Sleepless Nights

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  • A Mouse Schwacking We Will Go.

    I was sitting in the bedroom this afternoon, talking to Nathan and I could hear a strange sound. First, I thought it was my ear popping. Then I thought that something I was sitting on was crinkling. Then I asked Nathan if he could hear it.

    He looked at me like I was stupid and said ‘Hear what?’.

    Much listening ensued and FINALLY, a noise, when Nathan was listening.

    I moved myself (stealthily) to the corner of the bedroom, where a bunch of clothes were piled on the floor (remember, I have no drawers yet). I slowly started moving things when SUDDENLY! JUST AS I SUSPECTED! There was A MOUSE!

    Now said mouse was actually a field mouse and oh my fucking god can those things run fast. I quickly threw a bowl upside down on top of it’s head to trap it (yes, there is a bowl in the bedroom. I regularly get late night nausea and getting out of bed is never my idea of a good time. Therefore I keep a bowl handy just in case. Yes, it does get thrown up in on occasion and yes, it does get washed regularly) and BAM! It was stuck.

    Or so I (stupidly) thought.

    Nathan handed me a bit of cardboard to slide under the bowl, so that we could move the mouse out to where the cats were.

    I slid the cardboard… and oh my fucking god can field mice run fast. They can also squeeze through a tiny freaking gap.

    It moved almost faster than I could see, out of the bedroom, into the hall and under the sheet I keep on Amy’s gate (the sheet is tied around the gate to stop Seven bothering Amy at 3am, or crapping in the bedroom).

    I held my bowl ready to be used as a schwacker as I moved the sheet, very very slowly.

    ZOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

    Went the mouse as it zipped past me and I cursed my sleepless reflexes.

    I chased it just in time to watch it disappear under the recliner. I haven’t run that fast in ages.

    Now, I was all for throwing the recliner across the lounge room so that I could schwack the damn mouse, but Nathan moved it slowly slowly (much too slowly for me, as I hopped up and down impatiently).

    And there was no mouse left. We did however, find the hole that the mouse disappeared into.

    Where were that cats, that I have been purposly keeping hungry just for this purpose? Um, they were in the kitchen. Looking for food. While I, A HUMAN, tried to chase down their mouse for them.

    *****

    Cue 3 hours later and I am sitting here writing emails and comments.

    ZIP ZIP ZOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

    A mouse flies (okay, so it didn’t really fly, but goddamn was it fast) out of our bedroom and disappears under a bag of clothing set aside for the Salvos.

    I screech at Nathan to get a cat, any cat, JUST GET A DAMN CAT, while I stand by the bag, ready to stomp (I’m not sure how I would have gone, I had bare feet) on any mouse trying to poke it’s nose out from underneath.

    Nathan appears with a cat and I whisk the bag away as Nathan drops the cat, DIRECTLY ON THE MOUSE.

    Now in it’s defence, said cat is still a kitten and she has probably never seen a mouse before. STILL you would think that she would do something other than look at us with a stupid expression while the mouse shimmied into a crack and disappeared.

    Stupid ass cat.

    So now, Nathan and I have a plan.

    We are each going to hold a schwacker (one of my shoes) while we slowly and steadily pick up items of clothing in our bedroom. There is a very good chance we may turn up a third mouse.

    In the event that we find a mouse (and god damn, we better find a mouse) we are going to schwack it on the head UNTIL IT IS DEAD.

    Then we are going to defile it’s dead body (please don’t tell the UN) by tying a string to it and teaching the kittens how to catch, kill and eat mice.

    We figure they need the lesson.

    I shall be back to report shortly. Like as soon as Amy goes to sleep and I can get into my bedroom without her seeing me through the doorway.

    *****

    Total letdown. No mice to schwack in the bedroom, not even a skitter or a scurry. The UN would be pleased. I however am not.

    I even had my piece of string ready.

    They better be careful though, because I am ready for them.

    Until then, maybe mice are just attracted to me?

  • My Favourite Teachers

    TopSchool Fundraisers is having a competition and they invited me to enter. The topic is ‘Your Favourite Teacher’. This post is written in repsonse to that.

    My Favourite Teachers.

    Dad,

    You taught me to tie knots that won’t come undone, showed me how to straighten a nail, how to use a hammer (without bashing my fingers), a drill and a level. How to tie a plumb line and how to mix mortar. Taught me to cook a ‘One Pot Wonder’ (lamb chops and layers of vegetables, with gravy, all cooked in one pan) and how to eat wallaby tails in a stew.

    You showed me that any cut can be fixed with electrical tape and more work, even if it did really need stitches. (No, it wasn’t my cut, it was his)

    Because of you, I can snare, kill and skin a rabbit ( I may possibly need a refresher lesson soonish though), I can bait a fish hook with worms (even if the worms do wiggle alarmingly), or grubs, or grasshoppers. I can land and gut fish (even if I excersise my right to have you gut them for me), I can cook them on an open fire and I can eat them without choking on bones (always a handy trait, that whole not choking thing) and the one time I did swallow the bones, you showed me that NOT freaking out is a good idea. (If you ever swallow bones and they get stuck, eat pieces of bread. The bread will shift the bones).

    He taught me to tell when edges weren’t straight (by letting me pick faults with his building) and how to play the guitar (I really needed to practise more). How to put up a tent and split wood.

    You showed me that life and death were intertwined as we raised animals for you to slaughter. I learned not to be a squeamish girl (I never got a chance to be one) as I watched you prepare animals for the table.

    You let me hold the torch (very badly) as we went looking for possums in the trees and I learned that possums eyes flash red at night (and that all possums should die die DIE).

    You even showed me that I wouldn’t melt in the rain (do you want to give Amy some lessons?) and that blackberry scratches will heal. You showed me how to spin for trout and how to carry the fish while it was still wiggling (your exact words? – DO NOT DROP THE FISH. You could have showed me the stick trick earlier, heh.).

    Thankyou.

    Mum taught me to read and write (and then got exasperated when I pinched the books she was reading and spent all my time with my nose in a book, rather than doing my chores). She taught me to count and tie my shoelaces and grow radishes (in the shape of a big V). She taught me to make my scones light and airy, to make muffins from scratch, pancakes from flour and water, and a meal from nothing (all very handy skills).

    She taught me to find and catch frogs and lizards, what wild orchids lood like and how to climb a tree. She showed me mud puddles and how to make a pinch pot from clay.

    She found frogspawn and let me take some in a jar to school, even though it probably killed her to watch her babies diappear off to a school, where children could KILL THEM BY ACCIDENT. We got to watch the tadpoles hatch from their eggs and grow into frogs.

    She taught me to budget and cook and how to be happy. She taught me to light a fire and to cook a meal on top of it.

    She showed me how to raise a baby joey in a pouch (yes, we did have a pet wallaby for a while. Eventually she disappeared back into the bush of her own accord. Someday I will find photos) and how to perform basic first aid on an animal.

    She taught me that it was indeed possible not to kill your children, no matter how annoyingly whiny they are being (teaching by example).

    Thanks Mum.

    I think at the end of the day, what I learned at home was so much more important to my life now, that anything I learned in school.

    It was my mother who was anal about spelling and grammar and made me say perfect, rather than perfickt and ask rather than arks, my father who showed me what good maths can do (learned on a plank of wood, as we worked out measurements for the new bedrooms) and how to put it into a real life situation.

    I learned so much from my parents. More than I ever did from inside a classroom (and I was a straight A student).

  • How To Share Your Kitchen and NOT DIE!

    A while back I asked for post ideas. Barbara suggested that I do a post about how to juggle a Toddler and a hot pan of food at the same time. I thought about it, but didn’t really have anything spectacular because we had a gate across the kitchen.

    Then, disaster struck. Nathan tripped over the gate while carrying a box full of firewood. One (1) bruised head and big mess later, our gate was broken (into very very small pieces I might add).

    Now, until we get a newer, shinier, BETTER AND UNBREAKABLE gate, I am forced to share the kitchen with Amy. So I will walk you through a day, from breakfast to dinner, of sharing the kitchen with a toddler, sharp knives, hot kettles, cups of tea and everything in the cupboards.

    HOW TO SHARE YOUR KITCHEN AND NOT DIE.

    -BREAKFAST-

    1) Rescue toddler from her PRISON, and fix her OMG MUMMY I AM IMPRISONED cries. Snuggle the toddler in your own bed for a few minutes. Try to doze off. Release toddler as she requests ‘Mum-eeeee, Ima wanna go dooooown noooooow’.

    2) Listen to the toddler noises in the lounge room as you try very hard not to doze back off. Figure that as long as there is noise you are probably safe to stay in bed. Freak out as soon as you hear silence and head to investigate.

    3) Discover the toddler SITTING on the bench eating the butter with her hands. Clean up the mess, clean up the toddler and set her free.

    4) Get the toaster out of the cupboard as the toddler hangs off your legs. Try and hunt down the bread, only to discover that the toddler had played with the bread before moving on to the butter. Try and rescue a few slices of bread in order to toast.

    5) Burn your fingers as you remove toast from the toaster. Try to remove toddler from your legs as you butter the toast. Fail miserably and walk around the kitchen sporting the NEWEST IN KITCHEN ACCESSORIES! A TODDLER!

    6) Successfully butter and cheese the toast. Cut, and place on highchair table. Chase toddler around the lounge room and finally manage to capture her. Place in front of toast and take a breather.

    -LUNCH-

    Lunch is never really a big deal here as Amy tend to nap about midday. I try and give her a sandwich before she naps and then a piece of fruit or a sandwich or whatever when she wakes up.

    However, cup of tea time (which is whenever I feel like it) is a big more complex than it sounds.

    -CUP OF TEA TIME-

    1) Remove toddler from the kitchen BEFORE you start. Fill the kettle with cold water and turn on.

    2) Remove toddler from the kitchen. Grab yourself a mug and a teabag. Ummmm, discover that the toddler has nicked all the teabags and they are now strategically placed around the house. Find spare teabags in the cupboard that AREN’T covered in toddler and dog drool.

    3) Place sugar and teabag into your mug. Remove toddler from kitchen, cursing more than you should, as she tries to pull a glass of (cold) water onto her head (she can’t actually reach the kettle thank goodness).

    4) Reboil the kettle as everything above has taken 30 minutes and the water has cooled.

    5) Finally get the mug, teabag, sugar and hot water in the same place as the same time. Fill the mug with hot water and FREAK OUT as the toddler tips the sugar bowl all over her face, shoulders, floor, couch and bench. Set the hot mug aside where the toddler can’t reach it (the stove top is a good place) and find the vacuum cleaner.

    6) Discover that the vacuum cleaner is full. Leave the toddler inside while you run outside and empty the vacuum. Come back inside to discover the toddler sitting on the bench, tearing up teabags and sprinkling the contents everywhere.

    7) Thank God that you have the vacuum cleaner handy. Vacuum everything while you have the chance.

    8.) Remember your cup of tea brewing. Check and discover that it is stone cold. Wonder briefly just how much time has elapsed.

    9) Repeat above steps until you finally get to add milk to an at least warm cup of tea. Proceed to have to share the entire cup with the toddler.

    -DINNER-

    1) Prep vegetables. Try not to slice toddler fingers off as she tries to pinch vegies while you are still trying to cut them. Swear more than you should.

    2) Prep meat (tonight we had steak, so I am working on the premise that we are all cooking steak). Use your very-sharpest-possible-commercial-kitchen-quality knife. (Yes, it is really a commercial kitchen quality knife, it is my baby. I adore my 2 good knives) Freak out as the toddler tries to eat the raw fat that you just gave the cats.

    3) Heat the grill and place meat under the grill. Remove toddler from the kitchen. Place prepped veg into various pots and pans with water/butter/whatever.

    (PLOP CRASH WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA BARK BARK BARK AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGHHHHHH!)

    4) Pick up (screaming like her life is OVER) toddler and try to comfort her, while simultaneously sauteing a pan of bok choy in butter. Turn and baste steak, while still holding sobbing toddler. Check the cookedness (that is now a word) of the carrots while still holding a screaming sobbing boob grabbing toddler.

    5) Wonder how the holy hell I do this every night.

    6) Put toddler down (in her highchair is preferable) and race back to your pans on vegies. Quickly baste steak to prevent burning and turn around to encounter….a whining, hungry, clinging, unhappy toddler who wants to be picked up.

    7) Place toddler back on floor and do your best to drain carrots, finish sauteing, and make sure the steak is cooked. Dodge toddler while moving around the kitchen with boiling water and carrots and THINGS.

    8.) Dump a few cooked carrots onto the highchair table, thus buying your self a few (only a few, mind) moments to dish up dinner. Cut toddlers food up into itty bitty bits and place on her special toddler plate, on her special toddler highchair table.

    9) Sit down to eat, just as the toddler slithers out of her highchair, having eaten nothing. Try and eat as the toddler stands in front of you with her mouth WIDE open, practising being a baby bird. Alternately feed yourself and toddler your plate of dinner.

    DONE!

    Now, does this scenario sound familiar to anyone else? Hehe.

    What I didn’t add in was all the cuteness. The ‘Mum-eeee I dink peeeeas!’ and ‘Peaaas, neeeeed food’ and ‘Tiss! Tiss!’ as she leaned up for a kiss. Very cute.

    And hey, soon enough I can make her help me prep dinner!

  • Test.

    Test! EEEEK!

  • The Taste Of Bitterness

    I didn’t and probably never will, consider myself ‘an infertile’, simply because I feel like a bit of a fraud when I read blogs about infertility.

    We conceived Amy so fast, so easily, without even really trying, that it makes me feel out of place in the infertile community when I stand back and take stock of this current situation.

    We were meant to have another baby, if not born, at least on the way by now.

    We were meant to be prepping Amy for big sisterhood.

    We were meant to be washing itty bitty baby clothes.

    However life very rarely goes as it it meant to, so we find ourselves here, still trying 12 months on.

    It has been 12 months of actively trying. 12 months of counting days, observing mucus, building up hopes and coming back down to earth with a resounding thud at the end of the cycle.

    Before that 12 months, there were 4 months of ‘not really trying, but hey, wouldn’t it be nice to have them this close together? Maybe we should have sex again’.

    During the middle of each cycle, I forget how long we have been doing this, because every month is a chance at new hope. I have Amy to keep me busy and toddler hair to smell, a toddlers face to wash and not to mention feed. Honestly, how does she eat so much?!

    The end of the month though, tends to bring defeat, sadness and a little more bitterness. Every month, a little more bitterness.

    And honestly, how can I talk about bitterness without putting someone’s nose out of joint? To be honest, I don’t think my bitterness extends to the wonderful women I know and love in the interwebs. Somehow I manage to be happy for them, even if I am a little sad for me.

    And it SHOULDN’T extend to the wonderful women I know and love outside of the interwebs.

    No.

    It is more, the swell of a belly in a girl I went to school with. Her second.

    It is another girl, pregnant with her 3rd in less than 3 years.

    It is being completely fine with everything until a chance comment jumps up and kicks me in the face, causing me to write crap like this.

    Truly, I LIKE these women that are pregnant. I could (and have) sat and had coffee with them, laughed and talked. We have discussed our first children’s habits and laughed at toddlerisms.

    I still find it inordinately hard to see them pregnant.

    So I am confessing.

    I am bitter. Even though I thought I would be immune from it because of Amy.

    I am bitter that I can’t get a medical professional to take this seriously because ‘You conceived Amy naturally and carried her to term. You can do it again.‘ Apparently the fact that we CAN completely negates the fact that we still haven’t (and yes, I do know that THERE IS STILL TIME. I AM STILL VERY YOUNG).

    I am bitter that Secondary Infertility is overlooked because Hey! They did it once already! There can’t be anything actually wrong with them.

    I am bitter and it is a terrible thing to admit.

    So, a new cycle is starting and I am getting all of this out of my system. I am relaxing, I am going to enjoy the trying and I am going to be very zen until my next period is due.

    I hope.

    ———-

    PS. Please, no one take this as a personal dig at you, I promise, this isn’t about anyone except myself.