Yesterday I had some sort of creative brain spasm, which prompted me to undertake some sewing. Yes, sewing. I have gone through various creative “phases” in my life. When Rhubarb and Poss were small I sewed all of their clothing (I know, what was wrong with me?) and much of my own as well. I can’t say I was ever terribly good at it. Seams were always a bit wonky and I didn’t trouble myself with following patterns and pinning things too much. I was a bit of a maverick. Yes, a maverick seamstress. Anyhow, I became bored with that at some point and only sew now to adjust hems or make repairs really. A friend made me turn her maxi dress into a skirt last week and consequently my sewing machine was still on the dining room table and I lost all sense of reason.

I sewed some bed curtains for Pudding, so that he can pretend his bed is a tent. He is thrilled but it still didn’t stop him from coming into our bed at 2am. Then I sewed a new attachment blankie for Grub. Now, I had bought this gorgeous Alexander Henry fabric to make a blanket for her weeks ago (by which I mean prior to Christmas). I have been meaning to do something with it and lately she has taken to pulling out my hair as she drifts off to sleep. I couldn’t cope anymore. I am quite pleased with it actually. I paired with some purdy limey green satin for strokeability and she seems to like it enough to consider relinquishing her fistfuls of hair.

I have decided that, although the sewing was reasonably successful, it is actually a force for disharmony in my body. I has quite a sore pelvis last night and today I have been quite bad. I can see no other cause. It has to be the sewing, I have to make some small adjustments to her blankie and then I am burying the sewing machine in the linen cupboard and never getting it out again. I should be grateful I suppose, I am currently floating on a sea of pain free happy thoughts. I have taken the good painkillers. My doctor assures me that they are safe for breastfeeding and having consulted the Great Google, I can see that they are. However, I have irrational paranoias that I will cause Grub to grow a second head or that her brain will leak out of her ears so I never do. It all go too much for me this afternoon – a trip to playgroup and the supermarket left me barely able to walk – and I have allowed Beefcake to dose me with drugs. It is wonderful to be pain-free for a short while. I can move my hips in ways that are appropriate to a woman in her early thirties, not an arthritic octogenarian.

The only problem is, I am not that used to strange things in my system and it sends me a bit funny in the head.

I should not be allowed near my laptop, to interact with the outside world. I know this and yet, here I am.

Right, I;ve just read through that and I can see that it is about as coherent as a Neighbours plotline but I can not fathom how I would fix it. See?

I might go for a nice lie down.

My very funny blogging friend Magic Marker Mom sometimes trots out a post she calls Wardrobe Malfunction Tuesday. Now, this woman is amazing, I swear she has kept every fashion disaster of her adult life. Her WMT’s are fabulous and hilarious. My favourites have included these fabulous Louboutins and this backless number that just rocked my world.

I tend to have regular cleansing sessions and therefore have lost much of the real fashion tragedies that have adorned my gorgeous bod over the years. I have had many a sad encounter with man made fibres and more fashion victim moments than I can count but I have been ruthless and they have all ended up with one charity or another. All of them except a choice bag of vintage clothes which, while mostly hideous and tragic, have some special importance to me.  So, in admiration of MMM’s tragically full wardobe, I give you my version of a fashion tragedy:

I do not remember where I bought this little number. I do remember being enchanted with the Lurex and believing that it was the most stunning 70’s number I had ever seen. I loved it and wore it many times, although in recent years it has only been trotted out as a fancy dress costume. Here it is as worn by a mystery model who did not wish to appear on my blog in heels and a dress if people could identify facial features:

God, can’t you just hear him telling a therapist all about this at some future date. Goodness he looks chic though!

I’m just looking at the label now and it was apparently made by an outfit called Kenneth Pirrie, who was obviously some really glam and fabulous designer of the sixties and seventies. It lists the make-up of the fabric as being a composition of Lurex and Orlon, which everyone knows are the kings of the synthetic fibre world.

It is truly hideous, I know, but after this, it will be folded and returned to the bag underneath my bed where all such treasures reside because I simply can’t get rid of it.

Beefcake has been struck down with a man-cold. That is to say, we all have a cold, however Beefcake is dying and urgently needed to rush off to the pharmacy in order to dose himself thoroughly with whiney baby drugs.

Drugs, which I cannot have.

Arsehole.

Anyhow, it turned out well because he decided to stop working after a few hours today and we spent the rest of the day making comfort food. Comfort food involving pasta and cake, which I should not have. Beefcake makes a gorgeous ginger cake, which is baked in a large baking dish. This is lucky because we tend to need to eat that much of it. Today, being terribly ill, he had put it in the oven when I noted it was rather less thick than usual and lacking in volume. On questioning, it turns out that he had added the ingredients in a rather haphazard order and had somehow forgotten to add one of the cups of flour. We managed to rescue the cake but he has been banned from baking. Still, I have indulged heartily in the carbohydrates and will now need to spend the next couple of days whispering nasty things to myself as punishment.

I stupidly went to bed at about 8pm with Grub and will now be awake until a million o’clock but at the time it seemed I had no choice as I was about to pass out from tired. Since I got up again, Poss has been up  to get a drink and has begun laying the groundwork towards spending the day at home tomorrow. Think lots of moaning about blocked noses etc. We just heard her moaning in her sleep though so I think she may genuinely be sick.

Poor Rhubarb, he who brought the pestilence to our house, has been punished severely by enduring his first Monday fitness training for rowing squad. Poor baby had sport just before school finished and then went on to do 90 minutes of situps and rowing practice and the like. He seemed to enjoy it but I notice that his light was out early this evening, which can only mean he was knackered.

Right then, I might try and lay about and moan a bit before trying to head to bed again…… Or perhaps some more cake? Mmmmmm.

Grub had her two-month-old immunisations today. Yes, she is nearly eight months old. We always intended to put them off a little bit but we are so slack that a delay of a month or two turned into a delay of over five months.

I was actually quite pleased with how it went. Instead of the standard 45 minute wait to see the doctor they were actually running ON TIME.  I was expecting a tiresome lecture about our failure to immunise her so far but the doctor was very pleasant and even made a comment about the incredible number of things that are on the imunisation schedule now. Seriously, they just keep adding and adding. There are so many more than when my older two were little and Grub even gets a few that Pudding didn’t get and he’s only 3.

Poor little Grub had to have an injection in each thigh. The doctor was  really quite nice and even called another doctor to come and jab her at the exact same time so as not to prolong her distress. Still there was that moment, that slightly delayed reaction, a look of surprise and then “ohmyfuckinggodyoubastards, YOU HURT ME, ON PURPOSE!!!!” scream that just rips your heart out. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it. She recovered quite quickly at the time but now she’s a sooky, crying mess and just needs to be held and boobed for the rest of the day.

Despite her sore thigh rolls, she still managed a major developmental milestone today, sitting herself up for the first time. She has been able to maintain her balance in a sitting position for several weeks but this was he first time she really sat herself up. I was so loud in my enthusiasm for her new move that I scared her and she fell over. Of course, all of the effort required meant she immediately needed a boob and a nap but at least that’s given me some precious time with my laptop.

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It is 43 degrees here today. The being inside and the heat has driven Pudding insane. He spent all day shrieking maniacally and throwing pointy things, before finally passing out next to me on the couch. We try to duck to the park in the cool of the morning but we didn’t today and it has caused his fragile little  mind to break. It is very boring but there is little I can do to make it more exciting for him especially as Grub refuses to be put down. At all. Ever.

We did play a great game this afternoon which involved him being  a baby, who required frequent nappy changes. In the end I was worried that although the nappy changes were pretend, he may develop some sort of emotional scarring, which will create bizarre fetishism in his adult-life. I am nothing if not paranoid. In the end he decided that teddy was the baby and proceeded to breastfeed him. Can you tell what he sees the adults around him doing most? He needs to get out more.

In light of Pudding’s boredom, we have organised a new playgroup for him. He does swimming once a week and usually has a couple of playdates a week but we’ve decided he needs some more outside of the house time. It is all very exciting as it takes place at a local school, where they’re all about the alternative education methods. I nearly sent Rhubarb there years ago, but as I was a newly single Mum (the ex charmingly moved interstate after we split, so as to avoid any parenting duties) and I was across the other side of town and just beginning my degree it didn’t seem practical. Beefcake and I are hoping that Pudding will enjoy it and that we will be able to send him to school there next year. He is a very ‘free-spirited’ child and I worry about what the soul-crushing state education system might do to him*. I don’t know, it may not work out but I’m sure Pudding will enjoy the extra activity anyway.

*That sounds bad, the other children are fine and hardly damaged at all but it’s so potluck and maybe this would suit him  better.

I slept last night.

I was in bed by 10.30pm, I went to sleep and I slept the majority of the night. This may not seem a big deal to all of you but it is, I assure you.

Most nights I wait until somewhere between 1.30 and 3am, until I can no longer stand pretty much, and then I am almost guaranteed to be able to sleep and have few wakeful periods during the night, mostly. If I go to bed early it is pointless as I will only lie in bed awake until 2am (or 5). I walk around like a zombie and it’s lovely to walk into a room and have people comment on how tired you look, lovely. Last night I woke once for about 45 minutes, plus the five times Grub woke for a feed (I know, oh my gawd) and I slept until almost 7am.

What is rather odd is that I am almost always able to fall asleep during the day. I’ve always been a night time person, as is Beefcake, so we are not a good combination in terms of getting our rest. He was up until 2am and is now having a sleep-in. He has no insomnia issues (the man has been known to  fall asleep standing up, whilst pouring a drink) but just likes staying up late.

So, I’m making a commitment to myself to try and go to bed early, in the belief that I will be able to sleep, at least three nights a week. This is a big step for me and I am hoping it will continue. I  am never going to be an early to bed girl all the time, I love my child-free nights but I believe, that if I think I can, I will be able to sleep. I think I can, I think I can.

Yesterday was also a landmark day, I was able to practice hair-removal on my legs, underarms and nether regions, all of which were suffering from some serious neglect due to the fact that Grub is going through a phase where she screams if I leave the room. Even when she’s asleep.   I am lucky to be allowed to use the toilet at the moment.

AND

I was out shopping and Grub was asleep in the sling so I ducked into the budget hairdresser in the shopping centre next to target (yes, I am glamourous) and had her quickly trim my hair. You see, my hair has been growing out since I was about 7 months pregnant. Growing out of a VERY short asymmetrical haircut that my then hairdresser felt was very me and just had to be done. She had been my hairdresser for about 4 years. I haven’t been back. SO, yesterday I had it trimmed to an evenish shape so that it doesn’t look as though Pudding has come at me with his safety scissors.

I am very pleased. None of the children even noticed (except Pudding, who was there).

Okay, off to clean up some hand soap which has apparently ‘vomited’ all over the bathroom cupboard. Thanks Pudding.

HomeOfficeMum has tagged me for another photo meme thingy.

I was  going to cheat quite a bit and use one from the file on my computer. My computer is quite new and therefore there are only very recent pics on there. It turns out that the fourth photo from the fourth file on my laptop was photo of Pudding, which I had already used in a blog post a wee while back. SO, I went to the backup hard drive and applied the whole 4th, 4th, 4th rule and this is what we came up with.

It’s Rhubarb, Poss and myself wandering some old Roman ruins. It was taken at Chester’s Roman fort in England. It’s on Hadrians wall. It was bloody freezing and we all wanted to cry. My boots sprung holes and I got wet feet. It was cool but god I was glad to get back in the warm car.

Just below it, I noticed this though:

This was just after a landmark moment for Pudding. He spied these in the gift shop. Minature wooden short swords. We had our backs to him and he picked one up and began charging and attacking things in the shop. None of us had ever seen him wield a blade before. We don’t really know where he picked up the skill. Of course, we had to buy one for him. I think we were in shock. This is him attacking us in the carpark as we made to leave. It was pissing down with rain, Pudding didn’t care. This marks the day he began really getting into violence of all kinds. Everyone say ‘awwww’.

I’m not tagging anyone, but I always love what these things turn up in peoples’ archives so if you do it, let me know.

I have mastitis again. It seems that I just lurch from one episode of bed rest to the next. My boob is very pretty in it’s dappled shades of pink and purple. Grub is a ferocious feeder and I feel that her particular feeding style must be responsible for all the mastitis, which I NEVER had with any of the others. Also, she has recently cut her bottom two teeth and has been experimenting with them. Very soothing.

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We bought Pudding some goggles for swimming. He now wears them in the bath and shower and “I looooove my goggles, Mummy”. They can also be used for superhero dress-ups.

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Poss is progressing nicely with her orphanage for wooden peg people, I must remember to post pictures. She worked on it all day yesterday and has built up a complex narrative surrounding the evil live-in caretakers of the orphanage, a Mr and Mrs Carton (or Mr & Mrs Sassy she can’t decide). They have lovely insect themed wallpaper though, so does it really matter?

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Tomorrow Rhubarb embarks on a four-day rowing camp with his new school. The idea is to take the new year 8’s away with the rowing team for them to meet other new kids and older students as well as begin training for the upcoming school rowing season. He has the anxieties now, which is making planning and packing difficult. I wouldn’t force him to go except that I know he will have a ball and how cool will it be if he can make some friends and not feel so lost when school starts? Anyway, he hasn’t said he doesn’t want to go, just that he is nervous and he is certainly very surly indeed.

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The g key on my laptop is intermittently not working so I have to go back through everything I type and insert the g’s.

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I just got up and went to the toilet and there were specs of dirt and twigs sprinkled all over the bathroom. It looks as though someone carried our dog in there  after she’d been for a roll in the grass and shook her. I also noted small piles of dishes in the hallway as well as a pair of Pudding’s undies.

Beefcake will have a fit if he comes home to find that I have moved these things, or tidied up in any way. He’s taken the children out for lunch. We’ve already had a little bit of bickering this morning over our very different standards when it comes to housework. Mine being that it is ideal to try and clean some things sometimes, for example, stacking the dishwasher and cleaning the loo are things I like to see done. Beefcake works on the philosophy that nothing ever needs to be done today and that people who clean regularly must have OCD.

A friend of mine lived with Beefcake in between houses and before I met him. It had been an all male sharehouse and she reported that it was not uncommon for him to sit down, find a box of three-day-old chicken wings on the floor next to the chair and have a little snack. Apparently the bathroom was so grime encrusted it took her an entire day to clean it, which she said she had to in order to use it without dry retching. He has improved a touch from those days, he has learned to refrigerate food at least.

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I watched eight hours of William and Mary yesterday on dvd and I plan to watch more today.

Ah, times up. Grub is awake. Count yourselves lucky that I haven’t got more time to share.

Edited to add:  Beefcake was concerned that his “having a fit” could be misconstrued. To clarify, he is concerned about me wearing myself out and wants me to rest. I am therefore banned from housework. It is only out of concern for my welfare and his having a fit would not be the loud and shouty kind but more of the carrying me back to bed kind. Just to clarify.

Better baby?