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Wednesday, April 11, 2012

Another shitty day in paradise

It's been busy at work this week, with the long weekend and all, but I can't bring myself to complain about it to Tracey. Somehow I don't think she'd be very understanding.

The vomits have been making their way through the family since last Friday. Mostly it hasn't been a problem - we've lots of buckets - although Master7 was devastated he missed out on spending time with his cousins on Sunday.

It's always a different story with Miss8, though. Tracey says she gets sick like a man (more specifically me, I believe). With the other kids there's been stretches of feeling okay between chucks, but Miss8 doesn't get those. From the moment she felt a bit nauseous her bottom lip projected out half an inch from her face and stayed there until she was all better.

Last night she dragged her bucket into the kitchen and flopped down at my feet. "Is a minute up yet?" she moaned at me.

"Why? What are you talking about?" I asked her.

"Mum said I'd feel better in a minute. Am I there yet?"

Sometimes her efforts to show us physically how sick she is backfire. Like last night when she collapsed to the ground after regurgitating half a cup of water and toppled the spew bucket over onto it's side. Lucky we have a large store of towels in this house.

This afternoon she's come good though, so only Miss2 to go now and all the kids have been through it. Mind you, we've probably saved the best for last.

Miss2 has already had a big day making a mess around the house. I rang Tracey at lunch time to see how things were going.

"We're getting there," she beamed into the phone. "I'm just feeding the baby and.....oh no!"

"What?" I asked.

"I've got to go find a nappy," she said miserably. "Hang on."

Turns out Miss2, who we've been trying to encourage to think of the toilet as a great place to poo, had walked into our bedroom with no nappy, her sister's new togs on (inside out) and lots of poo sticking out the sides.

Can I just say at this juncture, for those who think I don't censure what I put on this blog, if I put up every poo, wee and vomit story which occurred in this household of tiny people we'd have to rename the blog something clever like 'BIG BOGS, little bogs'.

Tracey eventually found the nappy by the toilet. Miss2 had taken it off and proceeded to manhandle the poo into the toilet for flushing. I mean it's nice she's starting to get her head around the concept, but we've clearly still got a way to go.

Unfortunately (yes, there's something even more unfortunate than what you've read so far) she'd not got so much into the toilet as on the seat itself. It was several minutes before Tracey returned to the phone. I used the time to sip my coffee, nibble on my sandwich and read my kindle.

"How's your day going?"  she asked me after she'd come back to the phone and explained what had happened.

I wanted to tell her it was nearly as shitty as hers but I didn't have the nerve. I might let her win this round.






1 comment:

Bruce Devereaux said...

Miss2 has been following the other kids around the house with her own bucket, pretending to throw up into it. Hopefully this will help her (us) when she comes down with this :)

About Me

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Bruce Devereaux is one of the nicest people he knows. When not at work he enjoys reading, writing, hiding from his children and not changing nappies.

 

His career, and if we used the term any more loosely an e might fall out, has included a gardener, a personal lender, a console operator, a stop/go man (not as big a bludge as you might think but great if you’re into sunburn, abuse and varicose veins), a cleaner of banks and pubs and, for a very brief period, a door to door salesman (until the last door he knocked on was answered by a very scary woman with tremendously hairy legs).

 

Bruce Devereaux currently works as a forty-five-year-old award winning customer service officer (glass statuette available upon request) for the Bank of Queensland and as a very casual employee for Corrective Services. He likes to believe he excels at both but then he has always been prone to exaggeration.

 

His favourite colour is green, with a picture of Dame Nellie Melba on one side and General Sir John Monash on the other. His favourite flower is self-raising.

 If you see him around town, call his wife immediately - he's probably snuck out and left her alone with all the kids.


 

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