6 weird things about me

My main man Moobs has tagged me and now I will reveal 6 weird things about me.

1. I have had abdominal surgery four times. Twice for babies to be born, and two for completely different and incredibly rare life threatening illnesses, all in the last 4 years.
2. When I was twelve I was in a youth dance production about a post apocalyptic world and there is TV footage of a me being interviewed about my views on nuclear war (right on!).
3. I used to go to the same dance class as a Spice Girl. (She was rubbish)
4. My best friend from school was a witch (no, really)
5. I have had a hand in creating quite a lot of the ready meals you buy for your tea.
6. When I was at university my housemates boyfriend committed an armed robbery. I awoke one night to find him getting his old fella out in order to pee on me. Seems the guilt had caused him to sleep walk and assume my bed was a urinal. He was apprehended by the police during a Geography lecture the next day. (not for almost weeing on me, for the robbery)
I will now tag JoJo, and norah as they have nothing better to do.

exchange

My husband and eldest are reading before bed. Whispers grow louder before husband falls out of Ezra's room, gasping.

him: "Where's Marvin's face?"
me: "I don't know, I swear I haven't moved anything"
him: "It was here, right here. Oh no!"
me: "It could be in the hoover"
him: "Its here! Thank god. I found it outside when I was taking out the rubbish. He's been asking for his face for days"

peckish

Following a week long hunger strike, son no.1 is now back on the scran. 20sixers, friends and family will know that Ezra's eating habits have been a source of great stress from the minute he was born. I'm used to feeling hysterical about his faddiness.
Son no.2 has caught a stinking cold from his brother (or 'bodor' as Ez calls him. e.g. "Hello bodor") and is also struggling to feed. I wonder if this is my punishment for my love affair with food. When I dream about dates with gorgeous men in exotic locations, I am usually tucking into something delicious. I wake up and think about dinner.
I should probably explain that in my life before children I worked for a major food retailer (whose ads are not just voice-overed by that irish lass). I won't go into detail, but my job involved reading about, eating and recommending food. The best thing that ever happened to me was when I went on a business trip to Chicago and the minute I stepped off the flight I was chauffeur driven to 6 or 8 restaurants to taste the food. Course after course arrived and I took a bite of each with wide eyed glee. This continued for three more days in the Windy City. Soul food, haute cuisine, mexican, japanese, sandwiches, desserts, cakes, snacks and puddings. Cocktails and beers, wine and smoothies. On the flight home I travelled in business and drank bellini's and ate an aeroplane meal constructed by Gordon, or Brian or Marco- I don't remember which chef, but anyway. I passed out on my completely flat chair bed and drunkenly noted that the trip would be used as one of my most treasured memories.
So, you see- the lads have discovered my achilles heel. And they are prodding it with their empty forks.

eat, damn you!

Our infuriating eldest is on yet another self imposed hunger strike. Today he ate 1 croissant (a desperate purchase following no breakfast) 5 pieces of chopped mango, a nibble on the end of a banana, a sniff of a grape, 4 snackajacks (please don't mention the salt in those babies, I might collapse from the strain), and two teaspoons of weetabix, (he refused meatballs and spaghetti and fish fingers with lovingly home made potato wedges and peas.)
He looks like he is starving (well, not quite- but is certainly more slender) and has just drawn all over his tummy in biro.
He has also learnt to pull his trousers on and off unaided and has named everything 'MINE!'
Meanwhile, it has dawned on us that the other child might also need a bit of work. Yes, he's happy to observe and giggles quite a lot, but has slickly lulled us into allowing an appalling sleep routine. He woke 12 times the other night demanding a breast.
So, structured naps, a painfully intricate feed-then-cuddle-then-patting-and-shushhhing-whilst-laid-in-the-cot, has yielded a more peaceful few nights.
Gaaaaaah!

guilty conscience

As a child my mum would attribute every nightmare, worry and outburst to my guilty conscience. In fairness, I was always guilty of something, whether I knew it or not.
It is fitting then, that speaking with the counselor has helped me realise just how responsible I feel for what goes on around me.
A psychiatrist would undoubtedly have a field day with my God complex. Seemingly I am in control of, and responsible for almost everything in the universe. The reason I am feeling so awful at the moment is because the births of my children were affected by factors beyond my immediate control (though, if I'd listened to my mother this would never've happened. And if I'd gone for normal hospital delivery first time around, instead of wanting a homebirth, things would've been different- see, I have special powers).
Ezra experiencing his first asthma attack so shortly after I left hospital has further complicated matters (Did I imbibe too much red wine during pregnancy, and this is our punishment? Was it something I ate during breastfeeding? Did I not breastfeed for long enough? Is my house too dirty?)
I feel responsible, yet powerless and this is a relatively new feeling for me. It makes sense that my house is quite clean at the moment. I am trying to control our environment to make us safe.
We ended the session with the nodding counselor suggesting just a few more sessions would help,
"You are the only person who has found you guilty. No one else"
"But no one else's opinion really matters, does it" I replied
And there it is.