Fire, Fire!

The boys and I spent the morning at the Firefighter Championships, climbing on old fire engines, watching fire demos and idolising the firemen that were all around us. I’m not sure what it is about firemen that gets little boys so excited, but the boys loved it, Declan has been telling me all of his plans to grow up and be a fireman, just like his “Gar gar”, Dan’s dad.

Four years and five days ago I sat on this same fire engine on my way to our wedding, I think I looked probably about as nervous as Conman looks up there, there aren’t seatbelts on that thing, and I had visions of falling off it onto the road, just my legs, uncomfortable shoes and knickers sticking up from a pile of tulle and satin.

We watched a demo of what happens when you throw water onto an oil fire – just 100ml of water caused this huge explosion.

Back when I was working in my Dad’s restaurant, one of the staff had a brain snap and poured a saucepan of water into the oil of the deep fat fryer, it wasn’t hot enough to explode (the oil in the picture was actually on fire) but it caused the hot oil to geezer right up to the ceiling. Scary as hell.

Unfortunately, that’s the end of any fun for the next fourty eight hours. This weekend has been dubbed, “The Weekend Of Doom”, I am spending it giving the house a thorough clean, and Dan is spending it doing his taxes, I might even make the kids eat vegetables this weekend just so they don’t feel left out.

Snips And Snails…

and puppy dog tails.

That’s what my little home is made of.

Connor is fast on his way to two years old, and still has yet to talk or walk. He tries, he makes plenty of progress, and then stops and regresses back to where he was.

Declan’s psych says not to worry about it at all, that his understanding of what we say to him is far too advanced for anything to be an issue.

I am inclined to agree. He has everyone of us wrapped around his finger, knowing that he can get the entire room looking and cheering at him if he takes a couple of steps unsupported, or being able to communicate without any kind of effort, just a series of nods, head shakes and points.

In my continuing attempt to cut down on the amount of unknowns in Declan’s diet I made homemade cordial last night, I slaved over a hot stove, boiled rasberries and sugar syrup down and made a beautiful 100% natural bright red drink for him to enjoy.

I gave it to him tonight, I told him it was “Mummy’s Special Cordial” and how it was much better for him than the usual stuff. He took an enthusiastic swig, pulled a face, handed me the cup back and suggested I poured it down the sink.

It’s a good job I love them.

Grotty feet and all.

You Ain’t Seen Nothing Yet

For the first couple of years of Declan’s life I was convinced that it would all get easier as time went on. This whole parenting shebang couldn’t be this hard forever, right?

It didn’t.

In some ways it’s almost getting harder, as he grows I have more expectations of him and I’m more aware as each week passes how he’s moving further away from “normal”. As the months and years go by, certain problems get solved, only for new ones to pop up in their place. Just when I think he’s finally hit the ceiling and it can’t get any more difficult, he turns it up to eleven and shows me that, in fact, it can.

During my pregnancy with him this is not how I saw my future, parenting shouldn’t be patting yourself on the back because you went an entire 24 hours without looking up terms and conditions on eBay to work out whether your three year old counts as livestock, or whether you should just go the local route with a classified ad.

My niece asked about some of his behaviour and why he acts how he does. I explained that Declan just thinks a little bit differently to other kids, he has a harder time controlling himself, and doesn’t process things in the same way that they do.

“Yeah… but why?”

I wish I knew.

The Voices Inside My Computer

The internet plays a big part in my life, I met Dan way back when through our respective blogs (although back in the dark ages they were still called “online journals”), most of our family income in generated through our sites and connections we make online, and, as sad as it may seem to most people, pretty much 100% of my friends live online as well.

Yeah, I’m the crazy lady with friends that live inside the computer. There are a myriad of reasons for why I quite like it like this; It allows me to be a lazy friend, there’s no gatherings to attend, no phone calls that have to be made, I can pop up a note one day and say that I’m going to be focusing on other things for a couple of months, and when that’s over I’ll be welcomed back with open arms. I don’t have to make plans for lifts to places, work things out around naps or anything like that, if I need it, there’s usually someone for me to talk to hanging out on the other side of the keyboard.

But the number one reason I love the people that live inside my computer, is that they’re awesome women. They’re women that I’ve spoken to for four years, since we all fell pregnant together with our 2007 babies, people have come and gone, families have grown and break ups have happened. And through all this there’s a solid core of wonderful women who absolutely rock my world in every way imaginable.

This afternoon a parcel arrived on my doorstep. Inside were some toys for Declan and Connor (I now have Mr Potato Head’s facial features scattered across my hallway) and two boxes, one for Dan and one for myself.

Inside Dan’s box was a beautiful silver keyring with Robyn’s name and birthdate on it. Inside mine (which was polkadots, and we all know how much I love polkadots!) was the most beautiful handmade pendant and necklace A little locket with a winged heart on the front and Robyn written on the inside. These women have already done so much, supported me through everything, sent me flowers, cards and donations in Robyn’s name, and now to receive something like this, that they’ve put thought and time into choosing for me and for Dan, I’m just overwhelmed with how wonderful they are.

So this is my big f-you to all the naysayers that insist that online friends aren’t real. I’ve found my biggest support to be the people inside my computer, whether they’re from my March Mamas or complete strangers sharing their experiences online. Whether you’re sitting across a room for someone or sitting at your respective computers, it doesn’t make the emotion and the solidarity any less genuine, and I am blessed to have such a wonderful group of women at my side. When the women I went to college with and who I’ve commiserated on every break up, celebrated every new job or high test score over the last seven years, even keeping in touch with them when I’ve moved to the other side of the world. When they don’t send even the emptiest words of sympathy or regret, and yet when a collection of mothers, who by most people’s standards wouldn’t even be considered “real” friends can take time out of their life to think of me and my family, and to help us heal, I think it says a great deal about what is real and what isn’t.

This was meant to be a wonderful post celebrating how awesome my online mum’s group is, but this has been bubbling over inside me. It really is true what they say about events like this making you realise who your real friends are. I KNOW that they know what has happened, and the only thing I can hope, is that it’s not that they don’t care, it’s just that they don’t know what to say.

Sew Happy

I love sewing. The process of cutting up bits of fabric and putting them back together seems completely insane to some (aka, my husband) but I really can’t think of anything I would rather do with my spare time. I love fabric, I love trying out new techniques and colour combinations, most of all I love the sense of accomplishment when I finish something. Being a mother is such a thankless task, there’s no end point where you can sit back and say that you did okay, sewing gives me that feeling I crave of a job well done.

Of course, if housework gave me that feeling I would probably be richer and my house would be far cleaner, but that’s an ongoing task as well, which is why I avoid it to the best of my ability.

Bunnies.

Today I made bunnies for Declan and Conman.

We went to the playground with the boys. I watched the families around us, the brothers and sisters interacting with one another, I got jealous of the large families, which quickly turned to bitterness as I sat there and tried to work out what I’d done wrong and those parents had done right.

Was it because I slept on my back? Or when I climbed up a ladder during my second trimester? Were the Wasabi cravings in the first trimester the reason for it all?

I just wish there was a way of knowing why I’m only making two bunnies for Easter instead of three.

Eighteen days till the autopsy results… time is going so slowly. I so badly want it to get here so I can get some reasons, some closure, but at the same time I don’t want the day to arrive, just in case they don’t have any answers for me.

We still haven’t picked up her ashes.

Good Days

When someone asks me how I’m doing I’ll normally answer something along the line of “I have good days and bad days”, even if I feel fine at that particular moment, I’m very aware that if I say I’m fine then people will start to think I’m in denial and not coping. Then if I say I’m not fine then they’ll think I’m having a breakdown and, again, not coping. I have visions of them carting me off to the nuthouse if I say the wrong thing and so I try to remain neutral in what I say to most people. It’s true that I have good days and bad, most of the time I just don’t feel like going into details about which side of the scale I fall on at that particular time.

Maybe I just over think things.

Today was one of the good days. Both of the kids are sick so the house remained fairly calm, Connor slept most of the day, and Declan was content to read and play with his cars instead of spending the day bouncing off the walls.

It felt normal, and normal is all I need right now to consider it a good day

Smile, Though Your Heart Is Breaking

If I come out of the other side of this learning one thing, it’s to truly appreciate what I do have, to enjoy the moments that make me smile and keep me going each day.

Like the love Dan has for the boys and myself.

Connor’s refusal to ever grow up.

Completed projects.

And interruptions

Boring Book Is Boring

The page was open on a chapter about PHP and syntax. Fairly certain that would bore anyone to sleep.

Please note our awesome (broken) Darthphone and the “Stud” coffee cup – I have a matching one that says “Princess”, the jury is still out on which one is a bigger lie.

Yes. We use a his n hers coffee cup set. I’m going to knit us matching snowman jumpers for winter as well.

Second Child Syndrome

A couple of days ago I backdated a photopost about Connor, I was hoping to sneak it in under the radar, but forgot about the magic of RSS, and of course the people reading my feed saw it pop up.

Why am I backdating posts about my littlest babe you ask?

Guilt.

No. Worse than that. Mother’s guilt.

Connor already gets the short end of the stick on a lot of things, most of his clothes are hand me downs, his brother’s temperament and issues means that he dominates our time, the poor kid doesn’t even get a room of his own, he has to share it with piles of paperwork, dead computers and furniture that won’t fit anywhere else.

See the mildly annoying moving thing just underneath my header? I noticed that there was photo after photo of Declan, and the only photo of Conman was about to drop off the end into the oblivion of the interwebs, in favour of yet another Declan post. I had fallen into the trap of second child syndrome without even realising it.

So I tried to sneakily backdate a post and now I feel even worse because I got totally busted by my RSS readers.

Mother’s guilt could send a woman crazy.