Author: Veronica

  • Pocket Money and Fevers

    It’s Christmas Eve and we just cancelled all our Christmas plans because all three children have varying degrees of fever. Evelyn is the most unwell, but Isaac is a close second, despite his declarations of “I FEEL FINE!”

    Yeah, I’ve taken your temperature kiddo. Don’t lie to me.

    Amy who has been sick the longest, is also the closest to better, but she also hasn’t really been out of bed for three days. For my high energy girl, this is a big deal.

    In any case, we’ll have a low key Christmas here, with salad and ham and presents.

    In other news, Pocket Money!

    What do you do?

    Recently Nathan and I decided that our children needed to be helping out more. So (when they’re well) we’re making them wash and dry the dishes – Amy washes, Isaac dries, and fold their own laundry. It seems pretty age appropriate to me, but I’m interested in your thoughts.

    You can read my entire article at Money Circle, with all my reasoning.

  • The curious case of the disappearing nose

    Because Evelyn doesn’t talk, we use a mix of gestures, badly mangled sign language and miscommunication.

    This morning, we were working on body parts.

    “Eve, where’s your tummy?”

    She pulls up her tshirt and points.

    “Where’s your feet?”

    She lifts them up and wiggles them at me.

    “Where are your hands?”

    She waves them in my face.

    “Where is your nose?”

    Evelyn looks stricken. She turns around, looking around the room frantically.

    Then, wide-eyed, she lifts her hands up and does our universal sign for “OH NO!” (Both hands placed on her head dramatically)

    “Is your nose lost?” I ask.

    She widens her eyes even further, and signs “OH NO!” again.

    Evelyn has lost her nose. I suspect her Uncle David has it.

    Evelyn 16.5 months

     

  • Second hand shopping is the way of the future

    My bookshelves are filled with books I bought pre-loved. Worn edges, creases folded in, sweat in the pages. I love it.

    I wrote an article for Money Circle about second-hand shopping and why it’s an excellent option.

    We live in a throwaway society. Our oceans are full of plastic and we’ve gotten to the stage that when things break, we replace them rather than repair.  I’m not judging you, because I do the same thing.

    Recently my desk lamp broke. Pulled off my desk too many times by the inquisitive toddler, the switch died. When I shook it, it rattled, and clicking it produced nothing. Not even a fizzle of electricity through to the bulb.

    I complained to my husband and prepared to throw it away and buy a new one, but he promised he would try and fix it.

    Read The Rest At Money Circle

    money circle logo

     

    On a side note, WHERE DID MY WEEK GO?

    How is Christmas this close already? EEEEK.

     

  • A story of shaving, or not shaving

    This post mentions a product I was gifted at the end, so it’s definitely sponsored, but I’m also going to talk about female beauty ideals and my childhood a little, so if you want to stick around for the stories, I’d like that.

    And now that I’ve killed anyone clicking through from an excerpt, let us begin.

    I was teased in Primary school for having hairy legs. I have black hair, so it was obvious that any hair on my legs was going to be dark as well, and that offended some of the children at my school. Now bear in mind we’re not talking about teenagers here, we’re talking about 7-12yos. I was teased mercilessly. All because I grew hair.

    My mother was anti-shaving. Well, no, that’s not even right. My mother was anti-spending time doing things she didn’t enjoy in order to satisfy a cultural demand she didn’t agree with. Or something. So she didn’t shave her legs 99% of the time, and under her arms ever.

    I was twelve the first time I picked up a razor while home alone, and shaved my legs. The razor was blunted, and old, and disposable, but it took the hair off my legs and I was silky smooth for the first time ever.

    I loved it.

    From then on, while I was in highschool,  I shaved my legs once a week, using disposable razors at my grandmother’s house. That in itself is a long story – my parents’ house didn’t have running water and yada yada. I spent a lot of time at my grandmother’s. Which is why I still miss her so badly, especially after this week in hospital with Evie, but I digress.

    At highschool however, nothing was said about leg hair, because we all shaved. But OH, the hair on my arms? OFFENSIVE, on so many levels. One boy went so far as to asking why I didn’t wax my arms and shuddering every time he looked at my naked arm flesh. True story.

    Jeremy, you were kind of an arsehole.

    Because hair on arms isn’t seen as culturally distasteful though, I never bothered to shave my arms, or wax them. But I didn’t think twice about stripping the hair off other parts of my body, which is even stranger when you think about it. Sacred arm hair of the Gods. Or something.

    Eventually, I ditched disposable razors, and the angels sung, and prophets wept and everything was very smooth and easy and lovely. Being fifteen is hard enough, without also being fifteen with body hair. You know how this story goes.

    Then I met Nathan, and to cut a long story short, we fell in love. And he didn’t care whether I’d shaved or not. Well, he didn’t tell me if he did. I continued to shave my legs regularly because of summer, and dresses, and fulfilling cultural norms.

    Nowadays, after two years of marriage, nine years together and three children, I shave my legs very rarely. When I was pregnant with Evelyn, I went nearly the whole pregnancy without shaving, and I didn’t care. Neither did Nathan. It’s just not a thing I feel I need to do anymore.

    But, it is still something I like to do on occasion. Sliding into bed with clean sheets and freshly shaven legs is a pleasure.

    Women are told over and over how our bodies need to look in order to fulfil the desires of other people. To have your self-worth as a teenager tied up in how much body hair you have is a miserable experience, and hypocritically, while I truly believe everyone should be able to make their own body hair decisions, I was grateful to see that Amy’s hair is soft and fine and light, sparing her the teasing I experienced.

    The other day, Nathan was online and there were a group of men belittling a selfie taken by a woman. He said “it took me forever to realise what they were talking about – she hadn’t shaved under her arms.” I’ve desensitived him to the point that he didn’t even notice her underarm hair. That is kind of awesome.

    (This is where the product talk starts, so if you hate this kind of thing, skip to the end and tell me about your shaving stories? I’m interested)

    Because I shave rarely, and I shave fast, I love my Schick Intuition razor. It’s a funny thing, I actually spent an hour the other day online looking for cheaper heads for it, before finally giving up and accepting that I’d have to pay the usual amount. Then a press release landed in my inbox, letting me know that they had a new product line out.

    I love that they have the guidewires so I don’t cut myself, because I used to do that a lot. And I like that the soap is already in the razor head, because I’m lazy and I want to be able to shave fast.

    And the coconut/almond oil in the soap smells nice. Summery. I shaved my legs this morning in the shower . It was easy, I don’t have razor burn, and I didn’t cut my kneecaps to pieces.

    10/10, would use again.

    Schick Intuition

     

  • An early minute

    This morning, I asked very nicely if Evelyn and I could come home early today. After all, she’s eating just about as well on the ward as she would at home, and aside from documenting everything that passes her lips, we weren’t doing anything different there.

    Except she was screaming every time we went back into the room. And being generally pissed off about being stuck in the city.

    But, all went well and after a big blood draw and a nap, Evelyn was set free at 2pm.

    I am so exhausted, but so grateful to be home right now, instead of clock watching on the ward, waiting for dinner and then freedom.

    Tomorrow morning she has a barium swallow done, and I’m not entirely sure how they’re planning on getting enough barium into her, but eh, I’m sure they have a plan. Maybe. After that, we should be looking at discharge, with a follow up as an outpatient next week.

    Evelyn is so glad to be home, clapping gleefully when we walked in the door. She’s running around right now, climbing things and causing chaos.

    I’m about to have my first decent unrushed cup of tea in days. And a chocolate biscuit.

    Bring on the weekend.

    hospital dinner

    This is yesterday’s hospital dinner. Pureed everything, including meat, which had the consistency of pate, but weirder. She didn’t eat any. I didn’t blame her. Today we took in all our own food, just to make it easier. And less gross.