Did the earth move for you?Well it didn't for us either, but we did change the earth we own. We're in a new house.
All the boxing, shifting and unpacking meant the kiddies have been somewhat ignored of late, but they appear to love the new place. Granted the boy did complain that he considered the previous family's trampoline as a fitting and/or fixture, and hence should not have been removed as per the deed of sale.
We've told him the lawyers are onto it. Case may be settled around birthday or christmas time...
The biggest upheaval in the little girls life was closely followed by her biggest trip to the doc.
In this case to get her "pre-auricular sinus" chopped out. A pre-auricular sinus looks a bit like a small ear piercing, only above and just forward of the ear, and she has one on both sides. On the right its been fine, but on the left its a bugger, with infection after infection and the potential risk of pinching a facial nerve leading to floppy face.
Poor thing.
So the time came to give it the chop.
Or at least we thought so... childcare being the hotbed of sickness that it is, had other ideas and a sickly little Miss S was turned away from the surgeons work bench.
A month later and a chirpy young Miss was rudely woken at 5:30am, tossed in a car in the 'jamas, and shuttled off to the surgery. Being youngest, she was first cab off the rank.
Into surgery with mum (a choice was given - she wanted mum....) and under the gas; the scariest thing mum had ever witnessed.
One second there is your darling daughter all happy and smiling and reactive and, well, alive. The next she's looking at you with deep pool eyes... and her body goes limp.
Floppy.
Lifeless.
As though the soul has just popped out for a tosca.
There were almost tears.
Fifty minutes later mum was called in again.
The girl wasn't all that pleased, but more with being as groggy as a New Years Day wake-up than any gross pain or discomfort.
As one of the risks of the surgery was nicking one of the facial nerves, Mum was stoked to see mouths and cheeks and eyes all symmetrical and acting in parallel.
Five minutes of bellowing later, dad was summoned and the girl leapt into his arms.
Or, drunkenly crawled from mum towards him anyway.
A big hug later, and... ZZZzzzzz... asleep.
Then awake again, grizzly.
But symmetrical grizzly.
Then ZZZzzzzz...
Then awake and hungry/thirsty.
Then ZZZzzz...
Then awake.
Then happy.
Then confused.
Then spewing.
All over dad's lap.
The sleep/food/spew cycle continued for a few hours, but eventually, and thankfully, subsided after dad fed girl half a punnet of her favourite strawberries. (Dad wisely changed out of his white shirt, just in case.)
The only downside of the strawberry-fest was a dribble - ok, deluge - of pink strawberry drool down the front of the girls top.
Normally, this means diddley, but on this occasion, as mum returned from the park with the boy, the warning yell "Its NOT blood!" was a necessary precaution lest mum keel over/call 000/blackeye dad.
The boy, on the other hand, has decided that he is a masterchef.
"I don't want chicken curry mum" he announced one fine evening,"I want chicken chips.""Ohhhkaaayyy" replied mum.
"Yeah. Cut up some chicken,and put it inside the chips."
"We don't have any chicken darling. Or chips..." replied mum.
"Ohhhhkaaaayyy" replied the boy, "I'll make it." And proceeded to raid the pantry.
Spaghetti, spiral pasta.
"Cook this mum!"
Into the fridge.
Strawberries, cheese,...
"Add this in too..."
Fruit bowl.
Apples, mandarines...
"And these" {mum pointed out mandarines were probably not the 3-hat Michelin choice}
Some cheese for topping.
"Ok. Now cook it."Hence it was all bunged in the fancy new fan forced oven and cooked.
Mum looked at the concoction, which the boy termed "chips".
It looked more like chuck.
She served it up to the boy.
"Yum" he said, and ate a bowl and half of it.
(Which for a boy known in the past to exist via photosynthesis, is a pretty mean feat.)
Masterful.
Finally, dad.
There was the family driving along when a Subaru Outback boxer diesel pulled up in front at the lights.
"BooHooHoo..." faux-cried dad, "there goes my 21st (x2) present..." as he weepishly lamented the clash of the newly-huge mortgage and his upcoming 42nd.
"Talk to the driver - he might want a swap..." opined a smiling mum, 'helpfully'.
"My daddy... oh my daddy..." sympathetically cried the girl, in a voice (and with a look of concern) that would melt wood.
"Daddy..." said the boy.
"Yes?" said dad...
"Don't be such a whinger."
Such is (our new) life. Print this post
No comments:
Post a Comment