Tuesday, October 28, 2008

sam and dave










Just a couple of pics of my lovely sister and brother with their offspring, the cuzzies Isabelle and Azura.

i've got a crush...

Friday, October 10, 2008

the pox

We're all sick as dogs here with a rich and streamy cold virus. Except I don't have the freedom to circle my bed three times, climb into it and stay there for days. Mummies aren't allowed to get sick - and that means Mummies don't get better; because the little one sneezes and coughs on me, and the tiny one needs to feed all the time because he's too snotty to get enough milk at one time...and when he does sleep, he sounds so choked up that I can't rest. (Checking him constantly means he can't die. It's the same hoo-doo algebra that says that that gripping your planes elbow rest keeps the bird in the air).

Scary having a tiny sick one, but the doctor says he's OK (the local GP, as well as my phone-tag medical team (Lucy the med student buddy, Sam the nurse sister and Helen the GP next door.) So far Keith has escaped the lurgy.

I would crawl into a corner and weep if Ivy's her new favourite game wasn't to follow me around and pull my pants down.

Saturday, October 4, 2008

lions and tigers and bears, oh my





Or rather: meerkats and monkeys and marmosets. That's the way we roll in the Illawarra.

We took the bubbas to the local zoo and had a great day; despite the heatwave. It reminded me of proper zoo trips from childhood, where I always remember it as stinking summer; with steamy poo smells in the air and no shade; and all the animals asleep in corners.

I still have trouble getting my head around the idea that we're not the kids, but in charge of them now.

Friday, October 3, 2008

oh, that it should come to this


My name is Rachael, and I am a chocaholic.

(Hi Rachael.)

I blame my mother for the gene, but I blame Teddy for forcing me to take the first step and admit I have a problem. I attach a picture of both culprits here.

Teddy grunts like a demon all through the night, when he's not feeding. He wakes me hungry, every 2.5 hours, night and day. I can hold him off with dummies and pleas to Allah for about 15 minutes before I force myself awake to feed, but then he grunts and squeaks for half an hour or more - gas, we think.

'Remember, Sam had that problem with Isabelle,' Keith mentions casually.

'That's right!' I remember. I'm happy we might get a solution here. 'What did she do again?'

Keith has a funny look on his face. Sort of apprehensive.

'She gave up chocolate.' he says.

The bastard.

Anyway, it's been two days off the brown cocaine, and I'm realising I have a bit of a problem. Several times a day the thought 'have a bit of chocolate' floats across my frontal lobe and when I realise I can't, a feeling close to panic sets in. I'm not yet dreaming about Mars Bar canoes on chocolate rivers, but it can't be far off.

I'm giving it until the weekend and if things don't change, I'm having a Cherry Ripe - king size. Until then...pass the f#%@king dates. And stay out of my way.