Sick. In Bed.

I'm at home feeling absolutely rotten. Johnny Rotten.

In amidst sleeping under a pile of 12 blankets and racing to the bathroom, I checked Facebook and found this. Two of my favourite songs mashed up. YAY TEAM!

It's like a gift to make my day better.

Yes?!

The 'Pants' Talk

Last week I took the Doctor into the dentist to have a filling. But we wont' talk about that right now.


What I want to write about is the fact that I had to have a firm 'pants' talk with Tiny.


My little friend Tiny does not like pants. Too tight. Too 'comfy'. Too too too - too pantish. Tiny doth protest the pant.


The day was long and the day was cold, so I advised Tiny to wear some leggings. In fact, she had some new polka dot leggings and oh my! They look so cute on her. Ridiculous how cute.


Tiny is an advocate for choosing her own outfits - ever since she was a wee babe. So I've come around to it, and mostly let her choose - except when it's inappropriate to weather or place. You can wear that sheer ballet skirt. But not to the supermarket. No one needs to see your knickers.


Sometimes I work out options for her - give her two pieces to choose from, then she's got some independence and feels like she's making that choice. And usually she'll comply. And then return to her bedroom while I am otherwise occupied, strip off and either emerge completely newd, or in another random outfit. Like when it was super chilly this week - she came out in a t-shirt and ballet skirt. Then went outside and told me she was cold - and quite literally turned purple. Funny that. 


So this day last week - she had a complete meltdown after getting dressed. And I felt cranky and fed up with the tussle. The constant tussle. The hussle and bussle of the pants. 


She threw the biggest wobbly (or lobbly as she would say) for at least half an hour. Crying. Screaming. Fluctuating between inconsolable and completely angry with me. I forced her limbs into warm clothes - and she went on. We finally got into the car, and she sobbed throughout the short drive to the train station. We were about to catch our train when I stood in the street with her and pointed out that everyone was wearing pants. Or stockings. Or tights. It was pants-on Wednesday. It would have been a funny conversation to overhear. 


She detests the pants. 
I am pro-pants. 
She detests shoes - and always points out pictures where fairies are barefoot. 
I try and find pro-shoe fairies. It is a constant shift. 
Will she? Won't she? 


She's a funny little person that Tiny. I don't want to quash out her individuality - but I do want her to be warm. It's a quandary.
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Last night I crawled into bed downbeat and exhausted. Tiny awoke with vomit covering her bed, her pyjamas. Then cried. And cried. And I stripped the bed while Matt put her in the shower. Gastro is a wicked beast. 


PS  - Check out this ace piece I was included in. I didn't know until one of the other ace bloggers let me know. How cool! 

A Snapshot: We're Here. Now.

Sometimes I forget to report back on stuff. And things.

Like how months and months ago I wrote about the Doctor battling with case after case of tonsillitis. And how I was determined to not let him have surgery if I could help it. After visiting a cache of different GPs - and most were not interested in finding the root cause of the problem.

 Of course I am not so bonkers that I wouldn't book him in to have his tonsils removed  if he had to, but I am someone who is determined to investigate alternate options. I clearly remember having surgery under general anaesthetic when I was just five, and that awful murky feeling that follows. Of course - that surgery - was unavoidable - and I am so gratedul my parents had my wonky eye fixed way back when.

And so research we did.

He's now been visiting the world's most rad osteopath, Jamie, for about five months.

Since he began going to see Jamie, guess how many times he's had tonsillitis?

Zero. Zilch. Nada. None. He hasn't had tonsillitis since.

This is brilliant in my book.

This last month he's lost a tooth too - a big one, one of the top front teeth. There was great excitement when the Tooth Fairy visited.  

Other than that, life is peachy.

The Sickness. And The Sickness. Oh and THE SICKNESS.

Remember when the Doctor got tonsillitis not that long ago. Since that time, he's had it twice. Which means two more rounds of antibiotics and a referral to an ENT to decide whether we need to have them snipped out.

The thrills don't get much bigger than this.

My little guy is completely fragile, sick of being sick, worn down, over it. Me too.

When the GP mentioned the possibility of having his tonsils out and his adenoids scraped, my little man cried. The saddest cry of all. As a mother, it was the most helpless feeling, not feeling like I could do anything to help him feel better.

I walked out of the GP grateful that she could make him feel better, but determined to find an alternative to general anaesthetic and medical procedures.

I don't expect anyone to understand this, but I'm not big on hospitals, medical intervention - unless absolutely necessary. If we can avoid it, we will, while always thinking - if it's absolutely necessary, then of course, we will do it. And when I say: I don't expect anyone to understand it, I mean - everyone's different, everyone's parenting is different; my gut is to look at alternatives before resigning ourselves to the surgery line.

I've done some research, asked friends, thrown it to the Twitterverse, and received some amazing feedback. We've got a couple of appointments lined up to visit a paed osteopath and some others in the pipeline, all before our November ENT appointment that will hopefully say - 'hey, gee whizz, this little tacker is a-ok!'

image of the Doctor climbing at Sydney Olympic Park. It's that cool.

Anna Wintour?

I've spent the last week in sunglasses. No matter if it's raining. I'm wearing sunglasses. My eye is still not better, so I've embraced the Anna Wintour. I wear my sunglasses at night. And inside. And while I'm talking to you. And while I am on the computer. And all the time really.

I could get all rude on this damn eye, but I'll just say, after weeks of being sick, I'm a bit fragile. I hate being sick. Sinusitis. Conjunctivitis. This is not a dream run.

I'm prepping for Father's Day. The smalls and I are making Bills corn fritters. This is on the up. But I can't find which book the recipe is on. Help a white wonky-eyed girl out.

Meanwhile my own Dad is on the other side of the world. We'll have to celebrate when he's back.

Eye Am In Auckland

Eye am!

And this is my eye in Auckland!

It is disgusting. When I checked in, I am sure the guy looked at me part horrified, part disgusted. I hope tomorrow I wake up with out the junkie-eye.

As for Auckland - wow. This is a pretty city, and it reminds me of Melbourne. The houses - aye carumba. The houses. So beautiful.

And guess what?! Bananas are $1.49 per kilo. This is big news folks. I may have to eat my body weight in bananas.

Do you have any tips for my brief Auckland sojourn? Do tell!

Chunk-No-Itis

Tiny has been welcomed into the exclusive and elite club where all members must have Conjunctivitis to join. I believe I'll be joining that club later tonight.

Yesterday her eye started mucusing up a storm, and we couldn't clean it quick enough. Disgusting, no?

She woke up in the middle of the night, her eye fused closed. Impressive Tiny. So in the darkness of night, we cleaned it again, and again. And again. And put her back into bed. When she woke it was a little better, and we've been dealing with the eye all day. It's so furiously red, I've never seen conjunctivitis so cranky. I think the other eye is going out in sympathy.

In the morning she asked why she had: "Chunk-No-Itis". She hasn't complained and just gone about her day. Delighted when she caught a ladybird, she made it a little home, created a slide for it, and told it it was going to join the circus.

Poor Tiny Pink Eye.

Universe, right about now, we'd really like to shake the shackles of Winter sickness. April - August? Enough is enough. We're officially: Sick of being sick.

Last Night An Audio Book Saved My Life

Actually, it was tonight.

Tonight an audio book saved me.

You see friends, you'll have to listen up real close because I've got something to tell you.

I've lost my voice.

Yeah. Great. Works a treat when talking with the Doctor. He's got blocked ears and can't hear. I've got no voice and can't talk. Match made in heaven. I have to clap my hands to get his attention.

Tonight Matt went out to catch up with some friends leaving desperate and voiceless at home. No bed time bookie wookies for the littlies.

Or were there?

I madly went through the CD cupboard and hauled out 'The Gruffalo's Child' on CD. Ker-ching!

They were happy. I remained silent. And all was well. Hoorah for audio books. End of story.

Awww Man!

Conjunctivitis! Tonsilitis! Fevers! Runny nose! Blocked ears! General lethargy! The Doctor sure knows how to get sick when he gets sick.

He's miserable and holed up in a birdie's nest* on the couch during the day, early to bed at night. Oh man. I hate the smalls being sick. It makes me so sad to see them so sad. He even asked me to come home early from work so I could be with him. Break my little heart dude.

I'm sick of the sick. Roll over Winter, Spring and Summer need to make their grand entrance. I'm over you Winter. I usually love you. But April - August we've been sick. I'm over it. I'm done. Winter, you stink this year.

On the flip side of down and out in Beverley Hills *cough*, the Doctor saved up for a really, really long time to buy a Nintendo DSi. He finally reached his goal, and this has been a huge saving grace while he's been sick and I've told him he has to lay low and hang out on the couch. He's been playing 'Ready Set Grover' like crazy these last few days. Phew for this small grace!

* A birdie's nest in our house is when I plump up the cushions on the couch and tuck my wee little birdies in with a blanket, when they are feeling poorly.

You're Booked!

I found this super cute book the other day by Emma Dodd called "You". I mean, just look at it, it's got cute written all over it. I can't wait to give it to Tiny because I think she's going to love it long time - it has gold foil on every page, so. darn. cute.



The Doctor was home today sick as a dog, woke up with a raging 3am fever, and conjunctivitis. But I didn't realise it was conjunctivitis until a friend at preschool looked at him this afternoon and said "Oh you've got conjunctivitis" - and I went "BINGO!" - and then as an aside to myself "Der, why didn't I see that before?! Of course it's conjunctivitis". Poor little dude. Conjunctivitis is the pits, isn't it? So we stayed at home and I read him Cressida Cowell's "How To Be A Pirate".

What books are your big and smalls reading? And you? I have a big stockpile next to my bed, but none of them calling me right now. Any recommendations?