Wednesday, July 30, 2008
I do quite often have naked dreams. Where I'm oddly comfortable with having inappropriatel fewer or no clothes on in public... or not.
But this morning I had strange clothes dreams. First I dreamt Samantha Jones was bringing some little girl a designer outfit, but brought the wrong one, so had to drive back across town (New York?) to get another. Then I was going to a party of primary school teachers (that's your fault, morgor!), in town for some event. Stayign in a hotel - I got there, followed a pizza deliverer up and up and up stairs to the cheaper rooms, where a crowd of girls were having a party. When I got there, I was wearing only a long turquoise cardigan, as I couldn't find anything to wear and had decided to borrow clothes when I got there. Which had seemed like a good idea at the time, but that I realised was weird and mad as soon as I said it.
Now it's fairly obvious that this is about revealing myself to people from the internet I haven't yet met. The literal quality of my mind's symbolism annoys me sometimes. Anyway, I promise I'll be fully cloth-ed on Thursday night.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Sunday, July 27, 2008
I was going to post this last night but was far toooo busy baking baking. Yaaawn. Still, Sunday's are quiet too. I love this song. I only know it and Milkshake, but I like 'em both. I think it's a great expression of the temporary frustration you feel at your partner from time to time. Or every day, whatever. It's a childish explosion, scrabbling to try qand put words on what you're actually feeling. When I was pregnant and my daughter was having a tough time, she told me she hated me about ten times a day. It was a bit exhausting, but I knew what she meant. I find my mental responses going to that impotent child place sometimes too. 'I hate you!' I don't, but I do right at that split second. She said it to her granny. Her granny said it back... :(
I read a worried post on Rollercoaster by a woman who's partner had shouted it at her, 'I hate you, I hate you!' - but she was having a row with him over how her inlaws were treating her, her husband was caught in the middle, and she had just thumped him and called him a shit. It was a sad little story, and I can imagine exactly how he was feeling. Chances are he didn't hate her, but he didn't have much of anywhere else to go right then.
Imagine my delight when I went to find the song on youtube, to find another of my favourite things illustrating it - Buuuuffffyyyyyyy!
Friday, July 25, 2008
I've just re-read this post I threw out speedily the other day and it doesn't quite say what I meant it to. It seems to read 'I wouldn't care if you all died, internet aquaintances'. That really wasn't the point I was making! I think the net's all about communication these days, and to be honest, I used to call my mother when I needed to know something, and it's nice to have the internet as a resource instead.
For me, the people I interact with online add hugely to my day each day. I don't know if it can be called friendship in the strictest sense, but especially not being in the workplace and being home with small children, I find the interaction invaluable. And the opportunity for humour, argument and support on tap is phenomenal.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
You are one year old tomorrow. It seemed momentous to me when your sister turned one, and does with you, also. I'm glad I've got you this far! I didn't have as much of a sense of you when I was carrying you as I did with your sister, other than the sense of a benign presence. And that's because you were. From the moment you were born you were my sweetie boy, my pleasant little fellow. You were like no one I had seen before, with your black hair and your little black eyes, you were my little troll doll, you still are sometimes.
Through the horrors of having to leave the house and bring you to hospital and sit there as they did all sorts of nasty things to you, you've just been a patient, friendly, accepting soul. You took to breastfeeding without a bother, unlatching yourself, and pushing yourself off if the latch was wrong, correcting yourself without a murmur. You smiled at your father at two weeks old. You have been the smiliest, darlingest, funniest boy and I love you so much. You are blue eyed with an impish grin, and the sweetest chubby cherub body. You have got old enough to let me know when you're not pleased, throwing funny little dramatic tantrums, recently you've started banging your head off things to communicate your displeasure, I'll be glad when that stops. But more significant are your hugs and kisses, your little peekaboos and jokes, your smile creeping round a door, your gurgling laugh.
Today we went to the zoo, for the first time since you were two weeks old, which didn't count. You were delighted, intensely interested and focused on all the new things. We arrived and within seconds of seeing the ducks, you said 'quack' - a second word to add to the 'yesh' you've been Sean Connery-ing about for the last day or so. You saw the monkeys, the gorillas, the seals, the penguins, the baby elephants (you waved goodbye), the lemurs, the cows and all with the most intent study.
Before bed, I feed you and you roll off my lap and flump onto the duvet, crawling up a few steps before flopping down and shooting me a huge grin. tonight you were tired after an day of driving and the zoo, but you were uncomplaining all day - you lay on the pillow and sucked your thumb. I asked you about the zoo, when I mentioned the ducks you grinned, and the splashy seals and your grin got wider. I reminded you of the elephants and you raised an arm and waved byebye again. You remembered how to say 'quack'.
One year old and all the things you've seen and learned are welling up inside you and starting to spill out.
I hope you can keep your sweetness, and humour, and continue to let all the hard things just slip on by and know I love you despite all the things I get wrong, and fail to do, and generally fuck up on.
My sweet baby boy.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Yellow melting butter. Nearly all the way, so I pour in two sticky bags of pink and white marshmallows, and stir them as they start to melt. How pastel. A puffy mixture swirls, kept from sticking by the fat of the butter, it lifts away from the sides as I stir. Little lumps of mallow circle, constellation-like.
Bovine gelatin. Hmm, this guilty vegetarian liked it better when it just said gelatin, not so specific or revolting as bovine gelatin, pig gelatin - easier to ignore for the sake of a rice crispie treat, a surreptitious cola bottle.
The rice crispies are slow to soak up the hot, pink goo. They tumble willingly, trustingly out of the box, then squeal softly, snap, crackle pop as they meet the sugary lava beneath. I turn them slowly through, round and round, listening to their little cries. I look down and some of them have crawled up the spatula, crept onto my hand, creeping towards safety. I feel them sweetly, lightly cling.
In the box they misbehave, following the spatula I cram them down with, until they cool a little, and start get denser. They let me push them down, smooth the surface, a sudden shift to a more fluid, malleable substance. It's lovely, like glacier ice that bends - neige? I want to sculpt with it - I'm sure it's been done.
I love them, but my sense of smell has gone weird recently. I sniff them, and all I can smell is... bovine gelatin.
Monday, July 21, 2008
There's something draggy about housework. I was scrubbing the table, and looked up to see my busty self reflected in the kitchen doors. I put me in mind of 'I Want to Break Free', despite the fact that I was wearing neither moustache, pink plastic earrings, vinyl mini skirt nor suspenders.
How funny is the leotarded, interpretive dance bit in the middle? Is that freedom?
If anyone else is viciously filthy like me, they might have to scrub hardened gunk off their surfaces occasionally. A bottle cap works fabulously for the task and saves on elbow grease or cleaner. Top Tip!
The husband was out doing garden work while I was cleaning in the kitchen (we have a 1st birthday party to plan for). I thought I heard him at the side of the house and called to him, but he wasn't there. Yet I still sensed a presence. I wonder how often we're actually in the presence of something sinister or malevolent or who knows what, and we don't know it, because we're trained to be practical and dismiss the possibility? I was scared of the dark as a kid because of what I imagined to be lurking in it, and still, at Christmas I found myself walking down a little dark road in the country after a party to get to my car, and all I thought about was werewolves.
I've been meaning to buy one of those oilskin (pvc?) tablecloths that you buy off the roll for about ten years. I've got so far as to go to a couple places and look but they're usually pretty naff. I went in to the posh fabric shop in Dunlaoighre today and came home with this fabulous, groovy retro thing today. It's too late for the table - a tall, clawy dog and two children later, it's fucked. But the baby BOY is now knocking lumps out of it with anything he gets his hands on, so I may as well have something to keep it smooth a while longer. The nice man in the shop gave me about three feet too much (I was right, you silly man). But still, doesn't matter, it'll come in useful - better too long than too short, eh?
My husband is pissing me off at the moment. He likes to invent wild, emotive, irrational arguments, and then stick to them doggedly when he's off form. I have no idea how to deal with that. Arguing just makes him go on the attack. It's hard to come to compromises or solutions when all you can do is think 'well, that's just fucking stupid.' We seem to be back in the band/work/no time for family slot at the moment. Though he's making more of an effort to help get ready for the party than I expected, so that's good.
There was other stuff, but I've forgotten.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
'Who cares what people say? Not me-ee anyway.' No, that's not it...
Listen to all that throbbing and thrumming though. This is how pop should be.
What ever happened to summer songs?
Oo, not sure about the solo though ;)
Is the blog weird? Am I weird? Identify the weird bits for me, please!
Friday, July 18, 2008
Men reading may say, what does this have to do with me? Well, if you are a father or grandfather, you need to be able to handle your daughters' or granddaughters' menarche, their coming of age, without withdrawing, or changing your relationship, or making them feel somehow rejected, or dirty, or strange. I think this is a huge area that needs to be more discussed, and brought out into the open.
If you don't have children, but you have a partner, I think her menses is something you should be aware of, if not in tune with. If only to remind her she's not losing her mind once month :)
This is something important, not to be turned into snide jokes, or to be disgusted by. It's not something to fear, but to revere. The real test of the ebbing of patriarchal values in our society will be when menstruation no longer carries with it any associations of embarrassment, disgust or shame for either sex.
Phoof, I feel better!
Thursday, July 17, 2008
I also heard that that was the thing to do - somebody asked the Community Midwife in Holles Street about breathing techniques, and practice, and she responded with 'you can practice breathing all you like. Try practicing your breathing while you're holding an ice cube, and you'll find out about pain management'.
I left a note on the Homebirth thread to point out that this is bollocks, and stop all these poor women going around freezing the hands off themselves. The pain of holding an icecube is completely non-analogous to the feeling of a contraction - you manage them in completely different ways. I'd far rather have a contraction than hold an ice cube, personally. As Tracey Donegan, a doula, hypnobirther, and birth writer said when she followed up my comment, holding ice is not a natural function of the body, the pain is to tell you to let it go before you damage your skin. She doesn't know why this inane idea is still being taught in ante natal classes.
What I learned in my private, alternative, natural ante-natal/yoga class was much more useful - it's the ha-ha-ha-blow breath - three short 'hah' breaths followed by one long blow. It's incredible, and gets you through any huge transition stage surge.
I find the best thing to do with an icecube though, is put it down, and run some water on your hand.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Partly because there's a page or so of it on my old computer, which I can't access till I borrow a hard-drive reader yokey from my brother and I sort of need that to kick start me.
But also because I just don't want to. I still feel so negative about it, it's still such a disappointment. The whole year surrounding his birth is just miserable, and I don't want to relive it. Because I hate that it was like that. And he's such a sweet little person despite it all. I'm going to write all about him to balance the negativity around his birth, that's easy - but I need to keep that as a carrot to get me through the other.
However, a small milestone, and one a long time coming, my period returned today. I had had an ovulation pain, now that I think about it, and water retension and food cravings and irritability... mmm, yes, I should have noticed all those signs, the thing is that I get all of them often, except the ovulation pain :)
It's nice timing though - a year, the end of babyness, and I'm back to myself. And he took a step the other day, I missed it, but he stood very sturdily by himself today, so he's on his way.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Sunday, July 13, 2008
I drive a battered (by me and my woeful maneuvering skills) Peugeot 206, and much as I love it, and wish I could do rally driving in one, it's a wee bit of a squeeze with two car seats, the buggy, (which fills the boot), the shopping, my collection of general crap...
So I started fantasising about a new car, and it occurred to me that what we really need is something with space to (for example) go collect a freecycled sofa if needs be, something vanlike that would also work as a family car... oo-er, I seem to have an unconscious desire for a people carrier!
But what was in our heads as we went to sleep last night was this site he found.
Scroll down the page that opens to October, Frankie and Mark, for the cutest story ever! And check out the decor of the van interiors, I love them - I would totally do this if we got one.
Oooo, want. If only we had the money! Did you see someone in Tipperary won the Euro lotto on Friday? €15million... people nag on about one in eight million chances, but I bet the couple that won don't regret the tickets they bought before...
Saturday, July 12, 2008
So as no one's here, this is for me. I had this album at one stage, before my brother borrowed all my tapes and left them lying around the place to slowly expire.
Little bollocks that he was.
I loved this one. I thought I was going to have to apologise for it, but I don't because it's still deadly!
And look at the age of them! Babes in arms..
Friday, July 11, 2008
Dropped a can of dogfood on my middle toe, rim first. Oww! There was black line of bruise, now it's spread purple all over. No longer painful, thanks to arnica. Love arnica.
Baby sick/teething and cross. Lots of cranky shouting. No sleeping or much eating.
Row with mother in law in which I lost my temper and she attacked me back with her customary offensive defense over how I feed my kids, too healthily, it's not fair, she can't give my baby biscuits. And much good it's doing him, look at his sick little pale face. Haha. Insensitive? Well you make me feel bad about myself, I've never been good enough for you, if you had someone better to mind the children I'd never see them. And more.
Twenty disses new blogs, which depresses me somehow. Given that I have a sneaking suspicion it's aimed at one I'm posting on.
Other Twenty commentator wishes for no Jo:
Feynmans Ghost says:
any chances of filtering out some of the commentators …
Jo is just plain boring
Boo for Jo... It's clearly time for another glass of shut the fuck up. :(
More cranky shouting, baby not sleeping.
New jobs in the offing for the husband - much recruitment agency interest, and a suitable job already on the table.
Cafe Bar Deli has come to Bray. It's not my favourite restaurant, but it's solid, consistent, classy. Bray has a bizarre dearth of good restaurants.
I walked down the town to go to the bank. Excercise. First time in a while!
Hysterically laughing baby chuckling at his dad playing a form of peepo with a towel. Cutester.
Chinese Takeaway (feck it).
Thursday, July 10, 2008
When I got my first period, my mother wanted to take me out and buy me a piece of symbolic jewellery to mark the occasion, something like a silver disc. We never found the right thing, but looking at this, this might have been it! The only thing is, maybe it would have had to be a bit smaller, this looks massive.
Leading into the territory of the title...
I've been meaning to get a smear test for about ten years, and never got round to it, despite the horror this engenders in people you tell.
I actually went to a gp a year or so ago, but it was the wrong time in my cycle, and I found her to be so unpleasant that I didn't want to go back to her.
A major reason I didn't go was I didn't want to deal with a lot of fuss over abnormal cells that were just that but not necessarily any more, have fears of cancer bandied about, go through god knows what and find it to have all been unnecessary. I know a woman who had all that happen, having been tested with a high number of cancerous cervical cells. She managed it with diet and homoeopathy (she's a homoeopath) and next time she was tested she was clear. Obviously I'm not advocating that everyone do that, but it worked in her case.
Still, I've had a bump on my cervix for some time now, that I've assumed was a cyst but never got checked. Then I got pregnant, so I've left it go, and for the first six months or so of breastfeeding they say your test comes back like that of a menopausal woman's, so there's no point going anyway.
So I've been meaning to make an appointment these last few weeks, and I finally got round to it today. I'm so glad to have met the doctor I went to in the Bray Women's Health Centre, I think it was Cathleen Corr. I like her so much I asked if she was a family doctor as well, and sadly she's not :(
She's friendly, intelligent, has great hair, and lots of opinionated info. Someone suggested to me the other day that gps don't have to keep their training up, so if you go to someone who hasn't the interest, all their info might well be decades out of date! I've certainly come across a couple stories corroborating that opinion. She said the same, and gave me some advice when I told her I'd been told to go for mammograms every two years - talk to another doctor, they're constantly revising their opinions on that. Rather than castigating me in horror for not having had a smear, she said that the standard line has changed - they now don't recommend anyone have one til their mid twenties, and after a clear test result, every three years. She said a tiny percentage of women get the rapidly advancing form of cervical cancer, and if you're tested too young it's not going to show up for another twenty years or so anyway.
She also agreed wholeheartedly with the fears I've outlined above about hysterical reactions to small amounts of abnormal cells. And she told me I was better off going to the homoeopath than the gp generally, and we discussed the merits of letting kids get dirty and build their immunity with exposure to bugs. I love the woman! The only downside was that the procedure costs seventy five fucking euro :(
And so to the speculum - she said it would be very cold, and it wasn't particularly, she said it might be uncomfortable and it wasn't, particularly. She was very reassuring, confirmed that the bump I thought was a cyst was just wear and tear from the labour, and that raw areas or scarring like that can cause increased mucous output (just in case anyone reading has a similar issue and is worried about discharge!). Then she told me to sit up and put my pants on - I had to ask her if she'd done the actual smear, I hadn't felt anything! When you've had a baby, you lose inhibitions and fears about people looking up you, I find, but I was still vaguely apprehensive after Midge had posted about finding her smears painful. I thought it was perhaps an issue of how good the doctor is, so I congratulated myself on finding a good one. I even rang Midge to tell her.
Then as I was driving home, I had a depressing thought. What if I'm just dead inside??
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
So last night myself and the husband had a bit of a discussion regarding contraception. After a bit of (pause for word search and consideration - feck it:) rumpy-pumpy (hee!) we agreed that regarding several more decades of shagging, the stakes are now higher as we have had our happy complement of children, being blessed with a girl and boy child and having failed to make our fortune thus far.
Plus we're wrecked and ageing unnaturally rapidly :)
And for any other reasons, just read over the first year of this blog.
We came to a swift conclusion. The husband immediately asserted his complete lack of interest in vasectomy, and I'm on that page too - not something I'd ask anyone to do (along with waxing :) or be particularly comfortable with. I've never been on the pill in my life and don't intend to do it now. The coil I haven't thought about, though it doesn't particularly appeal to me.
So the long an the short of it is that we'll carry on using condoms, as I've done since the tender age of 15. It's worked for 15 years of our relationship, bar the time we didn't use one and had a baby - but hey, I'm over that now and I've learned my lesson :)
I know they have a high failure rate compared to other things, but that does include silly people (ahem) who use them as their main contraceptive method, and sometimes don't and get pregnant. We're happy with them. Unlike a lot of men, the husband has no problem with them. They don't do anything to you, they don't require insertion, they save on mess, and if ever you find yourself in dire need, you have a water balloon handy. Hurrah!
However, I woke up this morning having had an extremely vivid dream that I was pregnant. My son was walking and talking and had a full set of teeth but still too small to be doing those things. I was hanging out in Russell Brand's apartment, and also climbing stairs in a department store. And my neighbour was offering me a job selling charity scratch cards (oh dear).
But it was really very clear. I know it's because I have an aquaintance in this position, so it's on my mind. But still. Unnerving!
As a related aside, since my teens I've had frequent, realistic pregnancy, labour and baby dreams. Apparently these symbolise the projects that you're working on, and your creative self. It makes sense, really. I haven't had any since early in the pregnancy, so I suppose I was due one.
Hmm, messy. In case you've got this far none the wiser, this was meant to be a post about dreaming I was pregnant.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Sunday, July 6, 2008
Thursday, July 3, 2008
I have to admit I've been sort of avoiding driving by it. Thinking about it gives me a certain amount of pain, or discomfiture. I never lived there, having moved out just before she did. It was a lovely house, she brought me to see it when she was considering moving there, and I remember sitting in the sitting room and feeling really good vibes. But when my daughter was small, I gave a grind to a kid who lived above her house, at the top of the road, and it was so hard not to be leaving her in with my mother while I was there for the hour, and calling back in afterwards. That felt so wrong - it's times like that I felt, and feel, her absence so keenly.
But at the same time, she had moved from ten acres, a three story house on the hill, having to give up her horses and beautiful country kitchen. She was demoralised, heartbroken, having been through three years of my father's affair, and she'd finally been ejected, against her will, from her marriage and her home.
So while she liked the house, she also had mixed feelings about it. And it was damp, in need of a certain amount of renovation she couldn't afford, and the neighbours were a bit horrible, compounded by the fact that she was in no form to be sociable or make friends. Reclusive at the best of times, she felt too broken. And she was sick, but what she'd been through exercised such a pull of negativity that she encouraged the illness for a year or so, she smoked, drank a little, ate sugar, things she didn't normally do.
But she applied her stylish touch to it, and it suited her well.
The other day, having been musing over ways to mark her death, I got a sudden urge to go see it. I drove down the little lane, parked in her spot, no other cars were there, and I was half relieved, half disappointed. The drive and garden were lush and verdant in the rain, the place felt green and rich and well looked after. And the owner was there, a man I'd talked to after he bought the house, who'd been interested in my mother and who she was and the history of the house.
He was pleasantly happy to ask me in, and eager to show me all the renovations he'd done, building on a whole extra section, two stories up. The whole place looked gorgeous, just as she would have liked it. He'd kept the style just the same, the extension looked very organic and just right. The older portion of the house felt and looked the same, but clean and fresh, rejuvenated. He'd kept a painting my mother had bought from the previous owner, and felt very connected to my mother too. It was a nice little touch. He said they were happy there, that it had a good feeling, and that they weren't remotely bothered that she had died there. They were happy to have her, if she was there.
He showed me how he'd cut the tree tops, and they now had a sea view. Said they never even notice the apartments ;)
Leaving, left feeling a weight lifted from my heart. I can stop averting my gaze from it now, I don't have to feel like it's an emotional elephant of grief in the corner waiting for me. I felt emotional, having visited, but positive too.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
I am having copying issues with my touchpad, so here's the link to a post I wrote already. Check out Toejam, it looks like fun. Saturday 1-6.
Please god this weather decides to improve.
I had a lovely friend Peter, Peter Doyle, I think (though I could be wrong), from Kilcoole, tell him to get in touch if you know him, who told me his first words, having come home from a walk to the chemist with his mum, were 'Fell Down'. Sad and sweet.
I fell down twice yesterday! Twice! First the baby gate came off the bottom of the stairs, and I fell down the last two stairs, over on top of it, hurting my hand. Then later on that afternoon I was putting recycling out the front to try and clear some space in out tip of a house. For some reason the designers of the house favoured dangerously slippy tiles on the porch and in the kitchen, so finally, it's taken six years but slip, whoosh, there I was on the ground, feet twisted out from under me. I hurt the other side of the sore hand, and the other hand, bruised my knee and gave myself door mat burn.
I was rushing around tidying because my MIL was coming over to book her golf on the computer - her club seems to be trying to force out the oldies by going techno. It's good in the end though, as the husband actually tidied up our computer/music/toy/crap room, in about half an hour, and rather than being the energy sucking pit of doom it was, it looks quite nice again. Whee!
Sadly the baby woke up wet last night, then got a burst of energy that lasted two ours, so I suspect I'm going to be wrecked and not coping again today :(