the rollercoaster that is our health

Today I decided that Seth's hacking cough had gone on for long enough, and booked him in to see our GP. GP listened to his chest and decided his tubes were inflamed and crackly, and prescribed an atrovent inhaler. We're experts in the use of spacers and puffers, and Ez was eager to share the joy with his little brother. "Now you're a big boy, you can have a puffer too." I rang my Mum to update her and she suggested that taking them out near-naked in the cold might be the cause of my children's inadequate tubes. Only my Mum would get away with a quip like that- anyone else would be extracting a spacer from a very tight space!
We popped to see the Health Visitor whilst we were there, and Seth is growing steadily. Ezra has not grown since september. Alert! Alert! (again). She suggested we refer him privately once and push for a definitive answer on his slow and sporadic growth. Once John's health cover kicks in, we might be able to stretch to that.
On the way back I vowed to feed them both organic veg and pure protein until obesity is the new diagnosis- however, I know that blaming my poor parenting and vowing to change isn't going to solve this one.
I've been worried about Ezra's growth since he was six months old. As my Mum said "we've got small genes" and its very true- my cousins on my dad's side are positively miniature, but still -I'd like to know that it is just small genes and not something darker and more insidious.

mother knows best, so stop thinking otherwise

norah's blog won't let me leave comments anymore. I'm feeling slightly paranoid about this, but I'm going to keep it to myself.
Seth, John and I had a three way standoff last night. Seth informed us he would prefer to sleep in our bed than his own, John agreed that letting him share out bed would be preferential to listening to his ear splitting three octave vibrato cry. Being the Evil Dictator of The Minkleberry State I decreed that everyone would sleep in their own bed until I decided otherwise.
At first John ignored me and kept popping in to comfort Seth and hopefully lull him to sleep. He loved being rocked and purred contentedly in his Daddy's arms, the minute his bum touched mattress he screeched once more- filled with rage. Silly mistake- never confuse a 10 months old rage cry with a sad, ill, terrified or lonely cry. Two hours later they were repeating the same pattern. Fools.
Eventually, after many insults, swearing and evil eyes, everyone to their separate quarters (well, actually, John sat in the bathroom with his fingers in his ears.) Five minutes later the wailing stopped.
Because it always does.
Mother knows best (hi five to myself and every other mother out there)

twenty separated socks

Twenty singles. I'm worried my washing machine is going to choke on all the odds that must be caught up in there somewhere.
We've also lost three knives and two forks. Where are they?
You might guess I'm having a bit of a clear out/clear up which means I'm still functioning on at least six hours sleep. I would do a happy dance if I weren't so busy ignoring my children so I can clear out my cupboards Oh, hang on- I did do a particularly terrible impression of Robbie Williams dancing in the Back for Good video the other night.
The swaggering was at a children's book evening, organised at a friend's house. Like Tuppaware and Anne Summers but without the repression and competition.
One minute we were flicking through Welsh flashcards, discussing the merits of learning French, sipping wine and (I was) nibbling on crudites. The next we were arseholed and jumping around the room like deranged teens. (Hence the Robbie impression.) Now thats my kind of parents evening.
The following morning I trotted off to the gym and flung the boys in the creche. After 30 minutes of near cardiac arrest (and a strong whiff of pinot grigio) I admitted defeat/dehydration and scooped them up hoping my wine fumes wouldn't floor the childcarers and alert social services.
Still, I feel pretty perky today following another night of shut eye and can even comprehend activities other than trudging in dark glasses around the common and lying down on a bouncy castle.
Next week the kids are coming round to make christmas decorations.
I know.
I feel positively Anthea-like, but without the millions, ugly husband and white jeans.

boring

My blog is not only boring but maudlin. Reading it is making me want to jump out of the window, so I can only imagine that anyone who pops in here is getting sick and tired of all the bleugh!.
So- reasons to be grateful;
1. Obviously- two blonde bombshells
2. Leopard print mini dresses. I may look like mutton, but its leaner mutton.
3. New jobs- rent paid, bills paid, Father Christmas well stocked.
4. Christmas at my Mum and Dad's. 3 starters, three types of meat and my body weight in potatoes. Bliss.
5. Childcare vouchers. Could Ezra finally be getting his wish to go to Nursery?. "When I'm three, I go to school with the other childrens"
6. Dean Gaffney. His live bush tucker trial was the funniest thing I have ever seen. ever.
That'll keep me going for now.

you don't know me

I'm a Mum who on two consecutive nights has slept for 7 hours. Thats right- with the occasional whimper and toilet break, I have been asleep in my bed for 7 hours. Last night it was almost 8 hours. Thats right ASLEEP.
You'd think I'd feel rejuvinated and refreshed. I actually feel exhausted and my body aches. Years of sleep deprivation- they will take a while to get over.
Still, Seth has been sleeping through the night for over a week. We can't believe our luck, considering Ezra was still getting up two or three times a night just a few days before I gave birth to Seth.
We also know it might not last, which makes it all the more delicious.
My midlife crisis continues but less dramatically (more sleep offering perspective perhaps).
I also had an abrupt wak eup call when I caused a huge row with my friend over things that happened years ago. I said some terrible things about how I felt at the time but absolutely don't feel now. We have moved on and moved through. I have a deeper understanding the past, and we have grown up a lot since that time.
However, it was just like I'd stepped back in time, and was transported back to the young selfish and hurt girl I was then- and it was also cruel and mean.
It reminded me that I need to be alert, conscientious aware. Its been a strange year and I'll be glad when its over.

pre- birthday angst

The last few birthdays have passed without much drama. I haven't had time to beat my chest and wail at the moon. I've been too busy being pregnant, or celebrating the end of lactation, or being pregnant.
So, with a few weeks to go before my 32nd birthday, I've realised that I'm preoccupied with my lost youth, my changed body, my bad decisions, my creaking bones and my aching joints.
Yes, I know- I should've done all this three years ago- but I was too busy being pregnant (and so on).
Its all so self indulgent- oh, wallow, wallow. waaaaah waaaah. I can just hear people I know reading this, and saying "I wish I had time to worry about such nonsense. At your age I was too busy raising 18 kids down't pit, whilst cooking a meal from nowt but a tatty and a bit a bread dipped round't sink."
I'd tell me to pull myself together if I weren't so busy 'waaaah waaaahing'
I'm spending most nights tossing and turning. Did I make the right choice? Should I've said that? Or not said this? Have I been too safe? Too daring? Too selfish?
I've reverted to my former teen self. Short of a pair of Doc Martins and and some Happy Mondays, I could be a sullen, petulant 15 year old all over again.
To all of you who have been there and done that- Its my go. I'll see you on the other side of my turgid misery.
So there.

I've still got a twinkle in my eye

Yesterday I visited my past for a few hours. We talked of old memories and I was impressed that my recollections are not the only ones to be rose-tinted.
When I think of my late teens, I remember feeling out of control a teensy bit hysterical most of the time. It appears I hid the mania quite well.
Elsewhere, John starts his new job next week so he is at home. This is good, in that I get to visit my past and blog without guilt. Oh, and we can all spend time together too. Its bad in that he gets under my feet and on my nerves.
Seth is getting more teeth and seems to've moved into our bed permanently. He has a fierce temper and can scream like he is being murdered when we try and return him.
Ezra is jealous about our cosleeping and I can't blame him. However, 10 minutes squeezed between the three of us drives him back to his own bed.
Tonight John is going to trip the light fantastic with his ex colleagues. His ex employers are paying. I'd consider it a weakness if he came home before dawn.
I intend to have the boys asleep by 7pm and be in bed by myself by five past.

voila!

I am blogging from the desk of professional journalist and professional friend Jojo. I am babysitting for her adorable sleeping son and consuming all her booze and food. (Her keyboard is so overworked that the keys no longer have their letters inked. They've been quite literally typed away.)
I'm just popping in to spread the news. Like magic, and after less than one day unemployed, John has snaffled a better job earning more brass and with better benefits. There's even a view of the thames thrown in.
Now there's some good tidings for ya.

Despite impending doom

I feel less depressed than last week, mainly because I attended a fabulous bonfire party (without the bonfire) and ate pie and peas and plot toffee and I refused parkin. The lads are recovering from their colds, so at last we can go and play outside in the frost, and most importantly my pre-menstrual misery has lifted. Suddenly being on the breadline doesn't look so bleak anymore. We've been through worse and its only money (and bread).
I seized my newfound zest, and hauled it to the gym for a programme assessment. "I want to reach my goal weight and be superfit by my 32nd birthday." My fitness mentor smiled kindly (she knows its an impossible task) but she tried her best. I left the gym with wobbly legs and a heaving chest. I'm still not sure why I agreed to sprint for so long, and those crunches at an awkward angle balancing on a ball can't be good for anyone . Still- under my folds of flesh I will have abs like a washboard and the body of an athlete. Hurrah!! There really will be a skinny person inside me just crying to burst out.
Today John discovers his fate. We both spent a sleepless night silently rehearsing what he was going to say to his boss when they give him the boot. I imagine my version, involving a carving knife and numerous expletives might be different from the measured and dignified response he will deliver.
He continues to apply for fabulous and sometimes outlandish jobs undeterred. He is currently my number one hero, but don't tell him- he'll only think I'm going soft.

Ah, dear fate

I think we've had our fill of crap thrown at us this year, what with almost death, new babies, the big C etc. and yet fate has decided (I choose fate, because if I blame God we could face his wrath and we're knackered already) to make my lovely hubby redundant for the second time this year.
This means that just before christmas he is frantically selling himself to as many souless agencies as possible, in order to pay for the kids christmas presents. Oh, and our rent and bills.
and the MOT, the tax and insurance.
What I'm really, really worried about is that its making me think about going back to work. Not just any work- MY OLD JOB. My days will be miserable and busy and empty and my salary would be mostly gobbled up by the nursery, and my lads will start to sound like south londoners, and will cry when I drop them off in the morning- as will I.
I said Hell would freeze over before I went back into that work.
Well, its cold in our house and at the moment we feel a little bit like we're in Hell.

Dear Father Christmas

Hi, how are you? I hope you and the wife are keeping well. I am writing early this year, as some of my requests might take you a while to fulfill. I have been a good girl etc. (mostly)

1. This year I'd like a cash lump sum. About 5.2 million (sterling) should cover it.
2. A Tiffany bracelet and keyring. I know I know, these items are on my list every year and have been since 1991. I don't even know whether I even really want them. I just feel I should keep asking.
3. A miraculous weightloss solution. I find it a bit tiresome cutting out fat and sugar and nicely refined carbs. And I simply can't stop drinking. There must be something you can do about this?
4. An extra two hours a night. I must define that this is relevant to adults only. Kids do not get the extra two hours because they'll only squander them on jumping on beds and shouting for their parents.
5. The bottomless coffee cup. One is never enough in a morning, but my second is never as good. 6. A seventeen year olds breasts. To replace my current ones. (I don't mind if you retrieve my old ones from when I was seventeen, but if you can- ones with slightly smaller nips.
7. Self waxing legs, bikini line, eyebrows etc.
8. Perfect health for my children. Forever.
9. World peace.
10. A villa in Ibiza.

Thanks Father Christmas,
Love you
Minks xx