Of Snails and Whales
Wednesday 8th July, 2009
I find it necessary to take a break from the whole "moving to the UK" saga (of which hopefully more later) to post Éila's latest drawing, of whales. I think it was inspired by watching Diego Saves the Whales — or perhaps by the Julia Donaldson book, The Snail and the Whale. Everything seems to get a bit muddled in Éila's head. I'm not sure whether this is to do with being three years old, or if the poor girl is just genetically doomed not to know whether she's a snail or a whale (I wonder which relatives will assume I think they're muddled and take offence?). A couple of examples:
Singing: "A, B, C, D, E, F, G, how I wonder what you are?" (Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Alphabet?)
Reading to herself: "I sat there with Sally, we sat there... all on the broomstick." The Cat in the Hat meets Room on the Broom. (The Cat on the Broom? Room in the Hat? Two more children's stories that definitely need writing.)
Anyway, back to the initial point. Éila's drawing. As someone with exactly zero artistic talent (is it possible to measure talent on a negative scale?) I'm always impressed when my daughter scribbles something that's even vaguely recognizable.
And to close, I'd just like to apologise for the number of parentheses. I have a lot of asides going on today. At least it makes a change from the mdash — my usual punctuation mark of preference.
Trinny or Susannah, aged 2½
Sunday 8th February, 2009
Over the last couple of weeks I've been forced to look at myself through the eyes of my 2½-year-old daughter. Toddlers are not generally shy with their opinions ("Mummy, that lady has a funny hat", said loudly in the supermarket) and they can be microscopic in their observations.
An example: "Mummy have bops (spots)", gleefully pointing to a new pimple on my chin. I've also been informed that my shirt is dirty and needs changing. However, I can still get away with showing up to collect Éila from school wearing torn jeans, manky old trainers and a shirt covered in bleach marks and paint (I'd been decorating). I can see that won't wash (pardon the pun) in a few years, when she'll likely roll her eyes and edge away in embarrassment as we walk to the car. The little princess already chooses her own outfits from her cupboard each morning and is far more colour-coordinated than I am.
I feel I really ought to make more effort with my appearance. It's lovely to see Éila's reaction when I get smartened up for an evening out ("Mummy's pretty dress!") but perhaps there shouldn't be quite such a note of surprise in her voice to see me actually looking presentable.
The final comment on how my daughter sees me came when she drew a beautiful picture of Mummy and Granny on her Etch-a-Sketch. Apparently I look a lot like Mrs Potato Head. Mind you, Granny didn't come out any better and by Éila's own admission looked a bit scary. I'm choosing not to take literally the representation of pin-hole eyes, big squashy nose, protruding tongue and pear-shaped body. Instead, I'm really quite proud that Éila managed unaided to produce an anatomically fairly accurate sketch of a person. How will I spin it when she says to me "Mummy, you really should brush your hair"?
Must make more effort in the bedroom
Saturday 3rd January, 2009
Other people's kids have these beautifully decorated, polished and personalized rooms ready to move into by the time they're a blip on an ultrasound screen. My kids are one baby-step up from sleeping in a drawer. Cian has a bare crib plonked in the middle of the guest bedroom; even the fishy mobile that used to be Éila's doesn't work because I haven't changed the batteries. No wonder the poor guy is so skinny - he's obviously sickening for his own little corner of Pottery Barn Kids.
I finally got some things up on the walls in Éila's room just before she turned two but it's still not exactly girly. Resolving to start changing this situation, we had a shopping trip to look at beds yesterday. Éila's bed of choice was a bench, or possibly a slide. The bed we chose for her was a. not in stock and b. won't fit in the car even if it was. Sigh. I guess she can live with her minimalist room for a little while longer.
Dr and Mrs Blog
Friday 2nd January, 2009
We've decided to turn the website into more of a blog. All the old content can be accessed from the index tab above.
I will begin the new year by relating the sorry saga of our Cayman Christmas vacation in the hope that this particular two-week catalogue of medical misadventures will not be repeated in 2009.
Christmas 2008 in Cayman
The lead-up
The relaxing vacation we had been planning was becoming more desperately needed and more unlikely to actually happen the closer we got to it. At Thanksgiving Niall had surgery to remove his gall bladder. The weekend before our vacation Cian caught a gastro virus that led to two days of vomiting and one night in ER because of dehydration and a high fever. Éila and I also caught this but were both okay again a day later, whereas Cian took a more masculine approach to illness and completely failed to recover properly. Two more trips to the pediatrician and we decided to go ahead with the holiday despite Cian's continued weight loss. Cayman's medical facilities were rumoured to be very good in the "unlikely" event we should need to see a doctor. Hmm. Should have guessed.
Saturday, December 13th
About to leave the house, we noticed a large wet patch on the kitchen ceiling. Luckily we'd already spent so much money on emergency plumbing in 2008 that our plumbers could send someone straight round. Our next-door neighbours (also quite familiar with our leaks - they turned the water off during our summer vacation) happened to be home and agreed to supervise the repair for us while we dashed to the airport, leaving behind a blank cheque but not our worries.
Tuesday, December 16th
A call from the pediatrician with Cian's test results showed that he had managed to pick up giardia. That would explain the diarrhoea, listlessness, crying and skinny(-er than usual) appearance. Off we went to the pharmacy to collect a prescription.
Thursday, December 18th
Niall has been feeling rather dodgy. Doctor's office visits, 1. Pharmacy visits, 2.
Friday, December 19th
Kirsty has been feeling rather dodgy. Doctor's office visits, 2. Pharmacy visits, 3. Here's where things really got interesting. The medication I was prescribed is not compatible with breastfeeding. Cian was still not feeling well and now he had to go on a bottle. He made his objections known.
Saturday, December 20th
A 6.00 am trip to the ER seemed about on schedule as Cian, in his latest bid for attention, developed a fever and one quite impressively swollen testicle. Apparently these new and alarming symptoms were both normal, unrelated childhood mishaps caused by, respectively: an unspecified virus, and a bit of fluid. Panic over, we spent the day shiftily avoiding the people in the next-door condo. They were a bit elderly, we thought perhaps they might be deaf.
Sunday, December 21st
Éila (of course) now caught the latest unspecified virus and developed a pretty decent fever. We replenished our stock of baby Tylenol and tried to synchronize everyone's various medications so as to remember when the next dose was due. I was also knocking back the grown-up Tylenol since quitting breastfeeding cold turkey had given me all the side-effects of a fairly enthusiastic boob job. Good for strutting down the beach in a bikini. Bad for, well, moving or breathing, frankly.
Wednesday, December 24th
Everyone started to feel better and to sleep for more than two consecutive hours at night. Our adjoining condo had also emptied, easing our consciences, so we belatedly turned our attention to the small things. Cian had managed to produce a new tooth in the middle of everything else and Éila had apparently developed a new and exciting food allergy. The occurrence of a red blistered rash seemed to coincide with each drink of milk or cheese sandwich. The move to soy milk and ham sandwiches was not particularly popular - that girl likes her dairy.
Saturday, December 27th
We spent the last three days of the holiday relaxing, enjoying the beach and squeezing in the various excursions we'd been too poorly to go on before. Not the most successful of vacations, but at least the doctors' waiting times were shorter than at home and Niall was forced to solve his work crises by Blackberry instead of spending all his free time in the office.
Here's to a healthy 2009!