I have gastro. Go on. Be jealous

This is day 6 of having gastro. Seriously. I wake up every morning thinking - this is it! I am better. And then I am dumped straight back to where I feel like my stomach is Mt Vesuvius. 

My stomach is not a great place to be. It's not good. It's not pretty. And I feel so rotten.

Which is only made worse when I look on Instagram and see everyone's having fun. Getting ready for Christmas. Decorating. Gifting. Partying til the break of dawn. 

Damn you! I shake my fist from my bed. 

For me it's bed and the bathroom. No beyond. I'm double-handedly keeping the disinfectant business in trade. I'm pretty certain they've doubled their sales in the last week. Lucky them! 

The cat has been my constant companion throughout. Because who wants to spend time with Gastro Girl? No one. And I don't blame them. But the cat? He comes and sleeps on the bed during the day. He's my one true friend. Sigh.

And if one more person tells me to think of the weight loss - I am going to puke on them. Weight loss is the last thing on my mind when I feel like my stomach is about to explode. 

Please. Send me entertainment.

Croup is Poop

I asked on Facebook the other night for people to finish this sentence:

Croup is…

There was an assortment of answers, with the majority - in short, responding that croup is poop.

It totally is.

Tiny went to bed on Wednesday feeling a bit under the weather, a sore throat, a sniffly nose, but in good spirits. She came into our bed in the middle of the night and got in between us. I felt her cheek and she had a good old-fashioned fever sizzling up inside of her. I took her temp and it was around 40.

We wound up later in the night in the steam room, aka the bathroom, where all good croup activities take you.

Matt wound up sleeping in Tiny's room and she slept with me where I could keep a wet flannel on her head and keep an eye on her. And that's how it's been for the past three days, and how I am guessing tonight is going to pan out. You can of course probably detect my excitement levels charting off the richter scale. 

Croup is an arsehole.

It's stressful, scary, and Tiny keeps getting panicky because she couldn't breathe. Fair play. 

I remember watching 'Anne of Green Gables' when Minnie May has the croup, and Anne Shirley comes to the rescue by puncturing the child's throat. Seriously dudes, croup is not to be messed with.

Over the years we've had many trips to ER due to the Doctor being afflicted with it at least a couple of times every year when he was small. I can vouch for it, it always sucks.

For the last few nights we've had broken nights sleeps. Well me mainly because Matt would sleep through a lion eating his head off. Me? I wake at the sound of a piece of paper floating to the floor. Tiny's been my bed buddy, and by now, we're kind of getting sick of each other.

We sit in the steamy bathroom until she can bare it no more (which is about 2-3 minutes after we walk in). 

I'm tired. She's tired.

So croup, this is a message to you, you suck. Move along because I am sick of you. And so is Tiny. 

The Week That Was. Actually. The Fortnight. Let's Go With The Fortnight

Dudes. What happens to the end of the year where it just wants to give you a good whipping and upset your applecart? 

First Tiny had her big tumble and that poor little face just made me want to cry. It was bad enough not being with her and being stuck at work. But when Matt told me it looked like someone had just punched her in the face, ugh. People. So sad. My poor wee babe.

And then two nights later she woke vomiting. Delayed concussion? Nope. Gastro. With a vengeance.

I thought it was all the cherries she hoovered down pre-bed. Turns out some violent bug had invaded her wee body and wanted to shake things up. And it wasn't a swift recovery, but she got over it. Then we went up to see my Mum and Dad for a couple of days, came back, the Doctor played basketball, got home - oh hey Mum, I think I'm going to vomit. Oh and we spread the Gastro to my Dad too. Sorry Dad.

And so started a week long bout of gastro for the Doctor. I wish I was making this shizz up. 

Every night I'd go to bed thinking - please let us crack it tonight. And in the morning I'd see his pale face and go - nope. We're still in down town Gastro-land.

So. Many. Sleep. Deprived. Nights.

If you had a newborn I'd offer to look after them - except they'd get gastro too. I was up and down that many times, washing bed linen like Gustavo Fring's laundromat. Someone reimburse me my sleepytimes.

I came home from work on Friday and Matt was fast asleep in bed. And he stayed that way until Saturday morning - because oh, let's see - did the GastroFairy visit? Yes. Yes she did. 

Saturday afternoon was Tiny's party - and Matt and the Doctor were quarantined. I had to do all my prep solo. Including bleaching the whole damn house because who wants to spread gastro? Not I said the Little Red Hen. 

Saturday afternoon I was what is officially known as: POOPED. 

I went to bed - and would you believe on Sunday morning I woke up with such a sore throat Schick and Gilette might as well have gone head to head doing a demo saying 'well whose blade is the sharpest'? 

I know. I have hit delirium and I might never return. 

This was the fortnight that was. Someone send me a freaking medal. And a chest to pin it on.

Our House Has Gastro

Last week, after having a very nasty tumble, Tiny got gastro. It was not particularly good timing because she was just recovering from the fall - which left her with a grazed, bruised and swollen nose, bruised lip, wobbly teeth, grazed knees and just a general feeling of shakiness. 

But heck. When is a good time for gastro?

Apparently anytime is a good time for gastro. Last night was a good time for it to come over, because straight after basketball the Doctor told me he felt like he was going to vomit. 

You can only imagine how overjoyed I was at this point. And then the vomiting commenced, and then it went from there. All night. YAY GASTRO!

It's now 2:15pm and I've only just caught up with the washing. I started at 5am. 

I am so tired party people. So tired. Someone prop my eyes open with some matchsticks. 

Sad cat image via Pinterest

Fully Sick

Last week I was giving myself a pep talk.

On Monday, when I felt the sting of a sore throat - I started positive affirmations such as "I am not sick - and I am not getting sick."

On Tuesday, I felt a little lousier, but still continued with the affirmations.

Wednesday, much the same. Thursday my voice morphed into a drag queen. Friday, ditto. Saturday I felt completely lousy, but bucked up for a friend's birthday soiree, although that throat, my head, meh. And Sunday, bloody Sunday - I wake feeling pretty much how I think rat shit feels. Like rat shit.

I am so sad and mad! I was up to week three of C25K. I was having fun at training. And then I got sick, and I have barely moved off the couch today. Covered in a blanket, with a box of tissues, some Difflam, and iView. I. Am. So. Bored. 

I've given Matt an IOU for Father's Day. For a retake. I had plans - and he wound up on cooking, kitchen and kid duty. 

Please. Tell me something exciting. 

Sick. In Bed.

I'm at home feeling absolutely rotten. Johnny Rotten.

In amidst sleeping under a pile of 12 blankets and racing to the bathroom, I checked Facebook and found this. Two of my favourite songs mashed up. YAY TEAM!

It's like a gift to make my day better.

Yes?!

The 'Pants' Talk

Last week I took the Doctor into the dentist to have a filling. But we wont' talk about that right now.


What I want to write about is the fact that I had to have a firm 'pants' talk with Tiny.


My little friend Tiny does not like pants. Too tight. Too 'comfy'. Too too too - too pantish. Tiny doth protest the pant.


The day was long and the day was cold, so I advised Tiny to wear some leggings. In fact, she had some new polka dot leggings and oh my! They look so cute on her. Ridiculous how cute.


Tiny is an advocate for choosing her own outfits - ever since she was a wee babe. So I've come around to it, and mostly let her choose - except when it's inappropriate to weather or place. You can wear that sheer ballet skirt. But not to the supermarket. No one needs to see your knickers.


Sometimes I work out options for her - give her two pieces to choose from, then she's got some independence and feels like she's making that choice. And usually she'll comply. And then return to her bedroom while I am otherwise occupied, strip off and either emerge completely newd, or in another random outfit. Like when it was super chilly this week - she came out in a t-shirt and ballet skirt. Then went outside and told me she was cold - and quite literally turned purple. Funny that. 


So this day last week - she had a complete meltdown after getting dressed. And I felt cranky and fed up with the tussle. The constant tussle. The hussle and bussle of the pants. 


She threw the biggest wobbly (or lobbly as she would say) for at least half an hour. Crying. Screaming. Fluctuating between inconsolable and completely angry with me. I forced her limbs into warm clothes - and she went on. We finally got into the car, and she sobbed throughout the short drive to the train station. We were about to catch our train when I stood in the street with her and pointed out that everyone was wearing pants. Or stockings. Or tights. It was pants-on Wednesday. It would have been a funny conversation to overhear. 


She detests the pants. 
I am pro-pants. 
She detests shoes - and always points out pictures where fairies are barefoot. 
I try and find pro-shoe fairies. It is a constant shift. 
Will she? Won't she? 


She's a funny little person that Tiny. I don't want to quash out her individuality - but I do want her to be warm. It's a quandary.
-------------------
Last night I crawled into bed downbeat and exhausted. Tiny awoke with vomit covering her bed, her pyjamas. Then cried. And cried. And I stripped the bed while Matt put her in the shower. Gastro is a wicked beast. 


PS  - Check out this ace piece I was included in. I didn't know until one of the other ace bloggers let me know. How cool! 

A Snapshot: We're Here. Now.

Sometimes I forget to report back on stuff. And things.

Like how months and months ago I wrote about the Doctor battling with case after case of tonsillitis. And how I was determined to not let him have surgery if I could help it. After visiting a cache of different GPs - and most were not interested in finding the root cause of the problem.

 Of course I am not so bonkers that I wouldn't book him in to have his tonsils removed  if he had to, but I am someone who is determined to investigate alternate options. I clearly remember having surgery under general anaesthetic when I was just five, and that awful murky feeling that follows. Of course - that surgery - was unavoidable - and I am so gratedul my parents had my wonky eye fixed way back when.

And so research we did.

He's now been visiting the world's most rad osteopath, Jamie, for about five months.

Since he began going to see Jamie, guess how many times he's had tonsillitis?

Zero. Zilch. Nada. None. He hasn't had tonsillitis since.

This is brilliant in my book.

This last month he's lost a tooth too - a big one, one of the top front teeth. There was great excitement when the Tooth Fairy visited.  

Other than that, life is peachy.

The Sickness. And The Sickness. Oh and THE SICKNESS.

Remember when the Doctor got tonsillitis not that long ago. Since that time, he's had it twice. Which means two more rounds of antibiotics and a referral to an ENT to decide whether we need to have them snipped out.

The thrills don't get much bigger than this.

My little guy is completely fragile, sick of being sick, worn down, over it. Me too.

When the GP mentioned the possibility of having his tonsils out and his adenoids scraped, my little man cried. The saddest cry of all. As a mother, it was the most helpless feeling, not feeling like I could do anything to help him feel better.

I walked out of the GP grateful that she could make him feel better, but determined to find an alternative to general anaesthetic and medical procedures.

I don't expect anyone to understand this, but I'm not big on hospitals, medical intervention - unless absolutely necessary. If we can avoid it, we will, while always thinking - if it's absolutely necessary, then of course, we will do it. And when I say: I don't expect anyone to understand it, I mean - everyone's different, everyone's parenting is different; my gut is to look at alternatives before resigning ourselves to the surgery line.

I've done some research, asked friends, thrown it to the Twitterverse, and received some amazing feedback. We've got a couple of appointments lined up to visit a paed osteopath and some others in the pipeline, all before our November ENT appointment that will hopefully say - 'hey, gee whizz, this little tacker is a-ok!'

image of the Doctor climbing at Sydney Olympic Park. It's that cool.

Anna Wintour?

I've spent the last week in sunglasses. No matter if it's raining. I'm wearing sunglasses. My eye is still not better, so I've embraced the Anna Wintour. I wear my sunglasses at night. And inside. And while I'm talking to you. And while I am on the computer. And all the time really.

I could get all rude on this damn eye, but I'll just say, after weeks of being sick, I'm a bit fragile. I hate being sick. Sinusitis. Conjunctivitis. This is not a dream run.

I'm prepping for Father's Day. The smalls and I are making Bills corn fritters. This is on the up. But I can't find which book the recipe is on. Help a white wonky-eyed girl out.

Meanwhile my own Dad is on the other side of the world. We'll have to celebrate when he's back.

Eye Am In Auckland

Eye am!

And this is my eye in Auckland!

It is disgusting. When I checked in, I am sure the guy looked at me part horrified, part disgusted. I hope tomorrow I wake up with out the junkie-eye.

As for Auckland - wow. This is a pretty city, and it reminds me of Melbourne. The houses - aye carumba. The houses. So beautiful.

And guess what?! Bananas are $1.49 per kilo. This is big news folks. I may have to eat my body weight in bananas.

Do you have any tips for my brief Auckland sojourn? Do tell!

Chunk-No-Itis

Tiny has been welcomed into the exclusive and elite club where all members must have Conjunctivitis to join. I believe I'll be joining that club later tonight.

Yesterday her eye started mucusing up a storm, and we couldn't clean it quick enough. Disgusting, no?

She woke up in the middle of the night, her eye fused closed. Impressive Tiny. So in the darkness of night, we cleaned it again, and again. And again. And put her back into bed. When she woke it was a little better, and we've been dealing with the eye all day. It's so furiously red, I've never seen conjunctivitis so cranky. I think the other eye is going out in sympathy.

In the morning she asked why she had: "Chunk-No-Itis". She hasn't complained and just gone about her day. Delighted when she caught a ladybird, she made it a little home, created a slide for it, and told it it was going to join the circus.

Poor Tiny Pink Eye.

Universe, right about now, we'd really like to shake the shackles of Winter sickness. April - August? Enough is enough. We're officially: Sick of being sick.

Last Night An Audio Book Saved My Life

Actually, it was tonight.

Tonight an audio book saved me.

You see friends, you'll have to listen up real close because I've got something to tell you.

I've lost my voice.

Yeah. Great. Works a treat when talking with the Doctor. He's got blocked ears and can't hear. I've got no voice and can't talk. Match made in heaven. I have to clap my hands to get his attention.

Tonight Matt went out to catch up with some friends leaving desperate and voiceless at home. No bed time bookie wookies for the littlies.

Or were there?

I madly went through the CD cupboard and hauled out 'The Gruffalo's Child' on CD. Ker-ching!

They were happy. I remained silent. And all was well. Hoorah for audio books. End of story.

Awww Man!

Conjunctivitis! Tonsilitis! Fevers! Runny nose! Blocked ears! General lethargy! The Doctor sure knows how to get sick when he gets sick.

He's miserable and holed up in a birdie's nest* on the couch during the day, early to bed at night. Oh man. I hate the smalls being sick. It makes me so sad to see them so sad. He even asked me to come home early from work so I could be with him. Break my little heart dude.

I'm sick of the sick. Roll over Winter, Spring and Summer need to make their grand entrance. I'm over you Winter. I usually love you. But April - August we've been sick. I'm over it. I'm done. Winter, you stink this year.

On the flip side of down and out in Beverley Hills *cough*, the Doctor saved up for a really, really long time to buy a Nintendo DSi. He finally reached his goal, and this has been a huge saving grace while he's been sick and I've told him he has to lay low and hang out on the couch. He's been playing 'Ready Set Grover' like crazy these last few days. Phew for this small grace!

* A birdie's nest in our house is when I plump up the cushions on the couch and tuck my wee little birdies in with a blanket, when they are feeling poorly.

You're Booked!

I found this super cute book the other day by Emma Dodd called "You". I mean, just look at it, it's got cute written all over it. I can't wait to give it to Tiny because I think she's going to love it long time - it has gold foil on every page, so. darn. cute.

The Doctor was home today sick as a dog, woke up with a raging 3am fever, and conjunctivitis. But I didn't realise it was conjunctivitis until a friend at preschool looked at him this afternoon and said "Oh you've got conjunctivitis" - and I went "BINGO!" - and then as an aside to myself "Der, why didn't I see that before?! Of course it's conjunctivitis". Poor little dude. Conjunctivitis is the pits, isn't it? So we stayed at home and I read him Cressida Cowell's "How To Be A Pirate".

What books are your big and smalls reading? And you? I have a big stockpile next to my bed, but none of them calling me right now. Any recommendations?

When Period Pain Is Not

Yesterday I spent the day feeling pretty darn miserable and convinced I had period pain. I took two Naprogesic and thought - in half an hour, all will be gone and I can continue.

Only it didn't and all day I rode a painful wave where I was convinced someone had a voodoo of me and they were squeezing my stomach intermittently. I mean this damn person wouldn't let up. They kept going and going.

But it's not period pain. It's freaking gastro. GASTRO!

If they can put man on the moon, why can't they outlaw gastro. MEH! For more gastro loving head over to Mogantosh. They really know how to party too. And Mama Mogantosh REALLY knows how to party because her glasses fell into the toilet. Yowsers.

In light of this, here's a funny ad about Mother Nature.

Really Super Things

I was speaking with Angela at Kid Style File a while ago. Her family were struck down by the lurgies. She suggested drinking Charlie's Lemonade, heating it slightly and adding some honey. I will tell you right now I am probably the only person in the world that hates lemon and honey. Meh!

But Charlie's Lemonade with honey is really super fantastic. Thank you Angela for that great tip!

And today the postman knocked at my door. I was standing in the kitchen at the time in a spencer top and pyjama pants. I hid my top half behind the door and was greeted with our very polite postman bowing at me! He presented me with a parcel from one of my all time favourite cronies - Sal from GEORGIE LOVE!

I was lucky enough to win this book - Simple Softies for Beginners via Sal's giveaway - and I am suitably CHUFFED! This book is right up my alley folks - it's aimed at beginner's and kids from the age of 5. That really says something about my crafting capability, right?

I've sat down today with each of the smalls to discover which of the softies they like. The Doctor is into Hop Skip Jump's dino. Tiny is into Hop Skip Jump's Cat-Face Cushion.

Let le sewing begin. And prepare to laugh at the outcomes.

In Which We Really Turn PottyMouthed

So the last few days have been pretty darn boring. So boring in fact that the Doctor asked me if he went for a big bike ride would he feel better because he's sick of watching DVDs and lying on the couch in his general malaise.

Three weeks of being sick sucks, croup has turned into bronchial coughs. Meh!

In a bid to pick things up we visited the Doctor yesterday and now the kids are both on antibiotics. And the Doctor got the hot pink antibiotics, and Tiny wants to swap him for hers. Hers are white.

The Doctor has also morphed into the PottyMouthDoctor. He cussed on the mike on Monday. Not once. But FIVE TIMES! Shocking to the max.

So this morning in a bid to alleviate boredom we went for a walk up the street to see if we could find the neighbour's cat. The Doctor took his scooter, Tiny wore her yellow boots today. We walked right up the top, and walked right back down, and the Doctor found some energy to do four or five laps of a section of footpath. He thought it was awesome. Oh and we got to pat the cat too!

We got home just in time for the rain to start sprinkling down on top of us.

Usually I love Winter. But this Winter I am longing for warmer days. I'm sick of being sick. I'm tired of being cold.

I'm Coming Up Empty Handed

Due to the lockdown that is life at the moment, we're stuck at home with the Doctor and his croup, Tiny and her snotties, me and my sinuses, I am in fear I have nothing, NOTHING to share. It's a bad old day when you have nothing of value to share, isn't it sausages? Oh yes!

So what to report... I'm twiddling my thumbs folks.

* I love the new Sia album (not to be confused with the Safety Institute of Australia - although I'm sure they're quite good too)

* I love the new Angus & Julia Stone album

* I have drunk three cups of tea today, with another on the way

* I have picked up countless crumpled tissues today (gee thanks kids)

* I have refereed countless wrestling matches between the smalls today

* I am going to watch the Young Victoria today. Or maybe Mad Men. But something. Because Glee isn't on

* I haven't organised dinner yet due to confinement

* I have mopped the floors

* I am up to date in the laundry

* The kids are in the bath at 4:00pm. The Doctor is crying because a) it has bubbles (which I thought he'd like tonight and b) Tiny kicked him. AGAIN.

* We have a very large old wardrobe currently eating all the room in our living room because we have nowhere else to put it. What to do with it folks?

On a more exciting front..

Check out Meet Me At Mikes for the Medina MumSpace giveaway. You must be in it to win it. (And for more chances to win a night at the Medina of your choice, head over to MumSpace - fo' realz).

And if you're looking for something absolutely, infinitely more interesting than this post, I might suggest this to you.

image via manataka

Lolling About

Today was a terrific birthday, and yet... And yet! I've used up all the hours. Bummer.

How can it be over so quickly? Yet late afternoon, I couldn't wait for it to be done and dusted. The Doctor has reverted back to being the Croupinator. I've still got a snuffy nose and sore throat. Tiny's snotty and won't let me be free of her need for 'cuggles'. And Le Matt is sick as well. Sick as four frogs. And me cooking my own birthday dinner.

Meh!

Double meh!

Did you have a great day? Tell me, what's happening in your world?

PS - thanks for the super birthday wishes. x

PPS - Look what Martha whipped up for dessert - Ice Cream Cone Cupcakes. Who woulda thunk?