A catch up on events, my teenage self reflected in girl child and othertime wasting stuff

Realise that my recent blogs have been full of woe and misery as well as few and far between. I was driving to work this morning, which in itself a bit of a shocker, and reflecting on why exactly I talk about having and writing a book so much that I haven't actually got one? This of course led onto the kind of terminal thinking that one of my particular friends accuses me of over doing, my psych says I don't do enough and my other friend allows me to do because as yet I am not a full ass hat...



 is it any wonder I'm confused? Anyhoo thats by the by, so I was thinking thoughts on thoughts and feeling that kind of manic inspiration that I often get about the 400 voices errr I mean books that are actually contained in my head and how well I am doing in the fact that I am writing at all which when you realise what an achievement that is so I came up with a whole bunch of titles and ideas based on the write what you know theory... which could either get me de-registered in my career and make me world famous, or make me infamous and deregistered... whether there is a difference in the two I will never know until I actually do it and stop talking about it...

Why is it I always start at the end and never at the beginning? I can't remember how much ranting I did in recent weeks so I am admittedly using photo prompts to get me talking...

Which would mean we have to deal with the mother situation, so I took her to my favourite place in the whole world on her request (seriously if I write nothing else that damn hospital tour guide is looking more and more like a reality) to the hospital to meet with the OT. This was alarmingly real, as in the kind of real that it took me a lot of effort to process as being funny in anyway... but fortunately my mum as the kind of humor that I can borrow. So we met with the student OT who spoke so quietly we had to guess what she was saying and talked to mum about how she was feeling and her limitations etc, that was pretty sad (and I know she will kill me but its my blog my words) because I realised that my mother was a) human and b) vulnerable which is a pretty eye opening experiencing when you spent most of your life putting her on a pedestal and thinking that she's a super human and it turns out that actually shes like the rest of us. My mum doesn't do uncomfortable unless it involves makings some other sucker miserable and she does do pride like a lion in that you are never too poor to have a clean house or to afford soap. I think her saving grace that stopped me from having some kind of break down (let alone her) was her childish immaturity when they cast her resting splint and offered her equipment in the house.. in which she got the giggles imagining her short ass daughter (me) with my legs dangling off the toilet as a result of said equipment.

(I did suggest hubby could use this as a ball scratcher which is when mum both hid and locked this baby away)

So she got some uglys and the first thing we both thought was how the hell we could craft these babies up with some bling (suggestions welcome). Now I hate to be negative (OKAY I LIE) but jesus one night of wearing a rest splint and the next day shes all lets clean the house from top to bottom, lets hoover out the sofa (errr why?) lets dust stuff that I didn't even know needed dusting and she was all Mary Poppins on speed and LSD combined (note I am guessing about the drug use and have no actual experience of this) which probably would have been okay if my mood hadn't decided to drop below zero and tell me that having my eyes open in itself was an achievement... it got so bad that I had to in fact send out an sos:

As you can see hubby was about as supportive as an un-wired bra...

She even made me clean out my social work stuff....

Then boy child who entered the Housman Poetry Competition for something to do since he was grounded decided to go and win the fricking thing, queue excited teacher entering my house without an actual invitation and announcing that the trophy was worth 2 grand but not to worry it was insured (and watched me cringe while buy child smacked it against the radiator) she added that she would pick it up in the morning to ensure it's safety, and then corrected herself and meant she would pick up boy child, but given that that trophy is worth 17 times as much as anything else in my house I knew what she REALLY meant...

 

Was very proud of boy child but highly annoyed that yet again he manages to be brilliant when he is in trouble... it really goes against my parenting ethos and confuses the hell out me, plus I'm a sucker for his humour "so whats it like to live with a celebrity?" and a high five.



As a result of recent events I have been forced to rename the children beauty and the beast or the lyrical genius and liver girl.... they actually decided they preferred the more derogatory girl child and boy child...

So we had another fantastic trip to the children s hospital only to have an entirely different experience... seriously the children's out patients clinic is like a holding pen for sick kids and is pretty depressing... especially when you get processed and colour co-ordinated, if I had known we were going to be in the orange zone I would have dressed more appropriately so that I didn't clash with the chairs quite so badly. To be honest I'm pretty fed up of talking about livers and gall bladders and blah blah and also of collecting more pictures of insides although this one is pretty artsy in its own right:

I'm not going to explain this one, because a) you need a PHD in both ART and SURGERY so just accept that we are going with the keep plodding along until someone tells us differently approach...

It is clear that I am spending a serious amount of time with girl child since my face has decided to retaliate in some kind of teenage hormone attack. I have the world's biggest zit on my cheekbone and I would take a photo but my lens wasn't big enough... so last night under the advice of both girl child and mum I put toothpaste on it to help remove the... something. This would have been fine if when having a shower I had remembered to wash my face or even look in a mirror before leaving for work. But NO this is me and my life, so I spend a good hour feeling paranoid and trying to work out why people are looking at me before going into supervision in which my poor supervisor was left with the question of whether I had been engaging in some morning delight based on the white gunk on my cheek... Normally I would have brushed this off... but being my first and last supervision I kind of wanted the ground to swallow up and eat me... anyhoo I leave this team in two days which I am grateful for because I have no desire to be know as the girl with questionable gunk on her face for ever more!

As you can imagine I decided to work from home for the rest of the day in which girl child introduced me to the joys of the sims hunger games in which we watched (actually watched) someone else kill off their sims on the telly for approximately four hours, I'd like to say that I was mature enough to not get suckered into this culture but apparently I am more child than even I admit.

Finally girl child decided to apply a face mask using home made ingredients (I had forgotten how much fun this stage of girl teenage-hood is) you know the kind of thing jackie / bunty and just 17 insisted would make you beautiful, which resulted in her pouring sour cream, bananas and porridge oats all over her face, I was going to intervene when she got the cucumber slices out (fine I SO wasn't but I can pretend) but based on the kittens response to her face decided to leave well alone and just take a photo instead...

In the interests of full disclosure I forgot to add that I ended up in one of THOSE conversations with my dad while drunk and ended up getting drunker and telling my mum why she needs to stay in the uk....I will gloss over this point, but felt pretty shit the next day :(