A very useful engine... for mental asylums

As I write my 11mth old (Crash) whimpers in his bed, as his brother (Bang) yells ‘Maarmmm’ ‘Maaarrmmm’. I sit here glued to my seat, scared that if I move I will transform into a seething, green monster that eats children that don’t sleep, or at least throws them out windows.

Before you run off and call DOCS* to have them farmed off to parents who are always calm, patient and kind, you know the ones that live in la la land, we only live in a single storey house, so at worst they’d get a broken arm. Ok so I’m not really going to throw them out a window despite having had the worst few months of my parenting life and being at the end of my proverbial tether. 

Most days the shinnanigans on the way to sleep would not bother me so much and to be fair I have been the kindest and most loving of parents at all hours over the last 48, but today I am working off all of 4 hours sleep after a second trip to Sydney Children’s Hospital in as many weeks and why, because I choose not to lock my children in a cupboard. Yes you read it right, a cupboard; a large, cozy, disease-free cupboard.

Instead I let them out in the fresh air, the beautiful, warm, fresh air, of course “fresh” in the sense it is teeming with millions of airborn viruses and bacteria. I let them go to playgrounds, I let them touch ride-on toys in shopping centres and I let them talk to other children. I therefore am destined to be dishing out anti-biotics, paracetamol, ibuprofen or more commonly a combination of all three, multiple times most nights for at least four years, apparently.

That’s right, I am on the infection train again. And it is a really useful engine but mainly for torturing children and sending parents insane. I can just see the Fat controller proudly stating it as another mother jumps in front of Percy, “Well done Thomas, you’ve driven another one to the brink, you are a really useful engine.” 

A mob try and take down Thomas Tonsilitis, they fail...

I’ve spent 18 months trying to get my boys off without us being run down by Percy but the sneaky little engines are always trailing after us and just when you think you are taking a step towards a healthy existence one of them rattles into Sodor station and picks you up again. It's enough to turn me permanently into Cranky the Crane Mummy!

Between them Bang and Crash have been on Henry hand foot and mouth three times, Emily ear infection six times, which lead to Fergus febrile convulsion and Gordon grommets giving us a whirl, Crash is currently on Thomas tonsillitis, while Bang is waiting for Neville nits to pick him up, which could happen this week according to an email from kindy, but our favourite is an untreatable ride on Fearless Freddie Flu, which we take at least once a month. And so as we don’t miss him while we’re on the other engines he leaves gooey green train tracks behind until he comes back. Thanks Freddie.

I don’t know the answer to all this misery, (masks, clean hands, tissues, actually taking carers leave?), I know they are going through hell to build an immune system but I think this post itself is testament to the extent of damage the infection train can inflict, all I hope is that in about three years time I will still have my marriage, my sanity and that my boys will be happy and well. Until then … we’ll be down the hills and round the bend with Thomas and his friends. 

Are you on the infection train? Maybe we could have a drink or twenty?

*Department of Child Services
©My IdeaLife, 2011, All rights reserved. Thomas image copyright DB King

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that light at the end of the tunnel...it may be just a train

My GP said this to me this morning and it's not yet certain whether she is extremely insightful or some type of witch doctor that cursed me because the rest of the day so far has confirmed that the light everyone refers to at the end of the proverbial tunnel is in fact a train about to run us down. 

So things have been tough lately, my country-bred husband got sick and that never happens, he even went to the doctor which is also pretty rare and asked for antibiotics. As his course finished my eldest screamed his way through a suspected ear drum perforation Friday night and was promptly prescribed antibiotics the next day. The GP appointment I booked on Tuesday for my normal doctor to check what the local toupee-wearing medical centre practitioner had prescribed turned into a mercy dash for my youngest who was also put on antibiotics.

Add to this me being sick while all this is going on and my brain deciding that keeping me awake from 1-4am every night would be a good way to fight whatever viral or bacterial infection I was harboring and you'd think you'd have that train heading my way. Well we're not quite at the trainwreck stage yet. 

After another terrible night consisting of 4 hours of broken sleep, a constant headache and stiff neck I woke begging my husband to work from home to help. He looked as bad as I felt, so obliged. Am trying to get minutes more sleep when I hear the familiar sound of a chair scraping on tiles. Knowing that my husband is changing my eldest I know it's our 8 month old trying to climb on the kids table and chairs. So I jump up and run down the hall only to watch in slow motion him keeling over backwards, chair on top of him. Tears and screaming ensue. Still no train though, just a gentle Thomas-like 'hoot-hoot' in the distance maybe. 

Still feeling like death warmed up I start on feeding the bub and master 2 turns up, chirpy and chipper thank god, and keen to eat his oats. 'Wow, things are looking up' I think, little did I know. So both are now fed but my stay-at-home-to-help husband has disappeared. Now if you've read my previous posts you know this is usual so I suspect nothing and just get mad, and get even madder when I find him in bed. 'What are you doing?' I bark. I'm so cheesed off, 'I'm in flu-hell and he decides he needs a lie down' I fume. 

Next thing he's on the loo, then he's in bed again, then he's on the loo, then he's in bed. So I ease up figuring he must be a little sick so leave him to rest until I have to go to the GP. At this point he's making me look like a picture of good health, still a little mad and not very sympathetic I ask if he is well enough to look after Master 2, he groans which is not much use and I'm running late as usual. So I sternly say 'It looks as though you won't be able to look after him, can you please answer yes or no.' He feebly responds ' I think it would be best if you took him with you.' So off we go to the GPs, again. (I swear the receptionist will be asking us over for dinner soon I know her so well).

Get to GPs five minutes late but spy a parking spot within metres of the surgery - score! I brake, put my blinker on and put car into reverse and wait as is customary in case the car behind wants to go around me to get the lights, which happen to be green. This is all not good enough for Mr. tradie in white, beat-up ute. He pulls up almost to my bumper and expects that his intimidating carry on will make me give up the park and allow him to get the lights. He doesn't know the morning that I've had, so I begin to reverse into the park, he still doesn't move. I wind down my window and ask him to move back. He pretends he's forgotten where reverse is and throws his hands in the air. I motion a distance of 10 cms and not sure whether it was the wild look in my eye or what, but he found reverse and I parked the car. And all I can say is he's lucky the lights changed again or he would have got an earful from a mad woman with a toddler in her arms as I walked past him. 

Doctors' appointment was usual - you rush to get there and then wait for 20mins trying to keep a toddler from licking chairs and disease-infested toys. When I got home is really when the train hit. By now it is lunchtime and having convinced my toddler not to do some 'driving*' and come straight upstairs for lunch, I was feeling hopeful again until I saw my husband, who was sort of green-coloured (this is not normal) and was shuffling down the hallway. I got the kids seated and food in front of them, hubby was trying to help but he then sort of jogged off towards the bathroom and the sounds that emerged. O.M.G it was awful - he was so sick, this time heaving up incessantly. I ran to his aid and felt terrible for being nothing but a biatch all morning. On returning to the table to sounds of 'Ohhhhh nooooo, Ohhhhh noooo' I saw my toddler pointing to my bub who had managed to grab his food bowl and with great satisfaction was decorating himself, the table, the floor and the highchair with a pumpkin concoction.

I got my husband some water and helped him to bed, I cleaned up the baby and his surrounds, I bundled up my toddler and put him to bed. I got the baby's bottle and put him to bed. I breathed a sigh of relief and went to the kitchen to clean up. Everything was starting to feel normal and calm, the dishwasher was on and I started filling the sink to wash the bottles and teats. Suddenly the spout flew off and a fountain of water blasted a metre into the air. In the seconds it took me to turn the tap off the window, the floor, the bench, the appliances and I were soaked. 

Tap looking innocent...don't be fooled

Normally at this point you laugh because if you didn't, you'd cry. I didn't laugh I just stood in shock and then got some paper towel and mopped some of it up, but then I knew what I had to do. I had to make myself a cup of tea, find some chocolate and sit down and write a blog post. Now that's done I can laugh and I do although somewhat hysterically, which I suppose is normal given my day.

*Driving consists of toddler insisting on climbing into front seat as soon as we park in the garage and staying there for at least 10mins. Mama has to sit in the passenger seat and turn the vanity light on and off, before luring him upstairs with offers of food or 'toot-toots'.
© MyIdeaLife 2011

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