In February our activities continued to be weather dependent and mostly indoors. A few Fridays ago it snowed all day and that was fun. I love snow. If the weather is going to be cloudy, grey and shit, then it can at least snow please.
We were trapped indoors for the day but it was ok because we were calmed and soothed by the falling snow at the windows. It was like some gentle lava lamp that we could leave on in the background while we went about our business. We even sat at the lounge window and ate our lunch. At one stage, Megan needed a poo and brought her potty to the window so she had some entertainment and company while she pushed.
I like to write a blog a month and I’ve suddenly realised it is the end of February and I’ve spent hardly any time at my computer. One of the many reasons is because I’ve read eight books in about three weeks, six of which were by Sarah Morgan who writes happy contemporary romance. My favourite! Her books are like literary heroin and I’ve tumbled down their delicious, addictive vortex. This Sarah Morgan lady has published enough books to provide me with escapism and light relief until the cows come home. Happy moments!
Then I discovered that Sarah Morgan also writes for Mills&Boon. Eeeewwwww. I felt guilty because I’ve always been so condescending towards people who go for the socially acceptable porn that is Mills&Boon.
Then I had a fantastic idea! I will read Mills&Boon in French. For a while I’ve been looking for books to improve my French, challenge but not intimidate me and catapult me to the next level. I couldn’t hit the mark with the right genre of books. Some of my choices were too simple and gun-at-my-head boring, such as the French translation of The Famous Five. Or, I tended to be overambitious by selecting books that felt like the French equivalent of War and Peace and I couldn’t progress beyond the first page. My first French Mills&Boon has a juicy title Le Prix de La Passion (The Price of Passion) and is guaranteed to be a winner. I hope to build some momentum and finally be fluent by December.
The hospital trip
Last Tuesday, we were in the car on the way to my mothers’ group when Megan rolled a small ball of tin foil from her biscuit wrapper and shoved it up her nostril. She screamed in agony so I stopped the car to assess the situation. She screeched and wailed and then gave an almighty sniff and was suddenly fine, albeit red in the face and shaken up. We blew her nose and nothing appeared on the tissue. I assumed she sucked up the ball of foil during the forceful sniff.
‘Where is it Megan?’ I freaked. ‘It’s gone inside my body,’ she whispered, wide eyed and stunned.
Megan is usually loud, chatty and expressive but, Murphy’s Law, when I needed her to describe her situation in more detail, she was mute.
‘Are you in pain? Is it sore?’ Yes, she nodded and rubbed her cheek.
It must be sitting in her sinuses by now, I thought. ‘Ok Megan, please point to exactly where it hurts.’
‘It’s here,’ she said and patted her knee. ‘It’s in my knee.’
The situation was becoming confusing. I called Al who said I should rush her to the emergency room ASAP to verify there was no foreign object stuck in her sinuses ‘because aluminium can cause electrolysis in the body.’ I’ve no idea what electrolysis is but it sounded serious so off we went.
After three hours in the waiting room, we saw a junior doctor who took Megan’s blood pressure and shone a light up her nostrils (I could have done that!) and sent us on our way. I probably overreacted but, oh well, at least we know for next time.
Husbands who travel
This week was half-term holidays, Jessica was sick and Al was away in the UK for work. Intense combo.
I cope fine when Al travels and I crack on with my normal routine. Single parenting makes me feel like an elastic that is slowly stretching and stretching and stretching. After ten days max, I need Al home for some back up or I will snap.
Al has learned that when he is away, it is wise not to send me photos of his food. He deserves great restaurant meals on company expense but I get twitchy when, for example, I’m trying to control Megan in the throes of a wild and hysterical tantrum and I then hear my phone go ‘beep beep’ and there’s a message with a photo of Al’s calamari starter. I don’t begrudge him sitting quietly in a bar drinking his chocolate milkshake but some days I feel that if I also don’t get down time the equivalent of the 5 minutes it takes to drink a milkshake, then my elastic may snap.
My friend’s husband travels often and she said the golden rule for coping on your own is to maintain loving contact via text messages and email but don’t speak on the phone or skype.
Her husband invariably calls for a chirpy chat after the bedtime routine when he is heading off to a restaurant and she is revving herself up for another hour of putting the house in order. If she talks to him at this point, she won’t do so with enthusiasm and wifely warmth and is likely to vent which then creates the false impression that she is not coping when in actual fact she is just dead tired after a hectic day of being supermom and holding down the fort so well.
I can relate because most mornings this week Al skyped us just after he woke up so he chatted to us through his wake up yawns and stretches. Back home at Surycz Central, we’d already been up fizzing and bouncing about for three hours. Every night was restless, interrupted sleep because both girls lay on top of me and suckled in my bed. I struggle to sleep as a layer in a human sandwich.
Al works so hard and deserves a lie in and some decent deep sleep so I tried really hard to muster up grace and selflessness when we answered the ring and he appeared on the screen, propped up and well rested on those puffy white hotel pillows. These screenshots contrast the chaos here and the peace there and sum up why it is perhaps a wise idea to keep communication to texts and emails.