Earrings for the Five Year Old Wailing Warrior Princess

My husband and I had discussed when our daughter, Chynna would be allowed to get her ears pierced.  It wasn't a big thing, but we decided that when she asked for it to be done, we would take her to the shop and get them done.  It didn’t matter to us if she was six or thirty-six.

The question started appearing last year... she has some friends at school who have their ears pierced and she started to become aware of what I had dangling off my ears.  When we walked by a hairdresser, beauticians or pharmacy we would say, do you want to get your ears pierced today and she would say, uh... no, or I want to do it when Gran is with us (or Dad, depending on who wasn't with us at the time).  So we'd just keep walking... no biggie.

Sometimes Chynna would ask if it hurt to have your ears pierced.  I had my ears done when I was about 10 or 11, so I can't remember what it was like.  I'd take a wild stab (haha) and suggest that it did hurt, but it's not like I have any mental scarring from the ordeal.  But what do you tell a (then) four year old?  I couldn't lie - so I said, I don't remember, but I guess it would "sting".  She would screw up her little face, as she's not particularly tempted by anything that stings - smacks, bees, needles... ears pierced.

There is a lot to be said for getting a baby's ears pierced, when they are only weeks old.  Lets face it... it is probably going to make the baby cry, but they won't remember it for long and well, they are saved any of the anxiety that goes along with the event when they are older.  I also like the idea that a baby doesn't even know it has ears, thus it probably isn't going to spend any huge amount of time purposefully playing with the new foreign objects sticking out from it's ears - thus avoiding the prolonged process of infection.

Not long after Chynna's 5th birthday, we arrived at school to discover that Chynna's best friend's younger sister had her ears pierced.  Special K (as she is known) was around five months at the time.  Chynna's first question was, did Special K cry?  The answer was no, as they put some numbing cream on her ears first.  That was that... she said, mummy I want to get my ears pierced.  I said, oh when, like this afternoon after school, thinking she would say no when Daddy can come.  But to my surprise she agreed.  Which was funny, because her Daddy couldn't have been further away.  He was in the north of WA on a work trip for a couple of days.

After school, I didn't mention anything about ears.  I figured that I'd let the little sausage approach me if she remembered and really wanted her ears done.  I thought if I didn't mention it, then I might just save myself an unnecessary trip to the shops.  Except, she bounded out of class and asked when we were going!

Chynna sat in the chair at the beauticians cautiously, with her eyes wide (not that you can see that in the pic).    I seriously believed she would back out at any moment.  While we were waiting, a girl, a few years old than Chynna had her ears re-pierced.  It was quick and the girl barely blinked and she had no numbing cream.  It was like all the planets and stars of the universe were perfectly aligned for ear piercing.

Chynna chose a little pair of pink flower earrings exactly like Special K's.  Then the very young beautician... yeah what’s with that - young girls puncturing young girls ears?  I did look around for a much more experienced elderly woman to attend to Chynna's ears but there was only more young girls... (whoa there nelly, does that mean... I'm getting old?)  Then the very young beautician applied the numbing cream and told Chynna, not to touch it - good test for the real deal and to come back in half an hour.  We trotted off to Gloria Jeans, for a babyccino and a vanilla soy latte because what else would you do for half an hour?

It's quite surprising how long half an hour can take when your five year old is both eager and anxious about something. We wandered back to the shop.  I really wanted to say, you can back out if you want sweetheart, but didn't.  I was quite sure Chynna would burst into tears and not go through with it; in fact I would have put money on it.  The chances of her being a brave warrior princess were definitely so small in my mind that she didn't need me adding to her anxiety.

 
While the two beauticians drew dots on Chynna's ears and lined up the piercing guns I wondered what was going through Chynna's mind.  Do five years have self-talk?  Was her mind blank? Was she telling herself it wouldn't hurt or it would hurt?  Nothing on her face gave whatever she was thinking away.  The girls counted – one, two, three and then pressed the triggers.  They made a loud dull clicking noise and an "ouch" escaped from Chynna's mouth, followed by clenched teeth and wide eyes.  Maybe 20 seconds later she took a breath and asked for a mirror.  It was quite amusing in hindsight.

She managed not to tell her Dad on the phone that night and the next that she had her ears pierced.  It took a bit of coaching, but even if she had let it slip, I’m not sure he wouldn’t have believed her anyway.  When he did come home, Chynna forgot she had something important to tell him.  She was just pretty darned excited to have her Dad home.  He noticed, but played along until she remembered.  He was quite surprised and questioned me thoroughly… in case I had held her down or something!!

Six weeks later, with no infections, Chynna was all ready to change her earring for the first time.  Now this is something I do remember.  It was tricky for my Mum to push the sleeper earrings into my ears and it hurt.  Thus I was not looking forward to changing Chynna's earrings.  She desperately wanted it done, but was freaking out at the same time.  When I did get my fingers on her earrings, I couldn't get them undone anyway.  I pulled and pulled and Chynna got more and more upset, so I gave up, suggesting we pay a visit to the young beauticians.

Later that day, the young beautician insisted that all I needed to do was get a good grip and yank the earrings apart.  She offered to do it for me, but Chynna was not at all up for that.  I thought this may have been the end of the earring changing rigmarole... but it was not.  The following morning she asked me to do it again.  This time the brave warrior princess curled up on the couch in a tight ball whenever I got within five meters of her.  Eventually she got up onto a stool and the first earring came out with a big jerk and some wailing (from both of us).  The second earring was trickier and it actually broke off, but at least it was out.  Her ears looked good, clearly the thought of pain had mostly kept fiddling fingers away from her ears.

The brave warrior princess was beside herself at the thought of having to put new earrings in.  It didn't matter how I explained it, ie the hole is already there... she refused to sit still and when she finally did she howled loudly like I was about to cut off her ear.  Eventually we got the new sparkly earrings in and at school she proudly showed them off to whoever would listen. 

It's been a couple of weeks now and the brave warrior princess hasn't asked to have her earrings changed again.  Even after her bestie turned up at school with a cute dangly pair.  Maybe we’ll just start an earring collection for when she can change her own earrings in ten years time instead.

Fifth Birthday Party

I was going to write a chirpy little piece about my daughter’s birthday party which was yonks ago now... but it seems I have inadvertently deleted the pics I took at her party... so it's not so chirpy anymore.  I don't know how I did it, or even when, but I spent a good two hours checking if I could get them back.  However as I am not a computer whiz, the simple answer is no-siree those photos are gone for good!  If anyone has any suggestions on how to get my photos back feel free to leave me a comment.

My daughters 5th birthday party was on the 1st of May.  I spent the entire day before her party, making party food for her self selected 40 friends, some of whom had RSVPed and some of whom had not.  The big thing with five year olds is that their parents tend to stay at the party as well... (I'm sure it wasn't like that when I was five - my mum would have gladly jumped at the chance to be one daughter down for a few hours) so in fact I was actually catering for 80-odd people.  There was a lot of food - loads in fact... better to have more than less I say, luckily for me most of it was eaten, otherwise I would have been eating left over party food for a few days.

I worked right up until the party commencement time, putting the doll in the cake skirt and fancying her up.  Have you ever made a doll skirt cake?  My biggest concern was cutting the hole in the middle of the cake to put the doll in.  I only had a small surface area to work with at the top of the bell shape cake that was to become the skirt.  I had a bit of an audience too you see and my mum said, oh just shove a knife into it, it'll be alright and when I stood there procrastinating she said, do you want me to do it?  Of course I didn’t want her to do it, but I didn't want to spoil the cake either because with only an hour left until the party, I couldn't really whip up another one!!  I selected the longest knife, to the cheers of my across the road neighbours who were now eager to see me destroy the cake (or slit my own wrists!)  I gently inserted the knife into the cake, twirled it around and then used the handle of a wooden spoon to push out the cake.  Then I put ballerina Barbie into her cake skirt and not all together unexpectedly the skirt was too short.  Unless ballerina Barbie was really gangster hip hop Barbie with her whole rear end poking out the top of her skirt, she was going to need some serious icing up.

The meringue icing I used was incredible and easy to make - thanks Dee.  It's so good; I'm going to write the recipe out right now... in case you would like to make your own doll skirt cake, or any other cake for that matter that needs some scrumdiddlyumptious meringue icing.

Scrumdiddlyumptious Meringue Icing
1 cup white sugar
1/3 cup water
1/4 tsp cream of tartar
Place above ingredients in a pot on the stove until dissolved and bubbling.
Beat 2 egg whites until peaks form.
Slowly add in sugar syrup, while continuing to beat.
Add icing sugar if consistency is not to your liking.
It's ready when you have peaks that hold their shape.  Add food colouring as required.

Anyhoo... I iced up Barbie in pretty purple scrumdiddlyumptious meringue icing, as requested by Chynna.  (We also chose a brunette Barbie, because she was most like Chynna).  I added some cake glitter, some pretty icing flowers and some little silver glittery flower shapes, which the cake decorating store assistant said were edible.  In hindsight, the fact that the glittery flower shapes did not dissolve on my tongue and got stuck in my teeth probably indicates they were glittery plastic flower shapes and that (maybe) I misheard the shop assistant or he didn't know what he was talking about!  Either way the cake was a success - one, because it was pretty and two, because by the time we cut it everyone was too full to eat too much cake to care that the little silver glittery flower shapes were not at all edible!

It seems that most of the kids in Chynna's class at school are born around the same time.  We receive a rather large amount of birthday invitations around April every year.  Pretty much we have a party or two every weekend in April and a party once a fortnight in March - so we have been to Fun Station parties, pool parties, had an icecream van come to a party, parties in the park, parties at McDonalds, face painting parties etc etc.  I thought we'd try something different, as I seemed to have acquired an abundance of craft paraphernalia from my husband's nana.  She is craft mad - I am not, unless I can do it somewhere other than my home where I don't have to clean up!  I decided to make an exception and decided we would make party hats with the said craft paraphernalia.  The girls were all for it, the boys not so much.  If you ever decide to make party hats at a five year old party, make sure you have strong, quick drying glue, as five years have no capacity what so ever for delayed gratification of party hat wearing, oh and perhaps limit the use of glitter unless you want it all through your house and garden for the next month!

I also decided the kids would make their own pizzas too.  We brought some mini pizza bases, grated pizza cheese, shredded ham and the other usual toppings that would go on an adult pizza - note the use of “adult”, because only three or so kids were interested in anything other than ham, cheese, onion and tomato sauce!!  Most turned up their noses at pineapple, or even chicken.  It seems that perhaps all five year olds and not just my Chynna are F-U-S-S-Y.  The pizzas were a hit, even if my family of four made and ate pizza for the next few evenings.  Chynna was pleased because even though she is fussy about her toppings, she would gladly eat cheese pizza, with a sprinkling of ham every night.

Ryan took all the kids to the park next to our house.  He played the ogre with all the chocolate and lollies and the kids had to steal it from him.  He's just a big kid at heart, so he didn't mind that he got pounced on.  I had some pics of this... but you'll just have to use your imagination - sorry.

Now some observations for you.  Even if your party guests parents hang around at the party, do not expect that they will keep their child under control.  I'm not sure if these parents think staying at the party is the same as leaving the party as far their child's behaviour is concerned, because some parents had no issue with their kids running through the house, crazily climbing play equipment or furniture and generally being annoying little brats.  Did they expect that the hosts would take control of their children, even though they were still at the party?  I know that if Chynna behaved in a similar fashion at a party and didn't desist when asked we would have left the party and probably have missed the next one for good measure.  We had some family members come along and people we consider friends with kids at the party, who commented on the behaviour... so it's not just my high (haha) standards talking either.  C'mon parents, if your child is at a party and you stay - you are not miraculously absolved of any parenting duties while at the party.

My last observation...was that two years ago, when Chynna turned three we had the Cuddly Animal Farm, visit our home. They had a pony for pony rides, and all the usual cute farm animals for kids to hold and pat.  It was a huge party with ridiculous amounts of children between two and eight running amok on our back block.  I remembered as I was in a mad rush to ice the Barbie cake, that I had said to my husband, after the crazy animal farm party that we weren't doing another party at home for a very, very long time, like until Chynna turned 18 and could help us clean up (yes I know, like that's ever gonna happen).  The year after the crazy animal farm party for Chynna's 4th birthday, we had a party at the Fun Station.  I had to prepare a few party sandwiches, cupcakes and some lolly bags, but generally the kids just played on all the climbing equipment and at the end we all went home with no mess to clean up.  But somewhere between that party and this party - the memory of no parties at home for a very very long time failed to be recalled at the appropriate time!

So I am writing it down.  No more parties at home with large numbers of kids for a very, very long time. 

But then again, who could resist a request from faces like these? 

 

Chynna, the little cherub (butter wouldn't melt in her mouth) has the red and white dress on.  It's not a great pic of the cake, but all the good ones have disappeared into the abyss known as my computer.  I was just lucky that I gave a copy of this photo to a friend.

No more parties at home with large numbers of kids for a very, very long time... No more parties at home with large numbers of kids for a very, very long time... No more parties at home with large numbers of kids for a very, very long time.... Please holey MS brain remember. 

MRI Tips & Results

Okey dokey then, so the results of my latest MRI are in.

But before we get to that... I mentioned in an earlier post that I am quite okay with being slid into a Magnetic Resonance (MR) machine, with a cage over my head.  But I wanted to contribute my tips for making your stay in the MR machine a little less stressful.  Well, anyhow this is what I do... and it works for me, so maybe it could work for you too.

I acknowledge that I am going to have an MR session.   It sounds stupidly obvious, but I think it is important to say, yes I am going to have an MRI and it is my choice to do so for my health.  I was lucky for my latest appointment that the scanning place makes phone calls to confirm appointments, because I forgot totally and so did my diary... big oops!  I did acknowledge the fact that I wanted to have my MRI, but it was just much, much later than normal.  No harm, no foul though.

I try not to dwell on having an MRI, or entertain any anxious thoughts or linger on the fact that I might need to have the gadolinium contrast because the first time I was given it, it made me tremendously nauseous (and if you have read my randomness page you will know I hate even the thought of being sick).  I also try not to obsess on what the MRI might find... (I’m almost too superstitious to write the dreaded word)- progression.  The flip side is much better to mull over - so try that - maybe your MS hasn't done much and has been behaving like a peaceful sleeping baby.

I make sure that my husband is able to come along and wait for me.  When you are in the MR machine it is comforting to know that someone in the waiting room is there just for you and they will buy you a stiff drink afterwards if that’s what you feel like.

Before you are confronted with the MR machine... know what you need to be comfortable and do it or ask for it.  The dudes (could be dudette) doing the scanning want the same result as you - good clear pictures and the way to achieve this is by the client, ie you, being comfortable.  The things I need to be comfortable in the machine are padding under my head - I'll never forget the time when the back of my head being aching then burning in pain after half an hour on a hard cold slab of plastic with at least another half an hour to go.  I also like to have lots of padding under my knees, otherwise my back aches and of course, a blankie to keep me warm.  I find it best to keep my socks on too, because I can't handle, in any shape or form, cold feet.  In the past I have also asked for a CD of my favourite music to be played, which I brought along, but even though it was played directly into the machine I couldn't hear it!  So I skip that now. 

It's also imperative to tell the scanner dude about any bad experiences you may have had, such as me with gadolinium.  I was told some of the reasons why I could have had such a reaction, and one of those was that perhaps the gadolinium was injected too quickly... so more care was taken and I was fine the next time it was administered.

Before I am in the MR machine, I also like to clarify when I will be able to cough or wriggle.  I usually ask that the scanner dude informs me when it will be okay to move.  If I have a cough I mention it because it is more likely the dude will allow me a chance to cough up a lung after I have been holding onto a tickle for 10 minutes that wants to explode into a cough.

When I am in the MR machine I generally begin by listening to the sounds it makes... and I try (don't laugh) to turn the sounds into words and just repeat that word over and over until the sound changes then I begin the process all over again.  One of the words I remember from my last MRI was "Simon, Simon, Simon".   It's not hard to do, especially since with ear plugs and padding over my ears I could still hear the drumming... and what else are you going to do when you aren’t allowed to move huh?

The next strategy I might try to pass time in a MR machine, especially if I have an ache or am cold... (again don't laugh) is I imagine I am butter melting in the sun.  If you are saturated fat conscious or vegetarian I guess you could imagine you were margarine melting in the sun - the effect would, I'm sure, be the same.  You have to imagine your butter body melting slowly onto the table, melting over the ache, or warming up.  It sounds ridiculous, but the more elaborate and the more involved you get the better it will be.  Sometimes I have imagined I am butter melting into beach sand just for extra thought blocking power!   Remember a block of butter melting in the sun will be a slow process - it's an old relaxation technique and it really works.  Try it next time you are on the slab.

The next technique I try and which again requires a good deal of imagination, but is very good if you are starting to get anxious, is how I would spend a lotto win of 37 million dollars.  I start off with how I found out I won, did I watch the draw on TV or was I standing at a kiosk, did I faint on the spot, jump around squealing or just stand there with my mouth wide open?  How did I tell my husband, how did he react?  Who would I give some money too and how much?  How would I spend the rest?  It is not enough to say oh I would spend it on a holiday, a new car and renovations but you have to embellish your spending spree as much as possible - live it in your mind.  For example for a new car I might run through all my favourite cars, imagine them in different colours, imagine test driving them fast around a winding road, making a decision and then paying the salesperson cash etc.  The key is detail and lots of it because it distracts you from where you currently are.  It's also really important to feel the emotion surrounding such a windfall... for me it would be elation, because then, if you get into it enough, you might just forget that you are freaking out.

After you are out of the MR machine, I find its best just to get on with what ever you have to do for the day.  On the occasion I had a bad experience with gadolinium, I tried not to dwell on it.  Knowing that if I did, it would scare the heck out of me for next time.  I did need to examine those thoughts and anxiety about having gadolinium, but I tried to look at them a few days later when the freshness of the experience had dissipated.  We all know that if you are upset or anxious your thoughts will be horribly distorted... and well it's probably best that these aren't what you program your mind and body with since, if you have MS, you are likely to be having many more MRI's in your lifetime. 

For me these things work... and work well.  For my last MRI I fell asleep.  My husband was waiting for me and after an hour and fifteen minutes he asked a nurse where I was.  Other being woken every now and again by a voice asking me if I was okay, or if I needed to cough I think my (non) ordeal felt like it took fifteen minutes.  Yay! 

All right then, here are my all-important results... has Mr C been doing his job?

Here are the comments for my MRI of the brain.  Slight progression since the previous imaging with one new lesion identified, but no active enhancing lesions demonstrated.

And the comments for my MRI of the spine, no definite new lesion or progressive disease is identified in the cord and no evidence of progressive cord atrophy.

Sounds like Mr C might just be doing his job in defending my myelin.  Good on you Mr C.  However it was a little disconcerting to read that my one, currently not active new lesion was 5mm LARGE.  This is my biggest one to date.  I don't know if it big compared to other people's lesions or if it's location (in the subcortical white matter at the superior aspect of the right parietal lobe) is significant or not.  Some of my older lesions are showing evidence of cavitation, whatever the hell that means…  While I don’t know what that means, I reckon I know what caused my new lesion and the cavitation... the 4th year statistics I was studying at uni this semester.  I couldn't work out where all the stats knowledge was going and clearly it was escaping into my 5mm big black hole and cavities never to be found again!

What I really do know is that my neurologist has not schedule an appointment for me, so he must be happy with my results.  So if he’s happy, so am I.  What else could I ask for?  Hmmm, how about no MS and 37 million dollars!

Copaxone Vs Other Injection Types

The other day I had a flu shot and a couple of days later I had an MRI with gadolinium contrast, and well we all know by now, I have daily injections of Copaxone for MS.  Thus I think I am qualified (although probably not highly) to blog about injection type and the pain involved with each.

The flu shot was an intramuscular injection and it was injected into my left deltoid muscle... in my upper arm.  I was at the doctor's surgery and I was with my kids, Chynna and Sabin and we were all getting the shot.  Chynna literally begged to go first, but once we were in the nurse's room she quickly changed her mind.  Poor little Sabin was the nurse's first victim.  He let out a little yelp, but was very brave.  I was next.

I think I pissed the nurse off, because I had to buy a flu shot from the pharmacy next store.  It was super, just out of the fridge cold and I figured I would warm it up a little, so I took the shot of it's packet and put it under my arm.  The nurse in question spotted the injection under my arm and gave me the, what the hell do you think you're doing look.  While she said nothing, I felt compelled to offer her an explanation... the injection was cold, very cold, icy cold and that it would hurt if the close to freezing 10mls was injected into an arm.  She tsked, clucked and puffed herself up like a blow fish before saying it only takes a few seconds out of the fridge to warm up to room temperature.... a few seconds my arse!!  Clearly I never said that, because she was going to be the one holding the syringe in a few short minutes time.  She was obviously having a bad day anyway as was pretty short and abrupt with us.  Who knows, perhaps she had to lance a boil on some old lady's bum, or got stuck in traffic having to listen to Justin Beiber or woke up on the wrong side of the bed then tripped over the cat on the way to the bathroom prior to seeing us.  We all have days like that, well perhaps not lancing a boil on an old lady's bum, but fortunately we don't have to shove pointy instruments of terror into another human's arm either.

The nurse lined up my arm and then stuck me with the needle - far out!  I couldn't yelp or even scrunch up my face for that matter, as my daughter had to have her shot next, and I can tell you, she was watching me like a hawk... looking for any excuse to fall into a blubbering heap on the floor.  Although I am not fazed about having injections, this one really hurt, especially because I couldn't release the pain via a yelp.  I didn't have long to think about it though, because the nurse had seated Chynna on my lap and was placing my hands on her arms to hold her in place.

Chynna was whimpering.  The nurse had the needle poised above Chynna's arm, when I saw what the problem was... The needle was like a toothpick - MASSIVE!  I was pretty sure the nurse was going to stick Chynna with it only to find that it was poking out the other side of her skinny five-year-old arm.  But before I could voice my concerns the needle was in and Chynna was like a screeching plank of wood.  Just by her reaction I could tell the pain was about a nine point nine, nine, nine out of ten on her scale. 

Chynna used to be amazing with needles.  She breezed through all her immunisations without so much as a peep, until the four year old ones, which involved two injections.  The same grumpy nurse as mentioned earlier decided in all her nursely wisdom, without consulting me decided it would best if she and another nurse hammered Chynna with the two needles simultaneously.  So there I was holding my little slip of a child, when without warning they struck, banging the injections into to her arms so quick that her head and mine were left spinning.  If they had of asked, I would have said, oh, one needle at a time is fine - she'll sit still for the second because she's really good with needles.  But instead they ruined her for me... meaning that they are not the ones that will have to deal with her anguish at being injected and her lamenting afterwards until she’s all grown up and even then I bet she still asks me to go with her! 

Luckily I had a three pack Twirl on hand to soothe our pain.  I'm not sure about Sabin because he can't talk yet, but Chynna's arm and my arm were pretty sore for the next few days, I couldn't sleep on my favoured side in my usual sleeping position because my arm was so pulverized.

A few days later I had a scheduled MRI to check if the Copaxone I have been injecting for six months is having any modulating effect on my MS.  In the past, I have had an intravenous cannula put in my arm for the super quick administration of the gadolinium contrast in between slices being taken... slices being the images the MRI takes.  Instead this time I was in the machine on the narrow table with the head cage on when they pulled me out took my arm and said, just a little scratch then carefully slid the needle into my vein.  Talk about feeling vulnerable, but it didn't hurt anymore than a scratch, which was a good thing because I didn't have much room to squirm.  Then I was pushed back into the machine.  It mustn't have been a big deal for me because I am pretty sure I fell fast asleep. 

It's been about six days since the IV injection of gadolinium contrast and I still have a bruise at the entry site, quite disproportionate to the amount of pain felt.

By now, giving myself the daily Copaxone injections is pretty routine.  Copaxone is injected subcutaneously into any fatty areas (I have a lot of those) just below the skin, usually in my belly, thigh or hip.  Thigh injections I find sting the most... but they are nowhere near bee sting proportion as is most often reported on the web.  Chynna was stung by a bee two or so years ago and she writhed around and squealed in pain for about an hour before she would take any medication.  And she is still distressed by bees till this day.  I definitely do not do squeal and writhe around every day after my injection because my injections do no feel like a red hot bee sting... not even in the slightest on the worst day.  On the worst day I have a welt the size of an egg hanging off my leg (o I do exaggerate - slightly), but usually by the next day it has gone down considerably.  Sometimes, but not very often now, after a couple of days the injection site might itch, but it's nothing some anti-itching cream can't stop. 

My husband used to give me my hip injections for a long time because your hips are in a difficult position to reach, if you are holding an auto-injector that needs to be in the engaged position while you press the button to send the injection hurtling into your skin.  I asked him to inject me the other day... and as he placed the auto-injector towards the back of my hip I flipped out.  The thought of someone else injecting me now, is too much.  I like to have control of where I place the Copaxone and when I press the button - c-o-n-t-r-o-l freak you are thinking... hey it's my fatty bits we're sticking a sharp pointy object into.

All in all, if I had to have an injection every day (woops, I do!) I would not choose to have the intramuscular flu variety - too painful for too long.  As I am appraising injection types on the pain they cause I guess I would not pick daily subcutaneous injections of Copaxone either... but this would more be due to the side effects I think.  I'm not saying there isn't any pain associated with subcutaneous injections of Copaxone - it's not like a bee sting... it is a sting that tends to be a little different every day depending on the injection site, but mostly they are pretty harmless.  So I guess that leaves me with my experience of an intravenous injection of gadolinium... hmmm it was like a sharp scratch - not very painful at all. On the down side, I bet you would have to have a steady hand, there are only so many accessible veins you could inject into and well, people would suspect you were a junkie with your track marks.

This is my final rating of injection types (in comparison to each other) that I was given last week.
Intramuscular flu shot: 8/10
Subcutaneous Copaxone: 5/10
Intravenous gadolinium contrast: 2/10

Sneaky Robbers

Not so long ago, I rolled over in bed and discovered my husband wasn't there, foggy with sleep my brain decided he must be in the toilet.  I must have dozed off but when I woke again he still wasn't in bed.  I looked at the clock, it was 3am.  I think I said something like are you going to the toilet, but was shushed pretty quickly.  Ryan was listening to something... and immediately I was awake.  He came out of the ensuite, saying he had heard something next door, that the noise woke him up.  He was at the window next, then he was putting on his shoes.  He said there is someone standing across the road... I asked him if I should call the police.  He, of course, said no.

In the meantime, while Ryan was getting dressed or something, I snuck an eye around the blind and sure enough there was a figure standing across the road, a little to the right of where I was standing, under street light.  I guess he had nothing to fear... it was 3am and he had a pretty good view up and down the street.  He didn't look very old - perhaps in his 20's wearing shorts, jacket and a hat.  He was just standing there.  It freaks me out to think that people, and probably people up to no good, are just standing out in the street, just metres away from where I am sleeping at 3am in the morning, all nonchalant but with a sneaky, cunning plan to wreak havoc.  Where was my faithful dog, Humphrey you ask?  Snoring in his bed that’s where!  Obviously he has no wake up out of my slumber THERE'S BURGLAR'S A'FOOT 2nd sense!!

Ryan went to the front door with the keys, all intent on getting out quickly... but when you are in a hurry and it is 3am your fine motor skills tend to fail abysmally.  That was kind of a good thing in my book and probably a good thing for the sneaky robber across the road as well.  Instead, he huffed; I'll just turn on the light.  I was still at the window and when the light went on, the sneaky robber's hand lit up, he was holding a phone.  It seemed like he fumbled, because the light went out quickly, but then it was on again briefly.  Dirty little lookout!  Very quickly, he was joined by a second shadowy figure.  There was a bag on the ground between them with the second person reaching down into it... putting something in I suspect.  Then they walked up the street.  They didn't run and didn't even seem to be in any hurry.

At this point, Ryan had managed to get the door open - probably not even 20 seconds after he had turned on the light.  The moment he was outside I called the police.  I didn't call 000, because no one was dying... yet, but instead called the police attendance number, which told me it was after hours and I needed to call another number.  A woman answered...and I started with, my husband is outside chasing some burglars up the street.  After a few minutes, Ryan returned, saying he couldn't spot them anywhere that they had vanished into thin air or lived on the street or had a good hiding spot.  I had to go over my story a number of times with the woman on the phone, clarifying details and giving descriptions for about 15 to 20 minutes, all the time thinking, what the hell - the sneaky robbers are getting away.  

Not three minutes after hanging up the phone, there was a police van out front, with a big (f**k off) sniffer dog exiting the back of it.  A police car closely followed the van.  Ryan went out and gave them some man-chasing-sneaky-robber details.  They seemed to be super noisy in the 3.30am dead of night silence, however no one came out of their houses, not least our neighbour whose house the sneaky robbers where trying to break into.  Humphrey did finally wake up and insisted on adding his squeaky bark to the fracas.  

The police and the big (f**k off) sniffer dog wandered all around our neighbour's home, but still there was no response from him.  We decided he certainly wasn't home.  During the next few minutes the van and car zoomed off in a hurry... we can only hope that the sneaky robbers were apprehended and sent to prison for a long, long time (doubtful, I know).  However during the next half an hour, a police car drove up and down our street a couple of times - making it seem less likely the sneaky robbers were captured.  All I can say is that if they were not caught I hope that they get shocking jock itch, athletes foot, head lice and anything else-itch for a year!!

The next day we went next door to tell our neighbour about what had happened.  My husband began the conversation facetiously, so, where were you last night Joe?  At home, why?  Really, you didn't hear anything? Ugh, no...  Not even at 3am when someone was trying to get into your house?  Joe (not his real name) didn't even seem shocked; deadpan he said oh I'm a heavy sleeper.  Well you'd have to be, to miss a sound that woke my husband in the house next door!  Joe went on to say, well there's nothing to steal here and he's probably right.  It's the most "unappreciated", least security conscious house in the street.

Gossip on the street indicated that the sneaky robbers had also broken into a car parked on the street by breaking a window, nicking some change and a big heavy technical manual of some sort - good luck with lugging that around boys!

In the next few nights, when my husband just happened to be away... I was hyper-vigilant.  I knew I would be, even though my husband and I discussed the sneaky robbers at length; whether they were opportunitists, whether they'd return to get the person who called the police, when Humphrey would bark if someone was breaking in etc etc!  It seemed to help at the time - but in the hard cold dead of night, I really was quite unhappy with the whole sneaky robber situation.  

They didn't return, but I try not to think about the people, and probably people up to no good, who are just standing out in the street, just metres away from where I am sleeping at 3am in the morning, all nonchalant but with a sneaky, cunning plan to wreak havoc.  And I try very, very hard to remember why we have a teeny toy poodle with a falsetto bark range and not a big (f**k off) dog with a big bass bark.

Dumped Bridesmaid Opens Up About Wedding

So, you might remember a little while back, I wrote a catty blog about being unceremoniously dumped as the bridesmaid from my sister-in-laws wedding.  If you don't then scroll back a bit and have a read... I'll wait.

Oooooooooo I hear you gasp - dumped as bridesmaid by your sister-in-law. Yes. Yes I was... I mentioned that all expenses had been spared at the bride and grooms request - I assumed the day would be a disaster, so I will have to gobble up my words now.

The wedding was a whole heap of fun - everyone enjoyed themselves, including me, the dumped bridesmaid.

I wrote that the venue was a pub, which I had not frequented before the big day.  When I thought of a pub (insert grog shop) as a venue for a wedding I nearly choked - skanky, smelly, dark and dank.  However, I got it wrong, so wrong.  The venue is not known as a pub... it is a "tavern" and while that doesn't really invoke glorious wedding images in my mind, it is a slight step up from, awh we got married at the pub, mate! (Don’t forget your ocker accent with that, it’ll make more sense).  It was a beautiful sunny day and the tavern was light and airy with rolling green lawns and clean toilets.  The public bar was still open for punters and while we could see each other across the bar, none attempted to crash our party - pleasantries and jovial ardour were exchanged.

The bride with her daughters as flowergirls arrived on time to be met by her groom on the tavern verandah.  All guests, including myself stood or were seated on the lawn.  Several family members in hushed tones asked me if I was supposed to be the bridesmaid, I am sure I rolled my eyes and whispered the short version of the story - I was fired.  I didn't want to be disrespectful to the bride on her big day after all.  But I do have to dispense some bitchiness now.  All through the ceremony the bride’s dress straps kept falling down - it was driving me bananas, surely it was driving her, her groom and the celebrant bananas too - it was such a distraction.  If I had been bridesmaid... well you know what I am going to say.  Otherwise the bride looked nice... in her forty dollar dress with her fake flowers.   I'm just dark I didn't get to wear my "special" forty dollar dress - not.

After the ceremony we all lined up for photos in a somewhat organised fashion.  I was standing in my place and happened to look down and noticed the youngest flowergirl didn't have any shoes on.  Now, I guess like the straps, no shoes was not going to be the end of the world.  But from my own experience with wedding photos you pay a crap load for - I wish someone had told my niece in the front row on my wedding day to close her legs so that her orange knickers weren't showing.  So I piped up and highlighted the fact that the youngest flowergirl was sans shoes... I was quickly put in my place.  However during the next break I quickly put her shoes on and adjusted wonky hairclips.  Even if the bride doesn't notice in the photos - I will know that I put those shoes back on!  Pat on the back for me.

The cocktail food was tasty and plentiful and seemed to keep coming out all afternoon.  There were two wedding cakes - a serious, fruit cake number with the standard wedding caking white icing and a hunk of chocolate cake with no icing... who in their right mind doesn't like icing on chocolate cake?  The bride that's who... They almost forgot to cut the cake, and by the time they got around to cutting it, it was late in the proceedings when everyone was too inebriated to care.  If I had been bridesmaid... well you know what I am going to say... luckily I was there with my camera to take some photos instead!

The beer and wine was free flowing so pretty much everyone was happy.  I was designated driver, but I too was happy.  Late in the afternoon, after I had been ready to leave for about two hours give or take, my husband decided he would use his cousins spare football tickets and take his other cousins boyfriend to the footy.  I could have left two hours earlier - but still I was happy.

I think it must have been a combination of events that left me happy on the day - the weather, the food, the venue, being surrounded my husband’s fantastic, social and supportive family, and not being bridesmaid.  Perhaps it was much deeper than this... perhaps I was truly happy that my husband’s sister was happy with her lot on her big day.  If I had of been her bridesmaid, this would have been my task - to make sure she was happy, comfortable and organised on her day.  And blow me down, she proved herself truly capable of organising things for herself, just the way she wanted them.  Well done!
 
She really didn't need a bridesmaid.

I saw my sister-in-law on the weekend and I started to internally cringe a bit, but she put an immediate stop to that, giving me my usual peck on the cheek and then coming to sit next to me.  Clearly she is not into grudges.  I've learnt a couple of lessons from all of this and that is, do not accept any role right away, just to seem polite and cheap wedding are just as much fun as expensive one - just without all the expense!

Australian of the Year and MS-er

It's come to my attention that the 2011 Australia of the Year has MS.  Bet you didn't know that!!  Yeah, I know, perhaps you did, it was announced months ago - so maybe I am really the last to know...  Anyways in case you didn't, or if you forgot, his name is Simon McKeon.

Simon has an impressive resume and is well known as a prominent investment banker,  he is an active philanthropist, climate change advocate and accomplished yachtsman, not to mention handsome - with a mop of wavy dark brown hair (can't fail to mention the important things).

He has had some fairly frightening MS symptoms - temporarily blinded and paralysed from the waist down.  He says that, one thing he firmly resolved after this, was that he would try not to take any day for granted. He didn't want to leave, having a very serious connection with the community until he was old and past it.  Clearly he has the fighting spirit and has used it to overcome his diagnosis and become a highly successful man.  This is an inspiration to me... just because you have a terrible diagnosis, doesn't mean you can't harness the emotions surrounding the diagnosis and use them for good to whatever level you wish.

It got me to thinking about other Australians with MS - celebrity Australians as they seem to be most often recognised as role models... I came up with Chrissie Amphelett of The Divinyls, Betty Cuthbert Olympic gold medalist in sprinting and Collen McCullock - great Australian author, although she rarely publicly mentions she has MS.  And that's it, thats my list... do you know anymore?  Surely there are more... leave me a comment if you know more celebrity Australians with MS please.

The important thing to remember is that, even though the majority of people with MS are not celebrities, we are all inspirational in our own right, to the people who know and love us well and to those we have just met.  Keep on keeping on people... be inspirational by being the best person you can be one little baby step, moment or day at a time.  Good luck.

My Mothers Day

I know, I know, Mothers Day was a little while ago now... perhaps someone would like to speak with my lecturer who insists on setting super hard statistical assignments that take up all my time and brain space.  Statistics seem to sap the creativity right out of me!  However, my assignment is just about all done, so I thought I'd get back to my blog.

So Mothers Day right?  For some mum's, mine included, Mothers Day isn't a big deal - it's just another day.  I can hear where those mothers are coming from... but as the mother of a five year old, I just totally love Mothers Day, because my five year loves it, she gets so excited and that excitement is contagious.  I am going to be so sad when her excitement about things dissipates... or she gets to cool for school for genuine, jump out of your skin, turn yourself inside out enthusiasm.

So her excitement builds in the weeks leading up to Mothers Day.  It almost peaks a few days before when at pre-primary they make Mothers Day cards, gifts and attend the Mothers Day stall at school.  So let me initiate you to the Mothers Day stall. 

Several weeks before Mothers Day, a note in the school newsletter goes out requesting donations of gifts to the Mothers Day stall.  It doesn't say what type of things to donate, or whether they should be brand new or second hand.  I have always assumed that the donations could be preloved - but in good condition - perhaps a re-gift... but I wouldn't have really thought people would go out and buy a donation.  How wrong I was?  I am now a member of the P & C, and the fundraising committee and well people on the committee expect the gifts to be new - I know, go figure.  To me half the fun of it, is seeing what interesting pre-loved knick knack my daughter thinks I will think is the most beautiful, awe inspiring thing I have ever seen.  I fear that something that is totally new, will lend itself to being just another item for me to re-gift because it has no special character... but I guess some hand lotion wouldn't go astray.  Anyway, if your child brings a gift then they can be one of the first to line up, pay $2 and select a gift.  Those who do not bring a gift are not left out, because many parents donate several "gifts" and so provided you have given your kid $2 and they haven't lost it on the way to school... then you too can get a Mothers Day gift!

When I picked my daughter, Chynna, up from school on the day of the stall, she gave me strict instructions not to open her bag because the gift was in it!  I had to wonder if, since it was early in the week, she would be packing her own lunch for the rest of the week.  Of course we negotiated a solution - she would observe me remove her lunch from the main pocket of her bag... leaving the small pocket holding the gift untouched.  Then she would take her bag to her room and hide the gift until her Dad came home to help her wrap it and she would return her bag to the kitchen, so I could repack it the following day.

By the time Mothers Day came around, I had no idea about what the gift was - none!  It seems at five years of age, you are quite good at keeping a secret.  A few time, I had to remind her to keep her secret, as did her Dad a number of times over dinner.  But I really had not an inkling.  I was much more concerned about the fact that no one had booked breakfast anywhere the day before Mothers Day.  I wrote my husband a list of places doing breakfast in the Swan Valley.  He was "good" (eventually) and called them all - but of course they were all booked out all day and had been for weeks!  My mum telephone for something quite unrelated and happened to mention that they were going for breakfast at Seventh Avenue, but they hadn't booked!!!  I was like, oh um, I don't think you'll get in, but if I book it for you can we join you pleeeeeeease.  So that is where we had a surprisingly delicious buffet breakfast at 8am.  I think the early start was possibly the key to the deliciousness of it all.

Having breakfast with my Mum was great.  We hadn't done it, probably since Mothers Day the year before.  We got to have a nice relaxing breakfast, while my Dad and husband kept the kiddly winks in line.  What's even better is that I got my mum a really useful and most awesome handmade gift.  I knew right away that she'd appreciate it.  It was a handmade peg apron, so that she wouldn't need to bend over to reach her pegs anymore.  It was made by my sewing virtuoso friend, Jacquie, who has a new online store - Pebble Lane Studio, check it out:

http://www.facebook.com/Pebblelanestudio, or

http://www.madeit.com.au/storecatalog.asp?userid=27083 

My mum loved her peg apron - love your work Jacquie!

Anyway, I've left my favourite part of Mothers Day until last.  Chynna walks into my bedroom, jumps on the bed and snuggles up.  My husband whispers to her, did you forget, it's Mothers Day and she promptly jumps off the bed and runs down the hall.  She returns moments later, with her gifts.  She gives me a big hug and tells me to open the card first.  Being the obedient mother that I am... I contain my urge to rip open the gift.  There are three little parcels and so she hands me the card.  It is so gorgeous that I almost cry... thank goodness for teachers, who are mothers themselves and know what will make us beam the biggest smile.

It's so much better than it was last year, because Chynna can write her own name and copy words now.  I will treasure this card forever and I will put it in my "glory box", well, what will be my treasures box.  It'll keep me in touch with what is important and that is that Chynna loves me because I cook her noodles and pizza for dinner every night!!  Hahaha - how easy would my life be if that was the case.

Next she handed me a little, totally unexpected little package.  And again it nearly made me cry.  It is amazing the things your kids know about you.  She knows that my favourite colour is green. She knows my favourite food is raspberry chocolate - I think she means Cherry Ripes, I guess if I had to name a favourite food I would say Cherry Ripes (because, in general I just love to eat and therefore food is my favourite food)!

      

 She has also indicated that I like to cook dinner - which is my absolute favourite past time!  Good try sweetheart.  And she loves me because I cook dinner for her and well, that might be translated to I cook her special dinner when she refuses to eat the dinner that everyone else is eating!  This was a fantastic gift, it made me laugh and well, I just felt special - really, truly!  That sounds sarcastic and I really didn't mean it to be because I am being 100% sincere.

Inside the above little fold out card, wrapped in tissue paper was a pair of Chynna made earrings.  How cute are they? I wore them all day and made sure I pointed them out to everyone.  It's so cool to be able to wear something that your daughter has made for you.  Earrings as well - what a good idea!  I think, after opening the cards and earrings I said, I didn't need anything else for Mothers Day - I could feel the love from my handmade cards and earrings.  My husband sighed and said he'd take his present back to the shop.  It's a bit hard to compete with a five year old.

        

Last was the Mothers Day stall gift.  Like I mentioned earlier, I couldn't wait to see what Chynna had picked for me.  Chynna was so excited to finally give me the gift that she was bouncing around all over the bed.  It's an interesting little number... she followed in the jewellery theme... I'm just not sure I have anything to wear it with - since it will absolutely own the outfit!

Hehe, obviously she loves it - shiny and big, like a princess necklace.  What a cack!  

So thinking I had completely cleaned up in the Mothers Day gift department, my husband gives me my final gift and it turns out to be something I have wanted to get myself for awhile.  His ears have been switched on afterall.  He gave me an Emjoi.  Goodbye shaving, hello silky smooth legs - if I can find the time of course!!

I love Mothers Day.  May it alway be as exciting and as precious as this one.

Easter Holidays

I know I am about two weeks too late, but happy Easter every one.  I hope you had a great time eating Easter eggs and the like.

My family and I went away for Easter, with another family to a small city in the mid west of Western Australia, called Geraldton.  It is about a four-hour drive if you drive non-stop, but if you have kids, and I do, it took around five and a half hours.  It is a lovely coastal city, with great beaches and warm weather (also humid so I discovered) and picturesque ranges to the east.

The family we went away with, to be known as the G'mer's we have known for around one and a half years.  This friendship began through our daughters, who became "best" friends almost immediately on commencing kindy together.  The G'mer's consist of Mummy Maz, Daddy Brett, Chelsea (5), Riley (3) and Kourtney (4 months).  They are super friendly, super generous and posses miles of integrity, not to mention they are all beautiful to boot.

So here is what I learnt this Easter holiday trip away.

No matter how good your intentions are you might not get up and leave by 5am. However the G'mer's who also had the best intentions to get up and leave much earlier than us, left much later than us.  We discover this when they pulled in to the Badgingarra Roadhouse half an hour after we did.... they had a problem with fuses and trailer lights - not a lascivious love affair with sleep.

We stayed with Daddy Brett's uncle Bob and his lovely wife, pot plant extraordinaire and photographer Leslie.  Leslie has a super cute English accent, which I couldn't help but imitate after a couple of days!  She has a heavy metal rock star son, who has recently been on a world tour (perhaps she might add a comment, telling us the name of the band, cause I've forgotten... pretty sure it had a 666 in there).  Bobby, a bit of a secret gardener, lawn bowler (I didn't hold that against him) and is a mean card playing train driver.  He has a fantastic train set hiding in his back shed and there home is scattered with train memorabilia.   I learnt that these people are lovely, generous and incredibly patient.  One of the first things they said to us was, "our home is your home"!  I kind of wonder if they wished they could eat their words right back up the first time we unleashed the kids in the back yard.  I know that their teeny dogs, Sasha and Amber probably would have chewed those words to shreds.  It turns out they had no interest in baby sitting our kids and spent most of their time in a custom made cupboard kennel!   

The best laid plans might as well mean no plan... as far as our sleeping arrangements were concerned.  Both the G'mer’s and ourselves carted our tents to Geraldton.  We also knew that there was a spare room and an empty caravan.  I guess, by the fact that we both brought tents - meant that we were sleeping in our tents.... but it's not quite what happened.  Only one tent went up, which was inhabited by my husband Ryan, our daughter Chynna and Chelsea.  I slept in the caravan with Sabin, my son.  Brett and Maz slept in the spare room with their daughter Kourtney, and Riley, bless him, slept in the lounge room.  I'm pretty sure Riley would have loved to have slept in the tent, but he has a funny little habit of waking up, finding a new location and going to sleep again.  Maz has said that she has had to search her home for him on several occasions.  It might not have been good to find him asleep atop a rose bush!  Anyways... I was quite happy with my sleeping location in the caravan with Sabin.  He sleeps really well, I was protected from the cold and condensation, had a modicum of privacy and was not forced to get up at 6am when the girls got up because I could lock the door, although I could still hear them - loud and clear!

I learnt that the Dongara Irwin Race Club holds a meet over the Easter weekend for the Dongara Cup.  It was super casual - we had a bit of a picnic set up under a huge gum tree right by the race track.  While it was super casual... you could get dressed up if you so wished.  There was a Ladies Fashions on the Field comp for those so inclined.  I learnt that my twenty-month-old son is fascinated by horses and horses racing around a track.  He stood on the fence for each race and on a couple of occasions refused to move from the fence between races in case he missed something.  At one point, he motioned to a woman sitting on the lawn every 30 seconds that the horses were gone and when would the next race be.

I also learned at the races that my husband is a very fast sprinter indeed.  As between race entertainment they held a 100 metre dash - one for the boys and one for the girls.  Two of the boys... not our two, got out on the track in their undies - tight black boxers (very nice indeed) and off white well worn y-fronts (not so nice- but good try).  Our boys got out there and had a bit of a wager on who would come in before the other.  Now I knew hubby was quick, but Brett is pretty fit... so I really didn't know who was going to get up.  There was a lot of elbowing at the start, but my husband is really darned fast and he came third overall.  My question is how fast would he be carrying three of us, if a massive tsunami was approaching???

Ryan has the denim shorts and green shirt with yellow stripe on.

I learned that at 5 years old it is acceptable to lie about, dob on, yell at and hit your best friend often.  Then five minutes later, have forgotten all about it, but then five minutes after that shoot the other one down again.  This is where I know Leslie and Bobby were very patient souls indeed, they didn't yell and scream, like I did probably with one and a half days to go (well I guess to be fair to myself... I didn't scream either, not out loud anyway).  There is only so much whinging, whining and dobbing one can put up with, especially if you have MS, have been going hard for three and a half days and then are so worn out that all you want to do is sit in a quiet room and not move for 48 hours.

I learned that your children will suffer no lasting ill effects if they eat chocolate for breakfast, lunch and dinner with some other crap thrown in for good measure!  If we were at home I would have let Chynna have maybe one Easter egg at breakfast, then slowly consume the rest over the coming weeks.  And Sabin... he's tricky, because Chynna at the same had not eaten much chocolate at all in her short 20 months... but obviously because he see's Chynna eating chocolate he wants some too, so he would have to have had one at breakfast too.  I also would have consumed my eggs slowly... but I learned (just not in Geraldton) that if you have eggs and other crappy food to eat, whether you eat it in one hit or slowly over a few days/weeks you are stilling going to eat the same amount of calories anyway.  I also learned that Maz and I have the same eating philosophy... eat what you want and if it tastes nice lots of it.  I am paying for it now of course... on a watch what you eat health kick - more like boot up the date health kick!

 
I learned that my son is the gatekeeper and loves to watch model trains.  Sabin over the five days we were in Geraldton, opened and closed the little gate onto the patio, like a million times.  He and Riley had a number of squabbles over it... which I think Sabin won.  He liked to open it to let you in and open it to let you out - he'll make a great concierge one day.  He loved to join Bob in his shed, stand up on an old chair and watch the model trains go around and around on the track.  We live right near a freight line, so Sabin sees trains daily and I tell you he is “obsessed”.  One day to escape the arguing 5 year olds, Bobby and Sabin went and hid in the back shed all by themselves.  When the girls discovered them, Bobby firmly asked them to go away. Good on ya Bobby.

I learned that I can play cards.  One night we all sat around the table and played a game called Sevens - no adding or subtracting in a hurry thank goodness!  Cards are played out to form a layout of sequences going up and down in suit from the sevens a la solitaire and the game is won by emptying one's hand before the other players.  I won a round... as did everyone else.  Bobby has a serious poker face and won several rounds.  Card games are great I’ve decided... because you can gossip and muck about in between some serious- strategic-plan-making card stuff... which gets progressively more serious when alcohol is involved!

I learned that my daughter is probably never going to go fishing again.  She caught the first fish on her first ever beach fishing trip.  She was very excited until she found out she would be eating the fish and that this meant the fish would die.  To avoid a monumental break down, I quickly suggested that because the fish was so small that we throw it back.  But then later Chelsea caught a fish and it was put in the bucket and Chynna had an EPIC meltdown.  I tried to explain that there are millions of fish in the sea and that I couldn't make someone else chuck the fish they'd caught back... but she wouldn't have it.  Ryan caught another tiny fish and I made him throw that one back without Chynna seeing it.  Brett decided Chynna had been watching too much Bindi Irwin (if you don't know who that is google her - crikey!) and that she was some Green Peace warrior, but I think it was more likely that she was totally unprepared mentally for the ordeal.  You know the catching and eating thing... I could have helped her, by telling her in advance about the reason for fishing which didn't mean looking at the shiny, sparkly, pretty fish - what a bad mummy!  Eventually Chelsea's fish was set free because nobody caught anything else anyway.

Lastly, I learned that water is a great entertainer for children of all ages, even the ones in their 30's and 40's!  Geraldton has an awesome water playground, which kept us all entertained for hours.  The biggest problem associated with this was the sun and sunburn.  Ryan copped some flack for the amount of sunscreen he put on the kids, which was our usual amount.  People think that sunburn cream is supposed to go on lightly and leave no trace, when in fact the opposite is true.  Sunscreen should be applied liberally and not rubbed in until it disappears.  Proof is in the pudding - none of the kids got burnt.  I can highly recommend the water playground at Geraldton’s foreshore, it’s grassed, has shade and it’s close to the gelato shop, The Dome and cafes… what more could you ask for.

So that wraps up what I learnt… almost.  I also learned that holiday trips are fun when you go with family and friends.  I am really looking forward to next year’s Easter break and the trip we have planned to the Dongara Races.

Motorcycles, Trauma and Hospitals.

I went and saw a friend on the Sunday.  I was happy to see him, because I haven't seen him in ages, but I was not pleased about the circumstances at all.  His alias is MC and he was involved in a hideously serious motorcycle accident about a month or so ago.

MC was driving straight through an intersection during an amber light and unfortunately for him, so was a turning car.  I guess it is going to be difficult to decide who was at fault because they were both somewhere they probably shouldn't have been during an amber light.  (Note to self, amber for all intents and purposes means STOP if at all possible!)  MC was thrown 30 metres from the collision into a wall.

Wouldn't it be nice if I could say, oh and MC got up, dusted himself off and continued on his merry way?  But of course, this was not the case... two broken legs, tib and fib of both, a broken rib and a completely destroyed left arm.  We are talking a broken humerus and radius with a pretty darn severe brachial plexus injury.  The brachial plexus injury in MC's case means that he landed funny (obviously not haha funny!) against the wall, probably with his arm behind him, so that the tendons and nerves were majorly damaged.  The result is that he has no feeling or movement from about half way down his bicep.  Nerves were taken from his leg and groin and replaced in his arm, but as us MS suffers know, nerves take a really long time to heal and his hand is not yet working.  Thus the doctors have given him a two year time frame for his arm to come good, otherwise it will be amputated...

I think about those two years and I think about all the pain, commitment and hard work that MC will need to put in to get his arm and hand working and wouldn't it be totally devastating after all of that to then to have it chopped off.  He seems fine about this scenario, but perhaps this is a little bravado for his audience.  But I am sure (and I hope) that he uses knowing that the next two years will be filled with pain, commitment and hard work as motivators so that they are not in vain.  Good luck buddy.

Eventually, he will also need to have a full knee reconstruction as well.  Life for my friend will be a little, no, a lot uncomfortable for the next few years at least.  It gets me to thinking about why such horrible things happen to people or why people, like me, get terrible diseases?  Is it because we are bad people - no, I doubt it; otherwise every stinking paedophile would die a slow, painful, torturous death before their time.  Is it because of karma... hmmm, well if it is then many of us have done something hugely wrong and again every stinking paedophile would die a slow, painful, torturous death before their time.  Is it to teach us a lesson?  Um, er then lots of us must be slow learners because those lessons involve considerable pain.  Do things happen for a reason?  Or is everything abstract, random and accidental?  Sometimes I don't know what I believe in…

Oh I failed to mention that MC during the nerve replacement op (I think, not sure how many he has had) nearly died on the table.  Oh the post traumatic stress…

MC is currently staying in a rehabilitation hospital.  The hospital was like a rabbit warren, it was incredibly unwelcoming and walking through the empty corridors on a Sunday afternoon I felt spooked.  I also assumed MC would be in a private room - too many visits to maternity wards obviously, so I was shocked to walk into a room filled to the brim by MC and three other trauma unfortunates.  I understand now that a room full of blokes in similar situations could be a good morale raising activity but I think it's more likely due to a lack of space and outdated facilities.  It was really quite depressing, but it would have been a whole lot more depressing, for MC anyway, stuck in a bed 24-7 all by yourself.

So we had a nice chat.  I didn’t cry about the magnitude of damage done to MC's body.  And I came home and banned both my children from even considering a motorbike as a form of transport. I told my husband in no uncertain terms that I don’t care how experienced a motorbike rider he thinks he is, that he is never ever ever getting another bike.  Ever!

Humphrey , The Toy Poodle Who Never Looks Happy in Photos!

So here I am again.  I haven't been able to blog as regularly as I would like to because I am back studying again.  I'm doing Honours in Psychology (or 4th year) really part time.  Usually part time is two units a semester and you would finish 4th year in two years, but I am doing just one unit a semester... until I have to do my thesis which I have to complete in a year like everyone else, so in theory I should have 4th year finished in three years.  Anyways I am doing a statistics unit and it's not very easy, so it's taking up much of my headspace and time.  I'm procrastinating right now... I should be reading about MANOVA, but I think I have conditioned myself to fall asleep whenever I start to read the textbook... thus I think reading at 1.30 in the afternoon when I'm feeling drowsy is not the best bet!

I keep good company when I'm doing uni homework.  My faithful dog, Humphrey usually hugs my feet while I'm still and is my shadow when I'm on the move.  Mostly he's a good companion - he doesn't whinge, chat back or not eat the food I give him.  But he's not great at giving tight hugs, helping me with stats or making dinner.  Humphrey is an 11 month old toy poodle.  The best thing about him is that he doesn't drop hair at all, which is great because he's an inside dog.  Everyone, and I mean everyone who meets him comments on his colour, either that it is not a usual poodle colour or that he is beautiful or some mix of both.  He's a hard colour to define, kind of a light red/brown.  He is a very happy and playful dog - he's great with the kids and an awesome playmate - he keeps them busy when I'm busy.  He is just the right size too - Sabin has had him in a headlock before and he can jump up and not knock them over.  Right now I can think of three irritating things associated with him... his squeaky bark and high pitch squeal when he thinks he's missing out on something, the fact that I get out of bed at 5.30am to walk him and he never ever looks happy in photographs.

He is actually quite hard to photograph because he just is never still for long enough.  So maybe he is happy but you can't tell because his face is always blurred.  Other people, such as my husband and an anonymous commenter to this blog have pointed out that perhaps he looks unhappy because of his feminine hair cut, ie your typical poodle "do"... pom poms on his legs and fluff on his head.  After all he is a poodle, so Humphrey should expect to have his hair cut appropriately.


I'll let you in a on a little secret... I get Humphrey's haircut in a poodle do because I love to watch my husband's reaction.  He is horrified that we have a poodle that looks like a poodle.  I know - what did he expect... we bought a POODLE!!  When we purchased Humphrey last year he was a tiny ball of fluff, so maybe Ryan thought we bought a poodle that didn't look like a poodle - crazy I know.

The anonymous commenter thought that Humphrey looked like a girl with his pom poms... but check out his latest crew cut, he still looks like a girl.  He has super long eyelashes, which the groomer trims when Humphrey goes in for his regular appointment.  So I think all Humphrey can do is man up, use a deeper bark and wee on way more trees.


I had planned on giving him a mohawk, but the groomer decided that he is still too wriggly for anything that requires a straight shave.  I have to tell you, Lexy the groomer was very upset that she had to give Humphrey a crew cut, because Humphrey’s hair just goes perfectly into a head pom pom (technical term, anybody??).  She point blank refused to trim off his dunny brush tail.  His crew cut  actually matches my husband’s current haircut - a number 2 all over.  Ryan looks like a crim with such short hair and a goatee.  Humphrey looks quite cute and at least I can see his eyes now.

So here is a picture of Humphrey and Ryan - same hairstyle!  Who's most handsome?


I think I know who'll be more annoyed at this comparison!


Poor Humphrey, I think he is just destined to look like a girl and take unhappy looking photographs!