Vomit caps off week of high drama
IF YOU'D been in the car park at the Mater on Tuesday, you would have seen me. I was the heavily pregnant woman lying on the ground crying, looking under cars for a lost parking ticket.
Remember when I lost my keys? Mild, in comparison.
Let's backtrack a little.
The Child Genius turns 16 this week. She is marking this auspicious occasion by wearing pyjamas all day, communicating in grunts and eye rolls and being a difficult and obnoxious human being/sloth creature to live with.
The Bubble Boy has been vomiting after pretty much every meal for three weeks. So he is rarely getting through a full day of school and we are waiting for his paediatric gastroenterologist appointment in a week or so.
The She Devil is doing quite well since we started getting her a bit of extra help, but still needs to see a developmental optometrist, which is good because that was the only square we hadn't filled in on our specialist Bingo card.
There was a problem with having our ADSL connected and someone watched videos on the iPad while it was connected to 3G, resulting in a $600 excess data charge.
The cleaners we hired to do our bond clean took our $700 and then didn't actually clean our house.
So the past few weeks have seen a slightly enhanced level of stress. A "moments away from wearing a dressing gown stuffed with rabbits and a swimsuit to school pickup" level of stress.
On Tuesday, I had an appointment of my own. I'd made an executive decision to keep the Boy home from school. After the argument/bribing that takes place whenever one child is going to school and the other is not, we jumped in the new car with our vomit bags to drop the She Devil at school.
And then I heard it. From the backseat. Oops.
Yep, the vomit bag had lost its contents, all over my back seat.
We made it home, cleaned up the seat, and headed into the hospital.
The car park was chockers.
After driving around for 40 minutes, I may or may not have parked in a slightly dodgy spot maybe marked Tow Away Zone and then sweated for the next two hours that I was coming back to no car. Possibly.
After finally parking at 10.42, three minutes before my appointment, we were running for the lift when the Boy discovered he'd dropped the car park ticket. Plot lost. Which is how I came to be lying on the ground, crying and looking under cars, to no avail.
It all came out in the wash, it always does. I didn't get towed. The car park man was kind to me.
And the spew smell is starting to dissipate.
But if you see me get out of the car in a dressing gown, watch out for rabbits.
Winning the war against misheard lyrics...
I LOVE a good misheard song lyric and kids are a great source of them. I can remember being a kid and trying to work out what the words of a song were.
Australian Crawl presented more of a challenge than most, although, as an adult and after a few beverages, I had no trouble working out what James Reyne was saying.
One of my favourites comes from Modern Dad himself.
He was convinced that Dragon wanted to be taken to the Echo Sonic Tuba, and it wasn't until he heard me singing the right words one day that he realised that the April Sun in Cuba actually made a lot more sense.
The She Devil came out with a corker this week. She is convinced that the song she has been learning in music is "chicken in the fence says goddamn Josie".
I have tried to tell her that I don't think her teacher would be saying that, but she is adamant. And keeps singing it. Over and over.
I have no idea what the real words are, either, so if anyone can help me out with them, please let me know.