I’m struggling to find blogging inspiration lately. Actually, no that’s not true. I have things that I could blog about, things that I probably should get out of my system – and have, in a few not really publishable posts, in my drafts folder. I want to be able to blog about the kids and about things we are doing, about nice happy things, but I just can’t muster up the emotional energy to do that. It feels as though that effort might just break me. And I can’t post about the other things. I guess I think that I have exceeded my quota of grim and whiny posts lately. I can’t subject anyone to more of my whinging.

So, I can’t write anything nice, I can’t write what’s on my mind, therefore I can’t write anything at all.

This is my blog, though, isn’t it?

Consider yourselves warned.

It is exhausting having to put on the cheerful, functional act for people in the real world. I can’t say to most people – Yes, I am in pain. Yes, still. No, I’m not any better. No, those 43 helpful suggestions of things I might like to try to make-myself-better-and-why-aren’t-I-doing-them-already are not any more helpful or useful than the last time you made them to me. There is no simple thing that just hadn’t occurred to me before that will suddenly make it all better.

It’s just so very much easier to say, “I am fine, pelvis is fine thanks”.

So, in case you were wondering, pelvis is not fine. I am not fine. But what do you do? You can’t get a replacement body.

I had pelvis x-rays the other day. I am convinced that they will show a normal, happy pelvis. Pelvis knows how to turn it on for the doctors. The rheum will tell me that my pain is in my head and I will be back in the land of no-one gives a shit.

Gee, I’m an upbeat little thing, aren’t I?

*****************

He gets out on Monday. His detention is coming to an end, our piece of mind with it. He appealed his detention, subjecting us all to more stress but thank goodness it was upheld. He has been on his best behaviour though (we think, no way of knowing for sure) because he has been transferred back to local, not so secure public hospital ward.

The police screwed up the restraining order. A typo means it started and ended on the exact same date. It went back through the magistrates court to correct that today but the paperwork Mum received still shows the typo. The police can’t serve him with the typo in place. Did I mention he gets out on Monday?

We are hoping that the court mistakenly faxed her the old, unaltered one and he will be served tomorrow. I am not that hopeful.

If it doesn’t happen before he gets out then we will have to convince her to hide somewhere.

***********

As my more astute readers will have surmised, Beefcake is, um, beefy. He’s been that way since shortly after we met. I like to joke that once he’d snagged me he just let it all go. It’s kind of true. So. I was whining to him about it tonight. I’m not annoyed about his huskyness so much as the vast sums of money we’ve sunk into his weight loss in recent times only to have him turn around, sit down and gain it all back again.

He takes my annoyance (mostly) good naturedly as he knows it’s just the general background drone of whining I like to produce to accompany our lives. Tonight though, he came up with a phrase that I felt was so genius, I had to share.

Apparently all of this losing and gaining has been of benifit to him after all as he is working towards “adjusting his fat paradigm”. His father subjected him to many a self-help tape as a child and it has obviously had an effect. Imagine trying to have a serious whinge to someone who is adjusting their fat paradigm. Ain’t gonna happen.

At least he makes me laugh.

Update: The magistrate’s court did indeed put it through complete with typo AGAIN! Seriously.

It really was the loveliest day.

No children all day.

Two meals out.

All that time alone.

And best of all….A long uninterrupted nap in the middle of the day.

Happy anniversary baby.

Six amazing years ago we walked down that aisle.

It only gets better each year.

I love you.

So, um, yeah. I would post more pictures but I am unwilling to take the risk that someone may be eating or something. I look so diseased now that my husband won’t kiss me. Because he’s not shallow at all. Arsehole.

Admittedly there is a weeping pox sore just above my mouth but I have told him that I actually tolerate worse on a daily basis and I stand by that because boys are gross.

I do look like a rabid, oozing swamp creature. Really, I nearly made my Father-in-law leap away in fright. Not pretty.

Nobody else has been struck down as yet. We are just hanging in there to see if any of the kids break out all poxy. Pudding’s temp has come down today and he appears to be getting better so I am sure that is a sign that they are all going to be covered in pustules in the morning. It’s just the way these things work.

On the upside I seem to have stopped getting new spots and I actually think it’s kind of a mild case of pox. I have seen some photos of people literally covered from head to toe in pox so I think I’ve gotten away lightly. My only issue is that some of mine are so large or have kind of blended together with others and I just can’t imagine that they’ll heal very nicely. I’m going to look pretty interesting for the next couple of weeks. No amount of make-up is going to cover these babies.

Also, who knew that weepy, crusty, itchy, painful spots on your skin would be so uncomfortable? I mean, I guess I never really thought about it before but they really feel awful, actually. Along with my mild temp and slight breathing difficulties I think it’s safe to say I am NOT enjoying the chicken pox.

The outlaws delivered us some dinner tonight, which was nice. Kind of annoying though because if I am unwell then they just assume they should help out because naturally the poor widdle baby Beefcake could not handle cooking for the family while I’m sick, oh no. If he’s stricken with man-flu then they just leave me to it. Bastards. Still, hand delivered take-away dinner that we didn’t have to pay for – I am a moron for complaining.

P.S. When I told Beefcake that I told the whole internet that he wouldn’t kiss me he asked if I would change it if he came and kissed me now – I said I would add this post-script. How funny is that though – he is worried you will all judge him harshly. I’m sure that can be turned to my advantage…

• We sold the high chair and the pram on Ebay. We didn’t get enough for the pram for me to feel that it was worth giving up what seems to be the essential symbol of babyhood*. I sobbed all day on Tuesday when it was being collected. Mostly because there will be no more babies. Partly because this means Grub really is a big girl now. A toddler and not a baby. I asked Beefcake if I could buy it back. It was a bit pathetic.
• I am having a little problem with chocolate licorice bullets at the moment. I always like them but at the moment I am unable to stop at just a few. I eat the whole bag, I have left them in the kitchen in the hope that having to get up to get more will reduce my intake. It is not working. I am a hopeless, hopeless addict.
• My sister Patchouli! has admitted to me that she has started her own blog. This is fine except that since she has known about my blog she has mocked me mercilessly and relentlessly. She has never read this blog, she just knows about it. She expects similar restraint from me, which of course I will provide. I really wish I didn’t have to though. I am dying to look. I have almost considered telling someone else about it so that they can look for me and tell me about it. Naturally I won’t but still, tempting.
• Beefcake reads this blog,which is sometimes handy if I am looking to send him some sort of coded message. So here it is: Go and get a vasectomy (In case you were wondering that’s code for “Go and get a vasectomy”).
• Beefcake has brought me the bag of bullets now. They are not long for this world.
• It is sooooo hot here I think I might melt. We have no air conditioner. We have borrowed a small portable one but our current finances do not extend to buying a new one. We’ll have to organise something in the next few days though because it’s getting dire.
• It’s pageant on Saturday. You may remember my posts from last year. I am sure that this year’s pageant will provide just as much fabulous blog fodder. Last year though it was drizzling and chilly enough that Grub had to wear a beanie. The predicted top for Saturday is 39°C. It will be quite a different day. I shall have to find a vantage point in the shade so that I am not overwhelmed by the heat. Also we are walking there as we can’t really justify taking the car and parking. It’s maybe a twenty minute walk across the parklands at most. Heat makes me lazy. I don’t really want to.
• I am addicted to scrabble on my iphone. I have at least ten games going at any one time. It is a deadly time waster as there is a chat function too so I play and chat to Patchouli! all the time.
• My coriander plant died because I forgot to cover it with some shade. It was less mature than my other herbs which are still hanging in there. Bum.
• Rhubarb has a frightening Fbook habit. I have had to get on there once already to remove some chat that offended his Aunt and Uncle. He couldn’t see the problem. The thing is, he gets 90 minutes a day total computer time. He has been sneaking time at school. Not pleased. He is becoming such a teenager. It’s scary.
• I’m thinking of doing my requalification and going back to work a couple of days a week. I have to jump through a few hoops to be able to practise again as it has been four-and-a-half years since I worked but the money is needed. Beefcake would be able to look after the kids because he works from home. On those days he would just mostly work in the evening, which is fine. He is not overly keen, worrying that I will not manage with the pelvis and things but I think it will be fine. Worth thinking about, I guess.

*This is strange because all of my children but particularly Grub were carried in a sling all the time until near their first birthday.
Grub only used that pram about two dozen times really. Still. *sniff*

Nothing.

Some minor things like my vitamin D levels are quite low (spend much time inside immobilised by pain do you?) and my cholesterol levels are marginally high but not actually high apparently.

So nothing.

Nothing at all.

Doctor is convinced there is something the matter with me. As she put it “There’s just too many joints and things that are problematic”. I agree. There must be something.

I have a referral to a rheumatologist. The doctor assures me that there are many more in-depth tests that the rheumatologist will do.

I am not surprised really. I had a feeling that nothing would turn up. I also feel that there is a good chance that the specialist will not find anything and I will be back to square one, in pain and told to “just deal with it”.

I know these are useless, rubbish thoughts. I must pick myself up and go forth to be prodded and drained of my vital fluids with great enthusiasm and an optimistic twinkle in my eye.

Truthfully I am hoping that in the months that it will take to get a specialist appointment I will improve greatly. Beefcake has now decided that I should wean Grub. He is convinced her continued feeding is taking an unreasonable toll on my body. I won’t even consider it until she gets to eighteen, no twenty, months. I would prefer weaning to occur more naturally but if we get to twenty months I will consider it if I am no better. Of course I expect I will all better by then.

I have the flu. I have had a fever for three days. I feel leaden and snot-filled, My throat feels as though I have swallowed a cheese grater. It is making me feel decidedly up-beat. Can you tell?

Beefcake has a job interview tomorrow. Wish him luck.

As anyone who reads this regularly will know, Beefcake works from home. His hours are very flexible as he works for a company on the other side of the world. This means that he can sometimes have meetings at 1am and the like but for the most part it’s great because he can organise his work around our family a fair bit. He gets to be around for things that a lot of working parents aren’t able to take part in. It’s great for the kids and we manage pretty well spending so much time together (as a general rule). Like any other job, Beefcake accrues leave, which he likes to take and have a total break from the stresses of his job. He is currently halfway through the first week of two weeks of annual leave he has booked.

It’s a weird thing. Ordinarily we get along well. We have occasional brawls in the street disagreements in an ordniary week but we are usually pretty okay. We like each others company and we don’t feel too much need for time apart. When he is working he is relatively easy to get along with. When he is not, he’s a nightmare.

I swear, he is having hormonal problems or something. He must be about to get his period any day now. It’s unbelievable. He rants and carries on like a pork chop. This morning he claimed that I was “persecuting him” because I asked him not to open a packet of bacon. Those were his exact words. I couldn’t help it. I got on the phone to my sister and the two of us had tears of laughter streaming down our faces as we giggled about it.

He’s like a tantrumy child. It’s as though his brain can’t cope if he has nothing to do. I need to find more DIY for him to do before he suffers a complete meltdown.

This afternoon though, he gave me such a little gem of blog fodder to share, I have been chuckling to myself ever since. He has an aversion to fish, you see. Fish of all kinds, even the smell of a fish makes him freak out and feel ill. He’s very dramatic about it. I was having a grumble to him this afternoon about the fact that we don’t have a lot of fish in our diets because of his dislike for it and the fact that the kids need their Omega 3’s and all that jazz. This is what my grumpy old man of a husband had to say about that:

“It’s all a conspiracy from the fish producers, anyway” …… “You never needed fish in my day”

And there you have it. No word of a lie. He really is that much of a ranty old fart. I have often joked that as he gets older I will need to buy him a “ranting chair” which he can sit in and lecture everyone as they go by. He’s shown signs of heading that way for a while but I think by the end of this fortnight, he’ll actually be ready for it.

P.S. I am gonna be in so much trouble when he reads this. I’m evil, me. I know it’ll piss him off but I just can’t seem to help myself.

Edited to add: I have been corrected. I actually said something about eating fish three times a week  as well and Beefcake actually said something about fish industry propaganda NOT a fish industry conspiracy. Important details people. Eyewitnesses are notoriously unreliable. You shouldn’t believe a word I write.

Thanks to everyone who has been wishing us luck with the house and sending all that lovely good luckiness this way. We are both complete wrecks. We have banned ourselves from speaking about the house and still I find myself turning to Beefcake roughly every 3.5 seconds and asking him if he thinks we’ll get the house. He has tried to suggest that I “not worry my purdy little head about it” and let him be “the man” and deal with it. He was trying to be funny and make me feel better but of course I was forced to punch him in the ear.

To take out tiny little minds off of the worries we face, the Easter Bunny decided to run a special treasure hunt this morning instead of the usual “race about the garden frantically trying to gather the most eggs” type of hunt. Each child had their own set of clues to follow, which eventually led them to their basket of easter sugar (except for Grub who received a small toy and did not have to follow clues because she’s a baby and, despite being somewhat of a prodigy in the gross motor skills department, she cannot read). It was a raging success and I think we will employ this tactic again. All of the children were in delightful moods after the fun start to their day and we had a great day spending time together.

I decided to indulge in the chocolate today as well because there were mocha hot cross buns and dark chocolate bunnies for fuck’s sake. This, it turns out, constitutes a significant error of judgement on my part. The resulting sugar rush saw me engaged in several very energetic wii games, which involved dancing and other complicated moves of a physical and exercisey type nature. I was so hyped up I even challenged Rhubarb to a “cool moves” competition on the trampoline. I don’t really do cool moves on the trampoline as a rule (read – I don’t jump on the trampoline) so I should have known it was the sugar talking. I blame Beefcake, he stood by and judged the whole thing, he must have known how I would feel later (I won by the way but Rhubarb feels that the judging was not all above board).

To cap it off, we all went for a long walk and I borrowed Rhubarb’s bike and RODE for quite some distance. I did some chin-ups on some of the play equipment at the park and helped Rhubarb carry his bike home (he burst the inner tube doing something silly and was worried about damaging his rims on a completely flat tyre). Now, I don’t do chin-ups and this was only the second time I have ridden a bike in the last eight years or so.

I’ll bet you can imagine how I feel now.

I will be even worse tomorrow, which is not convenient as we are having a large family lunch. I will be cooking and cleaning all morning tomorrow feeling like an arthritic old lady.

It’s evil stuff that sugar. I don’t usually touch it that much. I don’t even like bloody milk chocolate and I have consumed enough of it today to put a whale into a diabetic coma.

I’m not too bright.  I am not a grown up. I shouldn’t be allowed to make decisions on my own.

Seriously.

Oh and Happy Easter!!