well with him one way or the other, and probably hasn't been in a long time.

But it's so easy to use these out-there stories as entertainment, I think it can desensitise us to the human stories underneath. I want that cupcake one to be funny, but, it's just not, really, is it? It's sad. And a little bit scary.

I wish there was better support, better understanding, better all of it - if nothing else so that I never find myself having an episode in a cupcake shop and having to be led away, handcuffed and covered in frosting.

snowfalls

sadness settles on me like a blanket
a fresh fallen cover of sorrow
chilling and pure

the magnitude of this truth
this ending of a relationship
has me mangled in its car crash grip

this unobserved ending
these severed knots and severed nerves
that once knitted together to make something delightfully new
newborn and bonded

and now it's debris, it's waste falling to the side
that we must pretend not to see, not to mourn
no celebration of our failure

we are trapped inside this broken thing
the shards of how we hoped to love and be loved

This is a really good article on stammering by David Mitchell. I just saw it over at The Anti-Room.

I was going to go see The King's Speech until time and cash issues got in the way, but I was a little nervous, I must admit, because my father had a stammer. I suppose he still has it, but it has got far less evident over the years. But it is a painful thing, even though I was used to it as a kid, I suppose - the stammer itself was just the way my father talked, maybe, though nobody can miss the stress behind the stuck words and fail to empathise.

I liked what David Mitchell says about other people's reactions, about how they look away, about how stress and expectation increase the problem.

I have a cousin with a strong stammer and his family do not cope with it will. I was appalled by his parents' agonised and blatantly irritated reactions to his speech when I was visiting a few years ago - I mean - presumably he's done it his whole life, are they not used to it yet?

My grandmother is astoundingly condemnatory about any sort of disability - if she was in My Left Foot she'd be the neighbour who says, 'Poor Misfortunate Gobshite' of Christy and sympathises with his long suffering mother.

I like David Mitchell's point about eye contact being the right reaction. Eye contact and patience - that could perhaps be the best response to any disability we come across.

Silver Fluvit

This is a tin whistle. It's a traditional Irish instrument. I can play the recorder a wee bit, but I never learned to play this one.
We have one, for some reason, someone gave it to Olivia , I think. This morning, Bodhi spotted it down the side of my bed and got excited.

"Jo! Jo, I see the Silver Fluvit! Can you get me it, that Silver Fluvit?"

Excellent :) I love language.

22.26, saturday night

There should be extra hours in the day for people like me. To fit in our toodling around. And working.

Today I attempted to make some experimental peanut butter balls, but then I ruined them with rancid almond essence and had to throw the mix all out. I feel really bad about wasting the best part of a jar of peanut butter. Three euros worth. Gulp.

I knew the essence was old as well, and I still tossed it in, vaguely thinking it wouldn't be that evident. Dear God, was it evident. Bleh.

Heh. Should I have a food blog? Lol. Things I Have Burnt and Sabotaged.

Ok. The other thing about today is that Olivia came out of school all happy about playing her Sweet Sweets game with her old-best-friend-who-dumped-her, at break time today. He's asked her to come to his house again, and they plan to play again on Monday. She was so sweetly happy about it. I am so scared. Here we go...

I saw him coming out of school with the third point of their old friendship triangle, one who had drifted in other directions when the triangle disbanded. She had happily moved on to other friends and said she didn't really know how to play with him (and Olivia all together) anymore, but maybe he's rekindling that side of the  friendship too. I wonder why? I wonder how to help Olivia protect her heart against the same pattern of rejection. We talked about protection and she asked if she should get a shield, haha. And emotional shield, I suggested, but I don't know how to help her do that. She suggested a human shield, which would be a great idea if she can follow through the metaphor. How does my seven year old daughter know what a human shield is? I'd better stop letting her watch television. She's so gory. Really, you have no idea.

God, I hope that little boy doesn't hurt her again and tilt her whole life into uncertain misery, and ours, again.

a treat, bloggers, a treat

Sonan's prison story.

And if you check out the blog you can find a photo of him.

sadly not wheat free

Each day, I think, I must stop eating wheat, I will feel so much better if I do.

Then Axel comes home with seventeen different bread products and my resolve crumbles to breadcrumbs...

gimme my day back

Ugh. Just back from a pointless visit to: the GP who felt that something was wrong with Olivia, but didn't know what, so he sent us to the hospital to see if there was something more. So today, a GP, two hospital nurses and a hospital doctor all felt Olivia's glands, took her temperature, looked in her ears and throat, listened to her heart and lungs and shrugged.

The ball of her foot was swollen, my homeopath was worried it could be a sign of infection in her kidneys (post strep and all) , hence the precautionary doctor visit.  The doctor was worried by her cold hands and feet (though, I think she usually has cold hands and feet and is just a bit run down) and her pale face and lingering cold sores. But he couldn't tell what was wrong.

I thought the hospital would do a urine test and blood test, but the doctor there didn't seem to think it was necessary. She said she'd do a urine test if I wanted but seemed to think I was being silly. I thought they'd all be all over the fact that I didn't get her antibiotics for Strep, but they didn't seem to care much. I did read an article that said it's becoming quite resistant to antibiotics now, and that people were truning to other treatments, maybe that's why.

So the poor kid has had an XRay to see if there was a foreign body in her foot causing it to swell (no sign of one).

I dunno. I feel crappy about it - I've lost a day of work I was counting on, spent €60 at the doctor, she's missed another day of school, and ... well. Peace of mind. Except I don't really have any great sense of peace of mind as they did so little with her except irradiate her. And it's not the actual swelling I was worried about, so much as the possible infection connection.

This is rambling, I know. I just wish it was all a bit more conclusive. I'm going back to cold water and homeopathy to help her swollen foot, I'm dithering to and fro about giving her anti biotics to get rid of the lingering bacteria. I don't know, I just don't know. If I do I wipe out all the rest of the bacteria to, suppress her own immune responses and have to deal with reestablishing it all and her immune system afterwards. And pro biotics are expensive.

I hate being responsible for the kids' health, I really do, and I wish my mother was here to make decisions for me and give them 24/7 care.

giant meat ambush

While stuck in traffic in the town, this morning, after a fruitless visit to the dole office, I spotted a large beefy Irish type man in a white coat with green collar and insignia crossing the street. He was a fine specimen from another age, a Son of the Dairy, perhaps. Rared on beef and bainne and no doubt a frequent helping of potato, roast and mashed and chipped and boiled. I sat in traffic beside his truck for a while, idly contemplating the giant meat assortment emblazoned on its side.

At eye level was a huge chorizo, sweaty, unreally red with enormous chunks of fat embedded in it, resting on an even bigger salami. Rolls of ham from the luncheon table of a storybook giant, holy cheese slices, a haunch of pink, pink ham. And topping it all of, the glory of the table, was the majority of a rotund, shiny chicken, looking for all the world like a gigantic, plump roast arse*.

It felt a little surreal, somehow. Are they after vegetarians, now? Cunningly planted, subliminal messaging - there was no traffic jam really. Watch out, veggie people, the truck may be heading your way.

*In fairness, it looked way more like an arse parked close beside it, than it does in this blurry picture, honest.

Ok. I am not downgrading the kids' insurance

http://www.irishtimes.com/newspaper/features/2011/0301/1224291074814.html?sms_ss=facebook&at_xt=4d6ca75523dcb1ed%2C0

a Bodhi-eye view

sister

father

mother