Over and out there

Yes, dear readers, I have finally launched my new blog site. With shiny new annd extra added improvedness. And photos.

Here's the link.

I look forward to seeing all three of you there.

Cheers
hissychick xxx


PS Don't forget to update your feed readers (only I would dare to dream that anyone actually subscribes to my drivel).

Anarchy chez hissychick, rhinovirus style

It is lurgy central here at chez hissychick, with A, E and I succumbing to colds of the extremely snotty nosed variety. We’ve all dealt with it in our own way:

• A being A was happy to while away an entire day watching episodes of Playschool, and was back to her usual cheery self in the evening. This was demonstrated by her proudly exclaiming “Look at this!” as she danced around the bathroom, a wad of toilet paper clenched between her bot cheeks in a post potty*, pre bath display of three year old exuberance. This was followed with a post bath “Let me sing Daddy….I love you sooo much….love you in the morning…bloody!bloody!bloody!” as she toyed with the whammy bar on the guitar when Daddy was playing the Sex Pistol’s Anarchy in the UK on Guitar Hero 3. Yes folks, I have no hope.

• E has alternated between her usual cheery self and breast refusing Velcro baby, depending entirely on just how much snot is running out of her nose. Poor little poppet. She seems fascinated by my runny nose too, reaching out to grab said proboscis whilst squealing “ho…hoo” (her attempt at honk I guess). Endearing but sure to perpetuate rhinovirus transfer and reinfection.

• I have been my usual hissy self. I don’t do sick very well, who has time for it? I’ve always loved it when people tell you to rest up (husband I am looking at you) when the fact is as a mother of two youngsters who is by herself for twelve hours plus a day you can’t. It’s not like I can leave the non napping three year old to her own devices, and while I am parked on my butt the pile of washing, dishes and dust from the renovations is accumulating at an alarming pace. Meanwhile I am worried about my milk supply but too lethargic to pull out the breast pump and add to my workload. Gah.

Anyway we are off shortly to mother’s group. Nothing like sharing the love around.....


* How the freaking hell we are going to get the girl to use the toilet rather than the grotty potty is beyond me at this point. But that is a story for another occasion.

Hard hats at the ready

So I am in construction phase at the moment. Yes the new blog is mostly up and running but no I won't be sharing the new site just yet. Sadly I have been wasting my time attempting to gain some mad programming skillz (did I ever tell you about my career detour into IT? No? Another time perhaps) and I want to tweak my new bloggy home a little bit blah blah fishpaste.

Add in the minor renovation works chez hissychick and colds for A and I and there you have it. Plenty of piss poor excuses for avoiding what I really want to do. Which is ummm...i don't know exactly. I have that vague sense of unease that usually precedes a visit from the fiend, and just a general sense of irritation and shittiness with myself.

Oh well. Everyone needs a hobby.

My addiction to E

I don't think I have ever dedicated a whole post to my youngest daughter, but seeing as she is being spectacularly adorable at the moment it's about time that I did.

Little miss E is my drug of choice at the moment. She is sitting independently for a good thirty seconds or so, and is busily rocking back and forth on her hands and kness at any given opportunity, meaning crawling can't be too far away now. Not that she isn't completely mobile given her rolling prowess. Turn your back for one second and she's somewhere she shouldn't be. Hiding places of note this week have included under the computer desk near power cords, a dropsheet during renovation works (our girl has a thing for wrapping herself up a la a dodgy carpet shop commercial at the moment), and behind whatever door you happen to almost slam into her head.

E is babbling away like, well a babbly thing, and certainly lets you know both verbally and physically exactly what it is that she wants or does not want at any given moment. The former usually includes whatever choking or electrocution hazard is within her surprisingly strong and extensive reach. The latter mostly includes being grabbed by the head or dragged around by her well meaning and besotted older sister.

She's still a booby monster, and it is now very obvious as to when she both does and does not want a feed. When hungry, she will practically lunge at my top. When she's not I cop a squeal accompanied by a back arch to put any yoga devotee to shame. After E has finished a feed she will execute the detach, drop and roll maneuvre, and there has been more than one occasion where I've had to catch her before she rolls off my lap.

Funnier still is E's chief menas of critiquing food, which is to blow raspberries at anything she does not like. This pretty much includes anything that is not a self controlled finger food or is smooth in texture. That's right, our girl prefers to run that fine line between learning to chew and choking. And she will do it all by herself, dammit.

E is also very much into slapping things at the moment, happily thump, thump thumping away on whatever toy tickles her fancy at any given moment but especially blocks. Whacking my chest during feeds is a major source of entertainment as is beating up her Dad's face whenever he is in hers. However she has saved her most brutal maneuvre, the Liverpool kiss, for her older sister whenevr she gets too close during playtime. It's a sign of things to come I fear.

Right now my littlest girl is blessedly asleep- on her tummy of course, she laughs in the face of SIDS risks- beloved Snugzee at her side.

Little miss E, you have become such an addiction in the less than eight months since you arrived, and I am not planning on ever giving up my need to snuggle you close and cover your chubby little face and body with kisses as many times a day as I can manage.

Hissyfit #4756

Ever had one of those days where the builders manage to coat every single surface in your house with sanding dust, including within the closed door rooms at the opposite end of the house to where work is being done? Dust that at first appearance doesn't seem to be there until you run your finger across the cot railing and your fingertip is coated with a fine white residue that is not from Colombia?

Ever had one of those days where after beating a hasty retreat with the kids from said dust you then return home only to find that the cleaner you splurged on when you can least afford it has not dusted a single thing? And the three year old then proceeds to have yet another accident on the carpet and freshly mopped tiles, only narrowly avoiding your seven month old's eyes? And the load of washing that you had hung out earlier is now sopping wet due to another downpour, the same weather that has resulted in a backlog of at least five more loads? To which the builders have now added because they failed to bring sufficient dropsheets?

Ever had one of those days where you burn your hand trying to simulattaneously prepare dinner and apologise on the phone to your husband for yelling at him several times earlier on in the day because, you know, this was all his fault?

Ummm yeah.

Going bogue

As in vogue, but with a b.

Yep, today I am one ofthose mothers, you know, the shouty/cranky/westie type. The situation is not helped by the fact that A herself has morphed into a feral cheryl since turning three, registering an 11 out of ten on the whining and tantrum richter scale.

A typical example:

Push me on the swing
In a minute honey, mummy just has to put a load of washing on (this being the first sunny day in ages)
Push me NOW
That's not very nice talking. Ask me nicely and I will be there in a moment
Push me NOW PLEASE (screamed in a whiny voice)
That's rude talking, A. Ask me nicely and I will be there once I have pressed the start button
PUSH ME NOW NOW NOW PLEASE
I am going to count to to three. If you stop shouting and ask me nicely, I will come. If not you will go to timeout.
NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!PUSH ME NOW NOW NOW NOW NOW...
For the first three minutes, I ignore this...
NOW PUSH ME NOW ARRRRGGGGHHHH NOW NOW NOW
....and then I react with my own finest:
NO I WILL NOT PUSH YOU. GET IN HERE, SIT DOWN YOU ARE IN TIMEOUT.
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO (screamed directly in my face)
SIT DOWN NOW!!!!! I WILL NOT BE PUSHING YOU ON THIS SWING FOR THE REST OF TODAY!!

A is sobbing, I have to walk away to quell the rage within. When the tantrum has not abated after ten minutes even the neighbours give serious consideration to calling someone, anyone to shut that child up already.

Rinse and repeat at least five times a day over such outrageous transgressions on my part such as offering fruit as a snack.

I think she's tired (I know I am)...then again perhaps she has a mild UTI as she has started to regress in the toilet training department and is wetting her pants every now and then. Plus we're back to night time wake up calls. It doesn't help that she also has to readjust to just having mummy at home rather than grandparents at her beck and call.

It would be a relief to know that a temporary illness is causing the behaviour- but a huge source of guilt for my own. Surely my perfect angel child (ha!) isn't simply trying on some truly brattish means of getting her own way?

Either way I can't win. Nor can I muster up the energy to do anything else. Except for making A go to her room after lunch for a rest for the first time in what seems like forever.

I'm off to smoke a packet of winnie blues put little miss E to bed, she who has been patiently and exuberantly jolly jumping as i type.

This gig sucks even more than my writing of late.

The best excuse ever....

...for not doing housework is the fact that there is crap absolutely everywhere. Who'd have thought that one simple wall removal would create so much mess?*

The fun part is that I have to wake E up soon to go and pick up A and have them both here for the dinner and bath thing before the husband gets home and i can clean up.

Does that go some way to explaining why I use the pseudonym that I do?

* Of course I did, I just went into denial. Or survival mode. Feel perfectly justified in blowing the budget and calling in the cleaner tomorrow. Oh yes I do.