Saturday mornings

Two of the three kids are in the playroom, playing.  They are meant to be tidying.  The third of the three kids is upstairs drying himself off after his shower.  Seriously, how can it take three towels to dry a small boy?  He's 12 and currently has three towels about his person. One on his hair ( seriously??), one around his hips and the other across his shoulders.  I just had a shower too and managed to get by with just one towel, not even a big one at that as the big ones seem to be draped around no. 1 son.

Yeah, so Saturday morning.  Two are playing, one is drying himself and the eldest male of the house is off on a walk.

How is it, someone please tell me, that I am always the one left sitting in the house on a Saturday morning staring at dishes to be loaded into a dishwasher that first has to be unloaded?  Piles of clothes to be washed and yet another four piles waiting to be put away.  The dog seems to have gone on a crapping spree in the back garden (Himself only sees the stuff on the paving) and the smell is horrendous.  Then there is the pile of Halloween stuff that No. 2 wants put up around the house.  Now!  Please???

Downstairs loo is a health hazard which, pardon the pun, is pissing me off because I only got down on my hands and knees and cleaned it on Wednesday.  

No. 2 made smoothies and it would appear I am cleaning up.  No. 1 made eggy bread for everyone and, again, it would appear I am going to clean up.  

Ugh.  Yup, everyone is doing their thing and it would appear that my thing is cleaning up after the shaggers.  

There will be a revolt. 

As they are all utterly revolting.

Loike, duh!!!!!

Himself is in college all day on Friday which means I'm doiing all the school runs, football runs etc. wnich is fine.  Or would be if the kids would only stop talking, they talk constantly. Had the following conversation with no. 3 (threw them all out of the car minuutes later - quietest five minutes off the day):

No. 3 - Yeah, I like Firekracken (Skylanders??) ad the best.  Yeah, yeah,'cos he takes his mam into battle.

Me - What?  Like his ma?  He took his mammy into battle?

No 3 - Like, YEAH!!!  She is the mother of all evil mam!!!!

Yup, out of the car they all went.

I went to the beach on Sunday with a friend of mine on Sunday.  Let's call her 'Gertrude'.  She brought curry chips and a dog and two kids, I brought a bottle of juice and two towels?!  No dog and no food.  I thought we'd only be there for an hour.  Ah feck, I am never organised.  No matter how long we were going to be I still would have pitched up with a bottle of juice.  I find it hard to pack for picnics in September as I never think of them as er, possible?

Anyway, we had a lovely day out, the kids swam and tried to coax us into the water.  I had, upon seeing the sea said "Awww, I wish I had my togs" but then I stuck my foot in the water and . . Brrrrrrrr.  Not on your nelly.  No bother to the lads though.

Four hours later, the kids were tired and cold and cross and cranky and one of Gertrude's kids flipped out because there was sand in his eye, in his ears and in his trousers.  (It actually reminded me of Himself when he's at the beach)  Gerty tried calming him down but, like I said, he was cold/tired/cranky and she only succeeded in winding herself up.  Love the way we do that to ourselves.  As it wasn't my son who was flipping out I was able to gently put my hand on her arm and say "don't worry, nobody noticed (they did), he'll be grand (he was)" and probably appear quite smug.  

Cackle.

Yeah, that bit me in the arse.

Two days later Is'm doing the school run.  No. 1 has been dropped off and Nos. 2 and 3 are in the back.  At this point in the morning all I want to do is get the car home and leg it for a walk/chat/therapy session with the lovely Joanne.  I pulled into a space, turned to say goodbye and . . . No. 3 . . well, he suddenly realised he was wearing his school tracksuit.  Not a problem normally but it wasn't a PE day that day.  He WIGGED out.  I swear to God, he went batshit crazy:

"She's going to kill me"  "It's not a tracksuit day"  "Why am I wearing A TRACKSUIT MAAAMMMMMM???" To which I replied, in a calm gentle voice:

"She won't"

"So why are you wearing it?"

"You dressed yourself so you tell me why you are wearing it!!!"

No. 2 at this point had started to get out of the car.  

I am still trying to calm 3 down only he's not calming down.  So, I got louder and started shouting over him "GIVEMEYOURBLOODYJOURNALANDI'LLWRITEYOUANOVEYOUSILLYFECKERYOU"

Phew.

He gave me his journal and I asked for a pencil.  He began rummaging around his bag and handed me an empty pencil case. 

I swear to the Gods that it must have looked like . .  I dunno what it must have looked like, all I know was I was whacking 3 on the head and shoulders with his empty pencil case roaring at him "How am I meant to write you a bloody note explaining why you are NOT wearing your uniform when you don't EVENHAVEABLOODYPENCILYOUMUPPETYOU"  

I ended up roaring down the street at 2 to come back and give me a pencil so I could write a polite note asking the teacher to excuse 2.  Mind you, I'm pretty sure that was her walking past whilst the car was rocking on it's axles.

Hmmhmmm, yup, if Gertrude had've been there she could have done the smug "don't worry, nobody noticed (they did), it'll be grand (sure isn't it bloody always)" right back at me.  Probably with a straight face too.

London Baby

This time last month I had no idea whatsoever we'd raid the kids credit union accounts and go to London.  A good friend has a pal in said city and said pal was looking for someone to house sit, feed the cat, the gerbil (the Dude - who is way faster than any rat I have ever come across.  Thing was like a bullet) and water the tomatoes for them.  My pal suggested me and before you knew it myself and D. were having the 'will we, won't we?' conversation   We are skint.  Beyond skint.  So skint that we had our kids sign away their life savings, cackle.  

Feck it, sure wasn't it for them we were doing it??

Driving through London is not fun.  It's so 'not fun' that I only drove three times whilst we were there.  The house was perfect, reminded me of my lovely friend Gill's house.  Even smelled the same. Like home.

There was even this to greet us!

We also had this lovely lady train us to give her water the way she likes.  

Oli liked us so much she decided to give me a present on our first night.  I had just managed to haul my shoulders down from around my ears (it was the drive, have I to told you how mental Londoners are at driving??) and started to doze off when I heard the cat going mental.  I started to get out of bed and . .  ugh . . had I really just stood on cold cat sick?  

Nope!  Was this bugger.  Threw my t shirt over him, it was a him, wasn't it?, and ran downstairs to catch a bowl.  Me, in all my froggy experience, thought you caught frogs the way you got spiders.  

Note:  You don't.  Really you should just pick the bugger up.  

Got him under bowl and then tipped bowl to try and squeeze a bit of paper under it.  Success.  Lifted paper and bowl and frog fell through paper.  Eventually chucked frog into bowl and booted it downstairs.  Frog decided he liked it upstairs and tried to stay up there.  Aaaaaaaaaaaaaargh

RE-caught frog and managed to make it all the way downstairs. Got the back door open and tipped frog onto ground.  Frog hopped back into house.  Cat came after frog.  I had a sit down.  

Hooshed frog out, cat followed, locked door and climbed back into bed.  

Hello London indeed x

Key Merchant

My hand hurts, like really hurts.  It's stinging and it's making me feel sick.  I've never had a sore hand that so made me feel like puking.

I love A. with all my heart.  I'd die for him.  Today I could have gladly killed him.  He had a bit of a strop when I asked him to turn off the telly.  Apparently the programme wasn't over and it was the same programme only a different episode?!  To me, that meant, it was over and a new cartoon was on.  I turned off the TV and asked that he tidy up the toys that were out and about.  I left the room.

He started on O. Shouting at him and general arsey-ness.  

I went back into the room and told him to stop, whereupon he started whining and mimicking O's voice and taking the piss generally.  I told him that I hadn't heard O say any of those things but it was beside the point as I only wanted him to pick up the toys, I stepped out of the room and I could hear him slamming stuff around and giving out.  I went in, grabbed him and made to hoosh him upstairs and away from me.

I smacked him.  I smacked his bum twice ad his arm once.  He screamed at me.  I told him I hated him.

He's 8 and I'm 41.

I told him to get into the garden, he ran out screaming and shouting.  I sat at the table.

My hand hurt.  It stung and it made me feel sick.

I went out to him and told him to keep shouting and to get it out of his system and that I was sorry for slapping him.  I also told him that he had it in him to put me in either the nut house or prison with his antics. 

I apologised and apologised and I still feel like shit.  I feel like the bloke off those TV programmes who beats the crap out of his wife and apologises and says it will never happen again.  The husband who says 'it's your fault I do this'.  

Fuck.  I reckon, in A's 8 years on the planet I've slapped him twice.  I've also apologised profusely twice.  As a kid I was slapped more than twice, never apologised to.  Not mentally scared or anything like that but .. ... we were never apologised to when we were kids.  Were we?

My hand stings and I feel like puking.  A has just come in to ask for an ice pop and to give me a hug.  I can't eat my dinner I feel so awful but I returned his hug and held on tight.  

I love him so much and hate that I said I hated him.

Fuck.

I cried, a little

Have you seen Man of Steel? I have, just back in fact.  I loved every minute of it.  You could actually feel the air pressure in the cinema drop the first time  you see Clarke (Henry Cavill) doing his thing and saving some riggers on a doomed oil rig.  Holy moly, the man is divine.  Haha, funny that I just typed that as there are Messianic nods of the head all over the movie.  Anyway, the man is ripped, gorgeous and I reckon the majority of women sucking in their breath with longing were the origin of that pressure drop.  The guy beside me laughed when I, too, inhaled and 'Wow-ed!' on the out breath.

What made me cry, but only a little, was the image of a young Clarke running around the garden, dog jumping up on him and his pretend, towel, cape flapping behind him.  He reminded me of Oscar.  Oscar lepping around the garden cape flying, or hips (depending on whether he is a hobbit or Michael Jackson) going like the clappers.

Can't take Oz and Arthur to see the movie as they'll shit themselves but wow, I love little boys who wear capes and dance around the garden with their dogs.

Sigh, he's my baby xxx

No.

No. 3 a.k.a. Arthur walked in on me and Himself talking the other morning.  It was 7.30am and I had just woken up.  Was so freshly woken up that I was having a hard time working out what was real and what was er, not.

I turned to Darren and said 'Is Arthur ours?  Did we foster him?  I have a feeling his parents want him back!!?"  Needless to say, Arthur was standing in the doorway with his mouth hanging going "WHAT???"  "I'M ADOPTED????"  

Jaysus, of course he's not adopted.  At 7.30am the other morning though I wasn't so sure.  Poor chap. 

So, Arthur, YOU.  ARE.  NOT.  ADOPTED!  Okay?!

When he was coming out of school his teacher pulled me aside and said "Arthur's been asking me about adoption today and if he is adopted".  Sigh.  I am so fucked.  He will need years of counselling after this.  Especially as the other two are always telling him he's a mistake.  Sorry, accident.  I have charming children. He was a bit of a surprise I'll admit but what a lovely one he turned out to be.  Only one out of the three of them to eat and sleep and not whhhhhhhhiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnne all the time.  

Oh, to top off worrying Arthur that morning I, in a big rush, chucked a big basin of water over the windscreen to melt the ice .   .. . only to have the bastarding wipers activate and swoooosh the water right back at me.  A whole two litres of it.  The kids were wetting themselves laughing in the car.  I did that girlie squeal thing that one does when suddenly drenched with cold water on a day averaging a temperature of 1.5C and shivered.  Worth it, I think, for the kids reaction.  Not good for the hair though.  

Later on. . . when things had quietened down and dinner was being eaten the middle chap asked  'What's a wet dream?"  Ah jesus, no.  Please, no.  Not yet.  Darren said he'd tell him when he was a bit older but Oz kept looking at me and saying 'Mam?' because he knows I babble when I'm freaking out.  So, he kept saying 'Mam??' and I ended up saying:

"it'swhenyourwillyleaksabitanditkind'vefeelsniceiIthinkandyou'llbeasleepanddon'tworryaboutitloveasitwon'thappenforagesyet..................................sob"  

First beer of the week was well and truly in order, I think you'll agree.

He got no soul

Sitting down at dinner last night we had the following conversation:

Arthur:  You did!  You know you did!!!

Oscar:  Yeah, but Dad said it first.

Darren: What did I say?

Arthur:  It wasn't Dad it was you Oscar.

Me:  Jesus!! What did you say?

Arthur: " . . .He said Ginger's have no souls!"

Cue the rest of us falling into our dinners laughing.  Red heads have no souls?!  Cackle.

NO!!!! Don't stop doing THAT. EVER!!

Having snuck back downstairs about half an hour after his bedtime myself and Arthur had the following conversation:

Arthur: Mam, when have I to stop breathing?

Me:  What?  Never!!  Always keep breathing.  Jesus!

Arthur: Okaaay, but you said I could only breathe for half an hour.

Me.  I never!  Fuck.  Jesus Arthur, always brea . .  .. 

Did you hear that?  That was the sound of the penny dropping.  'Reading'!!  He was talking about reading.  I really do have to get my hearing sorted.  

Tits and Boob(ies)

Driving no. 3 to school the other day (he was surrounded by brothers) I was a bit taken aback when, out of the blue, he said: "What's a tit?"  In  my head I thought 'your father' (I hadn't wanted to do school run you see) but said 'It's a bird', followed by 'actually there are green tits, blue tits, grey tits and coal tits'.  Little fecker nearly had a coughing fit he was laughing so hard.  No. 1 joined in by going on about how much he liked tits.  The more colourful the better, etc

Having satisfied him that tits were related to birds he then asked "so, what's a boobie?"  Nos. 1 and 2 pissed themselves laughing.  

'HA!!'  I thought.  

"A booby is a bird with either red or blue feet and can be found on the Galapagos islands"  

So there!!!!

Here ya go my youngest boy.  A fine display of tits and boobies for ya.  

Love ya xx

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Yesterday

I was having a bad day.  Hence the 'I love my rotten ungrateful children' remark.  But they were doing my bloody head in.  I'd woken up bright and early and raring to go (after a night out with the school mammies and several glasses of wine) and Himself was good to go so we said 'Right, let's go somewhere lovely because it's er, lovely out'.  

Half nine I got up at.  HALF NINE!!!  The bastards (all four of them) didn't come down til 11, ELEVEN, a.m.  By which time I am positively fuming and screeching about how I'm trying to do something nice with them and WHY WON'T YOU ALL (in my head: FUCKING) MOVE??? So, we set off to have a lovely day with two of us in tears.  Me and no. 1.  

I'd received a call from the hospital on Friday saying 'we'd like to you see you in a week' which is a whole month earlier than they were meant to be seeing me.  So I immediatley went into 'oh jesus, I'm actually dying' mode.  So, instead of being all 'Terms of Endearment' and loving to my family I screeched at them that they were a hopeless fecking bunch of feckers.  Feckers who were ungrateful to boot.  

Feck.

Anyway, I'm sure I'm perfectly perfect and fine but I would like to know for definite.  May ring hospital tomorrow to ask if they had a cancellation or whether I'm er, in trouble.  Even though I'm sure I'm not.  

Feck.

Right, so we went to Howth.  Not the zoo as planned as we had Billy with us and you can't take dogs into the zoo because they might panic the monkeys.  Personally I'd like to see Billy panicked by one of the big tigers.  That would put the yappy little shit into his place.  But I digress.  Again.  

We went to Howth and took one of the high paths to walk on as we were afraid the Head would be so mushy and slippery after the rain we might fall into the sea.  Plus, the cliff walk is over 10km and the last time we did it no. 3 cried for 7 of those 10km.  It was lovely, as planned, and wetter than we'd thought it would be.  

Billy has a fear of his reflection.  Seriously!!  The dog goes bloody mental if he sees another dog staring up at him from a puddle.  I always wonder if it's ever crossed his mind why/how the dog in the puddle, who is also going ape shit mental, is doing it so quietly??

Somehow we ended up nearly back in the village and had to head back up the summit on the road.  God but there are some beautiful houses there.  Houses I want to own.  Like, REALLY, want to own.

One day.

Having crawled back up to the top of Howth Head we abandoned Himself to go the last 500m, we sat on someone's garden wall,  and collect the car so we could drive back down to the village to get chips.  

Poor no. 3.  All he wanted was a battered sausage from Beshoffs. Nothing more, nothing less.  Just one battered sausage.  He sat down on the wall to eat it and . .  it rolled out of the box and into the grass.  We recited the three second rule* and no. 1 whipped it up and gave back it no. 3.  

But then the fecking thing fell off the wall again!  Only this time it went onto the path, er, slightly longer  than 3 seconds but, again, it was whipped up and put into the box whereupon no. 3 picked up the box and made to hurl it at Himself's head in temper.  Himself, jaysus, picked off the bits of gravel and said ". . . 5 second rule????  Go on no. 3, it's alright".  

He stopped crying and wiped his eyes and nose and started eating it only to have Billy lep (like 'leap' only er, like Dubs say it)up and grab the sausage from the other end and gobble it down.  Jesus, no. 3 nearly lost his reason (I took photos of course) and myself and Himself nearly peed ourselves laughing.  No. 1 took him back to Beshoffs where they bought one more sausage.  In hindsight I'm relieved Billy ate the sausage as while no. 3 was getting a new one several dogs pissed on that exact spot where he'd dropped it the second time.  No 5 second rule (1 second rule even) is going to negate that germ-y mess.  

  

Are there any songs about the perfect Autumn day?

'Cos there should be as me and nos. 2 and 3 (and Billy the Dog) had a lovely day in the Phoenix Park today.  Lovely until no. 3 got soaked that is.  They were rowing in the pond, to get to America, when disaster struck.  The disaster answers to the name of Billy and he hates his reflection and got a bit rowdy and knocked no.3 over.  Over and in. 

We found big sticks knocking conkers out of trees and even BIGGER sticks when the big sticks didn't work.  There is a reason they didn't work, it's too early for conkers.  The trees are hanging onto them for dear life.  

Wandered across a jazz quintet in the grounds of Farmleigh House and just sat and mellowed and picked up a cd to mellow along to on the way home.  There was no point ruining that feel good buzz by putting the radio on and hearing the news.

We had fresh apple juice, prawns and hotdogs for lunch.  Made friends with a nice lady and all refused to sit next to Billy in the car on the way home because, this time, he rolled in fox shit.

Fecking dog.  Still, the weather was perfect, the music and food lovely and the company?  Well, the company was absolutely perfect.  

.

It's just like a big x-ray

That's what I told the lads I was having on Friday last.  A big x-ray.  Also told them I was getting some sort of nuclear injection that meant I couldn't stand near pregnant women for a few days.  Whereupon a mental discussion arose with no. 3 over 'Mam, what if I'm pregnant??'  Explained that he couldn't possibly be as he was too young, and er, male.  Then had an argument over why it wasn't fair men, boys, couldn't have babies.  All in all it took my mind off everything and I had the best nights sleep I've had in weeks.

As Himself was sick it was agreed that Ms. Urban would bring me to the hospital.  Actually, it was agreed before it was even known that Himself was sick that Ms. Urban would take me.  I'd taken her last year y'see and kept her mind off her worries so she felt it was right to return the favour.  Plus, I knew she wouldn't just snap at me 'stop worrying' and play with her phone for an hour.

Kept telling her to collect me at 10am but she insisted I was taking the piss and would be here at 9.30.  The appointment was for 10.30 after all.  We got to the hospital, I got lost, she didn't and we found ourselves in Area 4 where we sat down to wait. After a few minutes of nervous chatter (me) we noticed that the TV show Casualty was playing over our heads on the telly and there was a kid in an MRI machine.  The kid DIED in the MRI machine.  I legged it.  Ms. U could see what I was about to do and grabbed hold of me before I could really get off the seat and asked where I was going.  'To the toilet' I said.  Which was true.  I felt sick.  I gave her my bag as proof I was coming back.  Didn't tell her I had twenty quid tucked into my bra for emergency taxis.  Went to loo and, sorry, threw up.  Came back 10 minutes later to find yer wan looking over the Area 4 partition like an Ostrich.  So funny, just her head twisting this way and that trying to work out where I was.  She'd worked out that giving her my bag was a decoy.

Anyway, a nice nurse lady came out and gave me and the gentleman waiting for a MRI a clipboard with a long ribbon-y thing on it that we were to answer questions on.  I can't remember what question 9 was but myself and Ms. U read it as 'vaginal nerve simulater'  Yeah, seriously.  We obviously both wanted one of those.  It wasn't though, obviously.

After we'd trashed about in our pockets/bags for a pen to fill in the form we noticed . . . at the end of the long ribbon-y thing was a pen.  Turned out me and the gentleman had both failed the first test.

A nurse came out and called 'Niamh Geraghty' and I leapt up.  I got such a fright I farted.  I am so classy.  

I went into the room and sat where I was told and promptly knocked over a partition wall and frightened the bejaysus out of everyone.  Stupid thing was just leaning against my chair.

Then it was time to go into the room, official, and have my 'big x-ray' done.  Holy shit.

First off, all I could think of was 'I'm not going to fit into that tiny fucking tube'.  Second thing was 'I don't want to fit into the tiny tube.

Up I went onto the bed and the technician told me 'It's very noisy, so here's some earplugs I'm going to lean against your ears.'  Seriously, she didn't push them into my ears, just leaned them against my ears.  I went to shove them in and she barked 'NO MOVING'.  Then the bed moved and, before you knew it, I had my face locked under a cage thing and was being hooshed backwards into a tube.  Thank God my arse fit.  That was one of my biggest fears.  More than the tight space, the noise, the result etc, I was afraid my arse wouldn't fit.  

When you are lying in the very tight little tube with a cage over your face I found you were best keeping your eyes tight shut and imagining you were on the middle of a building site.  The machine sounded like a kango hammer.  There was a 30 minute scan, a three minute scan and then 4, FOUR, four minute scans.  I think I managed to keep my shit together until the end of the three minute scan.  I had been hanging on to the edges of the tube and suddenly I was being pulled deeper into the tunnel/tube thing.  Ugh.  I opened my eyes and then burst into tears.  It was like being in a coffin.  Or a toilet roll.  It was a very tight, noisy space.  Plus I was terrified my coil would rip through my belly.  On the upside I was kind've hoping they'd find my missing pin (long story involving cakes being remade etc. because I lost a bubble pricking pin).

I closed my eyes again and towards the end of the second last four minute scan I opened them and looked into the mirror that shows me the room the doctors/technicians/nurses/patients/everyone except me are in.  Holy fuck.  There was around 8 people in scrubs and uniforms staring at the screen and doing the stroke-y chin thing..  I nearly peed myself.  After what felt like an eternity of looking at the monitor, stroking their chins and looking up at me (I had myself dead and buried at this stage) they all suddenly burst out laughing!!!????  Bastards.  Either they were winding me up over scaring the bejaysus out of them by knocking the wall over or they were looking at kitten videos on YouTube.

Finally it was all over and I was out of the tube and trying to sit up.  Before the cage thing was unclicked from over my face.  Yeah, I am that graceful.

The technician said 'you seemed a bit nervous'.  Told her the only way it could have been any worse or terrifying was if they'd chucked a spider in with me.

I'll have the results in 6 weeks.  SIX weeks.  If I'm really unlucky I'll have them in two.

Oh, and the first thing no.3 said to me when I came home?  "Are you sure I'm not pregnant mam??"

A funnier joke than he thought

No. 3 couldn't wait for me to get in the door the other day.  "Mam, mam, I have a joke to tell you"  Thing is, he tells jokes like I do i.e. cackling at the coming punchline the whole way through.

No. 3:  So, this alien was walking down the street and he came across a queer singing . .. 

Me.  Queer?

Him.  Yeah, queer!  So, the queer was singing 'mememememememeem' and the alien continued along his way . . ."

Me.  Are you sure you mean 'queer'????

Yeah.  You know, 'queers, they sing in funny costumes'.

Me.  In my head (Drag queens????)

Then the penny dropped.  CHOIR!!!!!!  There was a choir singing 'memememeemmeme' on the street. 

Love the boy and his excited way of telling jokes.

Bloody evil doll thing

I hate dolls.  It's a well know, and documented fact.  They scare the living shit out of me.  Why, oh bloody, why do I insist on being friends with Cakers?

DOLLS?????????  Even worse . . . Dolls with BUTTON EYES!!!!  

I was meant to be telling you of poor no. 1's dilemma, watch footie with his dad (Real Madrid v. Man City) or The Great British Bake Off with me.  He watched the Bake Off and then the second half of the game.  

Funnily enough, we actually watch the baking show like it was a sport.  Yelling at the TV about how 'JESUS??? THREE BAKING AGENTS??????????,  is he feckin' mad or wha'?' etc.  We got a bit pissed off tonight that no one was sent home due to John cutting his finger.  Actually, I too have cut my finger on the blade of a magimix.  I can still 'hear' the cut, if you know what I mean.

Instead of telling you all that though I am filled with the image of a doll freak with button eyes.  I don't care if she's made beautifully and out of sugar.  She's a weird doll freak and now I am scared and have to go to bed.  Taking no. 3 with me.  He's the easiest one to chuck over my shoulder and drag to bed.  Himself is banished to the spare room y'see.  A mixture of chest infection (snoring) and a vomiting bug.  

Remember how I said Himself

was wearing no. 3 like a hat during last weeks spider debacle?  Well, found this and, as no. 3 loves 'raffies, I thought I'd keep it for posterity.  

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Worry

I told someone about this last night and, up until that point, I was quite fine with it all.  Now though, I'm not.  There is a shadow on my head, in my head?  Therefore Friday two weeks, or Friday fortnight, I'm going into hospital for a couple of hours of tests including an MRI.  

First thing that is scaring the pants of me is . . . the MRI.  I fucking hate tunnels.  Going through the port tunnel in Dublin is liable to kill me as I have to hold my breath until I get to the other side.  So to be stuck in a 'made to measure' tunnel doesn't fill me with the joys of spring.  Hmmm, also, it's a tight space.  What if my arse doesn't fit.  How embarrassing would that be?  Eh?

The second thing that is worrying me is, what if there is something causing that shadow.  And I'm not talking about a bunny making handshapes with a torch.  What if something is wrong?  I'm too young to be unwell.  I'm too young to be realllllly unwell.  

I grumble, like most others, about my life and how it could be better but I love it.  Warts (and snoring dog) and all.

I thought I was doing great.  Having not thought about this since the day the doctors 'hmmmmed' over my x-rays and various other bits and pieces of tests, a couple of months back but now???  Now I am a jittery bag of nerves.  Which means I am verging on being very unfuckingpleasnat with someone I know.  

I know all problems are relative.  Jesus, in the last 24 hours I;ve learnt of something that made me swell with admiration for a friend while having my heart break for her at the same time.  But some people are Just Never Fucking Happy.

Nothing is enough.

Nothing will never be enough.

I don't give a toss if they have a great heart anymore and if 'there's a lovely person in there'.  Pah.  Why should I have to waste my energies sifting through someone else's bullshit to find the nice person?  I do, however, like this person but I am tired of hearing of all their imagined slights.  So tired.  Feck, maybe the friend isn't making me tired it's, dum, dum, dum, 'THE SHADOW'.  Fuck, hope it's the friend.

My ma died when she was 54 exactly.  I will be exactly 40 soon.  I am not ready to be sick.  I am not ready to have something wrong with my favourite part of my body - my brain.   Unlike the rest of me, it's size remains constant and I love it for that.

Bollocks.  See?  Now I'm crying.  I'm crying because I'm afraid.  Not because of anything I know, more what I don't know.  I know people who are going through very heavy times right now.  Up to their oxters in heavy times and they are still smiling and keeping it together.  My shadow is turning me into a jittery, nervous wreck.   

The only shadows I like are those you get when you're walking in the sunshine.  Not the ones that lurk in the darkness, under the beds etc.  Especially not the one that is lurking in my fricking head.

Bastard shadow. 

p.s. Not telling any cakers I'm afraid of shadows, the bastards will start sending them to me in the post lol.

C'mon in, the water is lovely

Actually, it took a while to get over to the chill but it was eventually lovely.  Myself, two of mine and the borrowed boy (along with the sister and the menace) all went to Portmarnock Beach today and it was bliss.  I decided before we left for the beach that this time I WAS bringing my togs (normally I moan that I don't have them and 'doesn't the sea look lovely?') and I was getting into the sea.  

Am so glad I did.  The Borrowed Boy however turned a rather dazzling shade of blue after 15 minutes and had to be wrapped up in a towel and then another towel and then another.  

The niece (denise?) soaked up a substantial amount of the sea with her nappy and shrieked when you looked crooked at her.  

No. 2 topped up his tan and no. 3 decided he's starting a shell collection.  He's also going o make a necklace for someone really, really, especially special.  

I hope it's me.

As we're all talking about sex these days...

I'm, apologies boys, kind've into sex again.  It's fecking brilliant and has nothing to do with 50 bloody shades of Grey (yawn) but instead I've found a drug that works for me.  Happy pills that haven't suppressed my sex drive and er, Happy Days.

This morning, having had a shower and fed two of the three lads I decided to wake Darren up.  

I closed our bedroom door and wedged the thingie we use to keep the door open behind the door in the hope that it would keep the kids out.  

Then I slunk over and started to er, kiss him awake.  He responded with a lazy smile and hooshed his arse into the middle of the bed!!  Kind've taking it for granted as to how the encounter was meant to go, I thought.

So, I smiled and played nice and, Jesus I will never write a durty book.  Am blushing.  

I climbed on board and got on with doing my thing.

Whereupon no. 3 burst into the room, jumped on my back and asked if he could play too.

That.  Was.  The.  End.  Of.  That.

Swine.  Jesus, if only no.3 knew what he'd done.  He'd be as mortified for life as I am typing this.