Life

Pillows

by Veronica on March 22, 2010

in Animals, Grief, Life

You don’t know this, but I have a thing about pillows.

I like them.

A lot.

So much in fact that when we were cleaning out Nan’s house, I ended up with all of the pillows. Seems Nan liked having lots of spare pillows about too.

We used her spare pillows to pack the furniture as we moved it, shoving them into glass cabinets and between things to prevent breakages. They did their job and nothing broke.

Today, I found 4 pillows on the floor of my bedroom, all sans pillow cases – it seems Amy likes naked pillows as much as she likes her naked self. I picked them up and went hunting for pillow cases.

Thinking about it, I remembered that out in the shed, there were more pillows, packed still into the glass cabinet that’s in storage here. It’s coming up to winter now, the weather is cold and the cats have a plethora of mice that they can’t kill fast enough.

Side note: It’s probably not going to be that long until you start seeing posts like this. and this. and this and this and this.Wow, seems I wrote a lot about mice last year.

I went out into the shed and unpacked all of the pillows, not wanting the mice to start nesting in them.

One, two, three, four, five, six pillows, packed into the cabinet.

6 pillows.

I rummaged around in the shed and brought inside anything else that I thought mice might find interesting, then I came inside to put pillow covers on all of the pillows.

You know, almost 9 months on, those pillows, they still smell like my grandmother.

And that kinda sucks.

***

I have Nan’s overcoat sitting in the back of my closet. Despite hanging around with my clothes, it still smells like her perfume. Every now and again, I’ll lean in and breathe in her smell.

Then, I’ll take a deep breath and walk away; back to my daily chores, back to the blogosphere; back to life.

I’m not sure what I’ll do when it doesn’t smell like her anymore.

***

A few months ago, maybe month 6, maybe month 7, I stopped talking about Nan. It hurt too much, there were too many tears unshed and so I just stopped.

I dragged my brain away from thoughts of her and refused to think about it.

At all.

Mostly, this works for me.

I don’t have to think about her, or speak about her, or cry anymore.

But, it’s funny. Still, most days, fuck, every day – something will happen and it will run through my head like a litany.

I miss my Nan. I miss my Nan. I miss my Nan.

In time to my heartbeat; in time to my breathing.

Because I do. I miss her so badly it hurts.

I just don’t talk about it anymore.

It’s been almost nine months.

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Lovely day.

by Veronica on March 21, 2010

in Blogging, Life

It’s been a lovely day.

I KNOW!

How often do I get to say that? My days are normally fraught with never ending toys, tantrums and issues, but today, well it’s been a good day.

I  even feel (I know, GASP if you want, I know I did) like I’ve managed to get on top of the housework (I am not domestic. the thought of being domestic gets me sharpening my eye gouging spoons, ready for stabbing something) and the kids have behaved.

It was all topped off by the fact that Isaac snuggled into my chest and fell asleep, after hours of fighting a nap (but remaining happy, again, wow) and then, I got to lay on the couch all snuggled up with my son snuggled firmly under my chin.

You know, sometimes a snuggled baby is all you need.

***

Because it’s a Sunday, I’ll point you to my food blog and tell you to check out over there. Nothing much else happening on the internet for me, I’ve not written anything much.

Congratulations to Xbox4NappyRash, his blog is a finalist in the Best Irish Blog awards. It’s up to a panel of judges now and I hear he has some huge competition, but I’ll be keeping my fingers crossed anyways.

Barbara needs some help coming up with ways to keep her son entertained for 20 seconds while he uses his inhaler and spacer. What would keep a small boy entertained while he has to sit still and breathe? Go over and give her some ideas (I said singing, as did lots of others.)

Frogpondsrock is having a competition, she is also looking for inspiration. Enter as many times as you like, you might not win, but your comment might be the one to inspire her next set of work. I haven’t entered, probably because I can boss her into making me things without taking the prizes away from other people.

Also, if you want to weigh into the camera debate, she is asking for your opinion on what sort of camera she should be looking at. I’m pushing for a DSLR, but that’s because I love mine.

Uhm, I think that’s it for a lovely day/link roundup thing.

Now, I’ve got to go and check the slowcooker and start sharpening my spoons. I think I feel a bout of domesticity that needs stabbing.

x

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Just keep swimming, just keep swimming…

by Veronica on March 12, 2010

in Headfuck, Life

I keep repeating to myself. I will NOT have a panic attack. I will not. Nope, not at all.

It’s not working of course, but I’ll keep repeating it anyway.

***

When I was little, Mum and Dad slaughtered a pig in the middle of summer. Only to have their refrigerator and freezer die that same day. Much stress ensued and much pork was eaten.

Mum is planning on slaughtering her pigs this weekend. We’ve been discussing it, knowing that a fair amount of the meat was going to be stored in my freezer.

‘How’s your freezer?’ asks Mum this morning.

‘Fine’ I said, ‘waiting for the pigs!’

HA! HAHAHAHAHA. HAAAAA.

HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.

UGH.

This morning, after I spoke to mum, I opened my freezer.

And everything was defrosted.

Everything.

Seems that the power surge we had a few days ago has blown my freezer up. The lights are on, but the temperature is not frozen. Sigh.

I rang my insurance and yes, it will be covered, just jump through these hoops, stand on your head and spin three times.

Fine, I can do that.

Everything was fine.

FINE.

Fine.

Until we started to do the washing.

Now, the washing machine is plugged into the same power point as the freezer. Most everything else we own is plugged into surge protected boards. Thank God.

Half way through a wash, the machine stopped. It started playing up, all the buttons flashed and it refused to spin anymore. Fine. Stop/restart. Same issue.

Finally we got a load of washing finished.

And then everything went downhill.

It’s a front load washing machine, which means that it has a door lock, to prevent the door opening midcycle.

Seems the door lock is electronic and has forgotten how to disengage.

On top of the machine not wanting to spin or wash or WORK.

Broken.

I rang my insurance again, and got the now broken washing machine added to my recent claim. They’ll repair it, or replace it, depending on what the electrician has to say.

Fuck. It just never rains does it?

***

In other news, Panic Attacks. The Reason For.

Go and read this post. Go on, I’ll wait. La. lalaalaa. Laaa.

Right, you’re back?

Hello.

The hospital rang today.

We have an appointment in about 3 weeks, to see the Paediatric Coordinator (the head honcho) about Amy and Isaac’s genetic test results.

I’m worried because when the orders for the Coeliac genetic screen was put through we were told that our regular Paed would give us the results. Then, we were told to ring for the results. Then, we were told the results were too complex and involved to be discussed over the phone and could we please come in for an earlier appointment. Oh and by the way, you’ll be seeing Dr B, the big boss guy.

Today, the nurse rang to let me know about the sooner appointment. She made a point of telling me it would be with Dr B, and not one of the Registrars.

Shit.

So I’m a little stressed.

A teensy bit.

A whole lot.

So, Dear Internets, what do you think? Stressing for no reason, or justified? Where you are, would you have to see the Boss Guy just for a simple Coeliac Gene Screen?

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Facebook and Ehlers Danlos

by Veronica on February 22, 2010

in Ehlers Danlos Syndrome, Life

There is a copy paste status going around on Facebook that makes me want to gouge my eyes out.

Paraphrasing:

I love my body even though it’s changed through child birth, every mark, every scar, it’s a sign of my children and etc etc etc. Copy paste this if you’ve had children etc etc etc.

Lovely sentiment and I can totally understand why women are copy pasting it to their status. Affirmation that even though childbirth has changed your body, you are an amazing woman for it.

And you ARE. My GOD you are. You’re amazing, you created another human being. That right there is amazing and you should be proud. If I see the copy/paste thingy on your status, I promise, I won’t even be tempted to throw stones at you.

But reading that status makes me bitter.

Maybe because after 2 children, I’m not all that changed? I don’t think childbearing has taken it’s toll on my body all that much – except for how much bendier I got.

And yet, I am broken and battered still.

If my war wounds were a result of my children, I would bear them proudly, I would stand up and I would shout from the roof tops how proud I was of my body.

Yet, my elastic skin that tears at the drop of a hat, that wasn’t childbirth. The stretchmarks on my stomach, while exacerbated by pregnancy, weren’t caused by pregnancy.

The bruising on my legs, the livedo reticularis that means I can’t wear skirts, my battered broken bits –

Not a one of them I attribute to pregnancy and child birth.

Every. Single. One. of the things I dislike about my body is caused by Ehlers Danlos Syndrome and that makes me bitter.

I can forgive the visual changes – really, I don’t mind how my body looks, even though it’s different. It would have been different anyway, no matter what.

I dislike my body, often, even though I don’t have body image issues (in fact – 2 children later, I am quite proud of how I look).

But.

I hate how I can’t bounce out of bed without checking that all of my joints are in place.

I hate that I can’t walk across the room without tripping over, or walking into a wall, or having to think about every step and judge where everything is by sight, because my feet are stupid and don’t work very well.

I dislike that I have to think consciously about how I move.

I hate that pouring the milk for my cup of tea this morning dislocated my wrist.

I hate the fact that my ribs won’t stay attached to my spine like they should.

I don’t like the way my skin tears, just because it feels like it and then takes weeks to heal. I dislike the bruising that makes me look like a victim of domestic violence (although, am grateful, my face rarely bruises unless I actually walk into a door).

I hate that I am 21 and move like I am so much older – feel like I am so much older. I hate the pain and the exhaustion. My word the pain. My joints slide around like butter and while my smaller joints don’t leave me screaming, it doesn’t mean they don’t hurt. We won’t even talk about how my teeth hurt from the clenching.

I am bitter about how the EDS has changed my body and I dislike that I can’t love myself in it’s entirety, when really, I’d just like a trade in. It can look exactly the same, just someone replace my fucked up genetics and collagen PLEASE.

Bleh.

I’m just feeling crappy and wishing my only issues were visual ones caused by childbirth.

[Again I state that if you copy pasted that status to your Facebook, I am not having a go at you. You are amazing, you created a human being and you should be proud of every single mark it caused. I am just bitter that I am broken and hurting.]

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How I Met Nathan Part II

by Veronica on February 20, 2010

in Headfuck, Life

Part One here.

I organised to meet up with a friend -A- who was visiting from up north. She met me after work and then Nathan drove us back to where I was living. We arranged to have drinks at Nat’s new place and I went home and grabbed a change of clothes. I talked to my boyfriend, while A listened.

Her comments after I finished talking to him? ‘He treats you like shit Ron’. It’s not that my boyfriend treated me like shit, he didn’t really, it’s that we were 16 and we’d been together for well over 2 years. Familarity and everything. He was a nice boy.

And so, we went and got drunk. All together, Nathan and I, his older brother, a housemate, and my two friends, A and K. After a few drinks, I stopped drinking and instead, watched everyone else get drunker. Eventually everyone passed out or went home except for Nathan, his housemate and me.

We didn’t do much of anything except talk.

Nathan snuggled me, he looked into my eyes and talked to me, he kissed my fingertips. He made me melt.

His housemate left in disgust.

The morning came and I was sober. I had had no sleep, I needed a shower and I started work at 2pm. I also realised I couldn’t keep going the way I was going and that it wasn’t fair to my boyfriend. I talked to A, I talked to Nat’s housemate, I talked to thin air. I begged Nat’s housemate to give Nat my number. She was reluctant, but said she would. She didn’t.

9am that morning found me back at my boyfriend’s house, sitting on his bed, telling him that I wasn’t ‘in’ love with him anymore and crying.

I regret how I told him. We had been together for 2 and a half years and I didn’t have the decency to let him wake up properly before dropping the bombshell. I regret that.

I showered and cried and got ready for work. Before I left, I packed a bag and my now ex and I talked, a lot. As I left for work, we parted with a hug and a kiss, on sort of good terms.

I walked to the bus stop, hung over and exhasted. That night at work was the longest shift I have ever worked.

I crashed the night at Ex’s grandmothers house. She was lovely enough to let me stay (my shifts all started at 6am that week and she lived close to work) for a night or two and to hand me tissues as I silently cried.

Then, I spoke to my mother about everything and I went home, on her orders. Back to my grandmother’s where I was living, except when I was staying at my boyfriends house.

It was the smartest thing I have ever done.

A few days later, Nathan and I met up for coffee before I started work and spent 3 hours talking about nothing. The next day, he picked me up from work and drove me home. He didn’t go home that night, or any night afterwards.

And that was that.

We moved into his house not long afterwards, and from there, back to my parents after a large falling out with his housemate.

We rented our first flat and suddenly, here we are, 5 years later.

It’s been a rollercoaster these last few years. We’ve now got a mortgage, two babies, two dogs, two horses and two cats. And for all that happened to get us to this point, for how ill I still feel when I think of some of it, for how unproud I am of some things, I wouldn’t change a moment. Because here we are, and I am happy.

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