Karate

The word 'hate' is a very powerful word and I rarely use it. I can say however that I hate karate. Not so much the sport, but the experience for me.

Mini-me does karate twice a week. We signed her up for it as we thought it would be good for her and it has been. It's a sport that can increase her confidence and her social skills without being too confronting for her in that area. She can improve her coordination, which given that she's my daughter, certainly needs improving! She likes it.

I however hate it.

Twice a week (of course, on the days I have meetings and don't get to leave school early) we have the karate shuffle. I race out of school meetings and head over to kindy to collect the boys and Mini-me from after school care. It seems to take forever to bundle them all in the car while the child care worker is usually wanting to tell me stories about the boys not eating all of their food. Never mind that they have enough food to feed an entire karate squad. Those slices of ham that get played with seem to be a BIG DEAL for the girls at kindy. Given that they have just turned three and are well into size 4 clothing, I think they're fine.

Anyway, we finally get through the last minute toilet stops, the collection of shoes, jumpers, artwork and bags and spend at least five minutes trying to cajole the boys into sitting in their booster seats. Finally, we're on our way!

We race home and Mini-me races inside and gets changed into her karate suit. The boys stay with me in the car because quite frankly, after the effort it takes to get them in there once, there's no way I can repeat the process again! Mini-me usually dashes out quickly bringing with her some snacks I've left on the bench - anything not too messy in the car is fair game.

So we set off to karate. We drive about 10 minutes, usually with Mr Cheeky and Mr Smoochy screaming out to me the whole way. 'Mum, open dis.' 'Mum, what you doin?' 'Mum, I saw a truck!' 'Mum, that's my truck!' 'No Mum, it's my truck'. You get the idea. It's not a peaceful drive by any means.

Once we arrive, the fun really begins! All three of us trundle into the office to pay for Mini-me's lesson. During this time I try to keep my cool while both boys are madly running around screaming with glee at being out of the car. In fairness, Mini-me does try and help herd them back my way but it's not an easy task by any means!

After a lesson about 4 months ago, the boys are not welcome in the classroom any longer. One afternoon the trainer was extemely rude to me in front of all the students, parents and other instructors. She went off saying they had to leave as they were noisy and 'couldn't I control them?'. Two year old twins watching a group of older children run around apparently are expected to stay seated and silent. Apparently I am a crap parent as I couldn't manage them to do that during a warm up run. It was the proverbial straw that afternoon and poor coparent arrived to find me in tears sitting outside the room, trying desparately to keep both boys on my lap.

So Mini-me goes in by herself and I go back out to the car with the boys. In summer we used to go to the park and play I Spy or sing or play with balls but now it's dark and cold so we wait in the car. Coparent usually arrives about 10-15 minutes later and collects them from me. Damn it, but it's the most annoying 10-15 minutes of the day. They are crazy being cooped up. Last week was especially lovely when Mr Cheeky had an 'accident' of the poo kind and I had to try and change him in the passenger seat. Oh the joys!

Karate haven't helped the situation. When we signed her up, the lessons started at 6pm. Definitely doable. Then it got changed to 5:30pm which is when the fun begain. Plus the lessons were shortened to 45mins and the price went up. I sit there and seethe over how annoyed I am.

Every Tuesday and Thursday I end up feeling like I'm being a crap parent to all of them. I miss the first part of Mini-me's classes and the boys are shuffled along at every turn with no fun for them. Unless you count smearing food on their booster seats as fun. In which case, they're having a ball!!

But I do it. Because she loves it and I love her. But if you have any suggestions on how to do this better, by all means, let me know!

Because I really hate karate.

I have a date!

With a surgeon that is.

First surgery on the stomach is booked for 25th June which is about 4 weeks away. That way I should be ok to struggle on through, plus will have two weeks of the school holidays to loll around in bed trying to recover!

I should be in hospital for around 2-3 days and will be on what my Mum describes as 'old lady food'. Yes, it will be slops for me for quite some time apparently. Joy! I think I'll have to head out and have a damn big slab of steak just for the heck of it, before I go in.

Dr Damn Nice did an Endoscopy to check out the situation and I have some rather icky pictures of the inside of my stomach. Or stomachs because at the moment mine is sort of split in two. Any Wiggles fans? Sing along with me: I'm a cow, I'm a cow.

The Endoscopy went fine. I was really nervous about having a huge tube stuck down my throat and being awake for it, but the drugs!! Oh, the drugs!! Fabulous stuff! I was truly in la-la land. At one stage I felt the tube in my throat but didn't give a hoot. And I have this weird memory of Dr Damn Nice holding his arms wide saying 'It's this big'. Didn't actually happen but the thought did give me a giggle!

So the countdown is on!

A typo of the worst kind

This afternoon I was on Farmtown. If you haven't joined, it's on Facebook, and a lot of fun! Be warned though, it's addictive!!

So the kind person that I am invites my sister and my niece over to harvest my farm. All part of the game. I decide to have a break and get a drink and meant to type in . . .

Have fun. I'll be back in a sec.

Not so hard, right?

Wrong!

I ended up typing . . .

Have fun. I'll be back in a sex.

To my sister and my 13 year old niece. I think I have to head off now and explain to my sister why I sent a pornographic image to her daughter *sigh*

Blatant blog topic stealing

I have totally stolen this idea from my dear friend Damien. If you love a good blog read and don't mind your eyes feasting on the flesh of many naked men, head on over the Damien's blog 2 cents worth Down Under.

Anyway, my responses to the theft . . .

A - Age: I turn 37 in August. I seem to forget my age most of the time and only usually remember when I think of others around me aging! *no names!*

B - Bed size: Queen. And it's ALL mine!!

C - Chore you hate: Anything. Pretty hopeless these days - can't bend, can't lift.

D - Dog’s name: Misty. Awwwww.

E - Essential start to your day: Coffee. Sometimes several. I'm doing a unit of work with my students at the moment on drugs and alcohol and when covering addiction some of them proudly told me they can tell when I don't have one!

F - Favourite colour: Purple. But I tend to wear more blue.

G - Gold or Silver: Gold. Silver always looks cheap to me hehe.

H - Height: 193cm. True. And I've been this height since I was 13. I'm the woman you see sitting and think nothing unusual until I stand up. Then the jaws drop, the eyes go wide and I usually break the ice by telling a joke about being called Amazon Woman.

I - Instruments: Nothing. Nada. Although I have fallen over a guitar in class if that counts?

J- Job: Secondary School Teacher of kids with Special Needs. It's never dull.

K – Kids: Three. Planned for two. Tried for two. One son dragged another with him lol

L - Living arrangements: Suburban life. 3 kids, a dog, 2 fish and a coparent ;) *waves - Hi Coparent!*

M - Mum’s name: Mum, of course!

N - Nicknames: Amazon Woman. Wonder (high school reference to Wonder Woman), Bones.

O - Overnight hospital stay other than birth: Too many to list. Started with open heart surgery and went from there. Life is never dull. Apparently I'm in a medical journal somewhere as I was the first open heart surgery done in Australia that didn't involve cutting into the groin. Apparently it was cutting edge (hahahahaha, yeah, I meant that one) stuff.

P - Pet Peeve: People who lie.

Q - Quote from a movie: "Houstin, we have a problem". I also do an amusing rendition of Keanu Reeves with Mini-me. She says "Sweet" constantly and every time I follow it up with "Duuuude".

R – Robot or Human?: Human - the capacity to love is vital!

S - Siblings: Older sister. She is another amazing woman (blog post to follow about her!). She has always been a little second mum to me and continues to try to triumph over adversity.

T - Time you wake up: Usually around 6:30ish. Sometimes earlier if Mr Cheeky pays a visit to my bed. Thankfully his cuddles make up for the fact that he's a bigger bedhog than I am.

U- Underwear: What about it? Ok, Ok, I won't give a description but I love the new Tiger Print ones I bought!

V - Vegetable you dislike: Brussel Sprouts. Do they have any redeeming qualities??

W - Ways you run late: It's called having three children.

X - X-rays you’ve had: Chest, leg, arm, chest, chest, a few recently on my chest. lol

Y - Yummy food you make: Make? People make food? What a novel idea!

Z - Zoo favourite: The bear at Alma Park Zoo. Only because I then get to grin at Coparent yelling out 'Simply Brisbane's Best' with an odd lisp. It comes out as "Thimply Brithbunth Bethd'. One of those weird in-joke you develop with people you've known a looooong time.

Happy Birthday Mr Cheeky and Mr Smoochy!

Today my sons turned 3. What a day! This is the first year they had an idea of presents and a party and cake and they totally enjoyed themselves!

This day three years ago was intense, scary, exhilarating and wondrous all at once!

I was 37 weeks pregnant with the boys and had been over it for weeks! I was huge. Picture a humpback whale with the hump at the front and then double it. And that was me.

I remember waiting in the maternity ward and not looking forward to the csar. I'd had one before with Mini-me and it wasn't pleasant. Given a pre-existing heart condition, the fact that the boys were breech and transverse plus the sucky pregnancy I'd had, a csar was the only option.

The plan had been to have both Mum and Coparent in the room with me. Five minutes before cutting time the anesthetist decided she had a problem with Mum being there and I was told it was Coparent and I ONLY. I was not impressed. I had to break the news to Mum that she couldn't be there. It wasn't a great start.

The Dr rang back to say that he was waiting in theatre for me and I had to get down NOW if I didn't want to miss out on my spot. Needless to say I waddled down to the nurses station and told them I had to go. They sent me down with Coparent, unescorted by a nurse and my file which caused no end of trouble when we got there - apparently it's not the done thing to wander down for your own delivery!

Coparent was taken off to get dressed in some lovely scrubs, while I was prepped. Read - was transferred to a teeny table where I felt like I was going to puke and fall at the same time. Noice!
Finally the anesthetist arrived to start jabbing me. I wasn't her fan by now seeing as she'd stressed me so much right before delivery but we had to move on. She started to administer a spinal block (think big, nasty, mofo needle in the back) while a male nurse supported me in front. Suddenly he left. Given my stressed, anxious state I immediately wondered if I'd done something wrong? Was I too heavy? Too stressed? Too anything? In reality his leaving probably had nothing to do with me but I was clearly on edge.

Eventually the operation started. Mr Smoochy was first - blonde and upside-down. He was shown to me and taken quickly to be checked out. Next it was Mr Cheeky. I could hear him protesting even before he was fully out. His cries sounded strangely muffled and reassuring at the same time. He was shown to me - dark hair and looking so much like his sister! They were both cleaned, checked over, weighed, wrapped, then handed to Coparent who helped the nurse show them to me. Given I was lying flat I couldn't hold both of them but touched and kissed and welcomed.

They had to go to SCN as I had Gestational Diabetes. They needed monitoring for their breathing and blood sugar levels but I was happy and confident they were ok. They were big boys for twins and the pead was very happy and commented on how well a job I had done in managing my sugars. Apparently they can tell when examing the babies how stable the sugars were. Just don't tell him about the extra insulin injections I took to drink Maccas Frozen Cokes!

The boys did so well they were brought up to our room on the maternity ward at around 10 that night! We cuddled, loved, soothed, welcomed and celebrated their arrival. From the first minute they taught me that newborns have personality. They were immediately two different individuals who brought such joy to our family.

I consider raising twins to be a journey. A rollercoaster that I have been privileged to ride upon. My life changed dramatically the minute I became pregnant with them. I struggled daily during their pregnancy. In addition to all of the usual pregnancy complaints, during the 37 weeks I had . . . .(wait for it, it's quite alarming!) . . .

• Hyperemesis (I think the final count was 5 trips for a drip for fluids)

• Gestational Diabetes (insulin injections required)

• Graves Disease (usually gets better in pregnancy, but no, I developed it)

• SPD (OMG the PAIN!)

• Heart Palpitations (always fun while driving!)

After their birth I also experienced . . . .

• Bladder Shut Down (can't think of the fancy name but that's basically what happened)

• Bowel Shut Down (ditto to above. Really not pleasant)

• Hemorroids (so bad they recommended surgery)

• Post Natal Depression (who couldn't see that coming!?)

• Uterus Infection (she did a great job at the time but has apparently packed it in)

• Hemorrhage (caused by above)

• Broken Leg (apparently caused in part to decreased bone density. I just know I was a clutz when walking across a room and snapped the leg bone near my ankle. The boys were 11 weeks old - now that was fun!)

• Umbilical Hernias (recurring. Because why do anything just once!)

• Hiatus Hernia (a pain in the guts as we speak)

I'll stop now. It's just too long!

It took me around 6 weeks to be fully discharged from various hospitals after their birth. Three years later, I am still facing health complications and surgery that relates back to their pregnancy and birth.

And you know what? To get them in my life, I'd do it all over.



Happy Birthday Mr Cheeky!
Happy Birthday Mr Smoochy!

You are incredibly loved.

Amazing women in my life

I was thinking today about my Mother's Day celebrations. Around one lunch table, we were fortunate enough to have four mothers. My grandmother (Nanna), my mother, my sister and I. We're a very lucky family.

So this is part one looking at some of the amazing women in my life. I wanted to start with Nanna. Yesterday, my 13 year old niece got snippy and a bit rude to Nanna. You just have to love teens at that age because otherwise you'd ship them off to Siberia and enjoy the peace! I said to Miss Snippy 'Hey! That is one of the most amazing women you will every meet so you treat her with respect! She's in her 90's. You're 13. Get up off your butt and move!'. Miss Snippy wasn't impressed but it made me think. My Nanna really is an amazing woman.

Nanna has always been amazing to me and I've been fortunate that she has remained in my life for this long. As a child, some of my fondest memories are of Nanna playing with us and looking after my sister and I when we visited her every Christmas (Mum and Dad must have loved the peace! Nanna's place was like their Siberia!).

She used to walk us to the shops and buy us soft-serve icecream! She would buy the bottles of milk with the cream on top and the bread that was never presliced. She would often take my sister and I to see live theatre which I loved. She would make sure I had a bath and wore clean undies but let me get really messy in the yard without getting cranky. She would never force me to step into water in the driveway that the other kids used as a minipool (I hated water then-not much has changed!). She would take us on drives, and cook us breakfast. She would drive for hours to take us to different relatives and to her holiday house near the beach. Ultimately she would love us.

As we grew older we started to see what an amazing Nanna she is. Nanna has grandchildren-rose-coloured-glasses. She never sees any flaws or any mistakes we make. We can do no wrong in her eyes and I've never doubted that she is proud of me or loves me. She was born and raised in a totally different generation yet always seemed accepting of anything. She would give us money just because we needed 'to play' - even in our twenties!

Sadly, Nanna's health started to fade in her 80's. One of the worst days of my life was when she suffered a heart attack. Fortunately she felt no pain but just dropped. While waiting for the ambos I remember holding her hand. She looked so pale and tired. She knew I was there though and responded when I told her I was there and she would be ok. She said later she was frightened but was reasurred that I was there. That was nice of her to say and I hope it was true. Sadly, Nanna's heart has never been as strong since and she struggles with issues. Her cardiologist says there is nothing let to do. She is in her 90's and it's tired.

When pregnant with Mini-Me, Nanna said she just wanted to live long enough to see my baby. She did. I was very proud to show her off and introduce her to Mini-Me. I was even prouder to tell Nanna that Mini-Me has the middle name of Lydia - also Nanna's middle name. It was a wonderful way to pay tribute to my Nanna. She was just as excited when my boys arrived and is very proud of her 5 great-grandchildren.

Nanna is in her early 90's now. Her body is failing her but her mind is still very much her.
I know rationally there will come a day when she is no longer with us. And I hate the thought of it. It makes me feel sad and panicked and I know I'll have to try very hard to remind myself of everything she has taught me. One day if I am lucky enough to become a grandmother or greatgrandmother, I hope I do half as good a job as she has.

My Nanna is one of the most amazing women in my life.

Who are the amazing women in yours?

Happy Mother's Day!

To all mothers I know, including myself of course!

I hope you all had a fantastic Mother's Day, and enjoyed the benefits of breakast in bed, the fun of opening presents and the warmth of extra cuddles and kisses from the kids.

I get lucky again . . .

Firstly, if you are a boy or if you're not wanting to read waaay TMI about my girly bits, click away! Click away!

Ok girls and interested parties, here we go.

I met with the lovely Dr M today. He's very straight-forward and down to earth and introduced himself using his first name which is really only fitting given he was about to get intimate with me (and again, no dinner!).

We chatted, we laughed. Ok, he asked me a heap of personal questions and I tried not to squirm while answering them!

After he'd loosened me up with a bit of chitchat, it was down to business and he quickly had me half naked. *sigh* Again, more action these past months than I'd seen in a while! Up in the stirrups I go, trying not to make eye contact with the lovely Dr M who's head was level with my vajayjay. And yet again, what does my mature mind come up with? "Please don't fart!". I am like, sooo totally mature like!

So we had a date with the Metal-Duck-Bill-of-Lurve (aka Speculum) which hurt like a buggery. Dr M made some comments I won't repeat but let's just say you don't want to hear them from a date OR a doctor! A biopsy was done of my uterus which felt similar to being scrubbed on the inside with a steel brush while your body cramps down physically sending up pain signals that are screaming out 'GET THIS DAMN THING OUT OF HERE'. My uterus is already not a fan of Dr M.

After my pants were back on and decorum was re-established, we had a chat. It seems my right ovary has an endo growth. My left has a 5cm cyst (can I say, DAMMIT - that was supposed to be the GOOD ONE!). My uterus is too full, too bulky, and backwards and in the opinion of Dr M, needs to be removed. He's testing the biopsy and my blood for cancer and other lovelies, but says leaving it in there as it is will risk my health (read - may cause cancer in the future) and given it's current performance record, it pretty much sucks at its job anyway. He wants to remove the uterus, cervix and the right ovary. He wants to clean out all of the endo that's in there and try to save the left ovary so I don't hit menopause at the not-usually-referred-to-as-young-age of 36.

I walked out totally confused. Mainly because I was totally confused about what I felt. Confusing, huh? I'm not particularly attached to my uterus and right ovary (apart from the obvious!). A while ago I toyed with the idea of another child and discounted it. Not a great idea for our family or me, physically or psychologically. So I'm not upset for not being able to have anymore children. I think part of me is sad that the organ that grew and nourished my children needs to be ripped out.

Then I started thinking irrationally. Am I still counted as a woman if I'm missing half of my 'woman bits'? Will I ever have sex again? Will I ever enjoy it again? Will I ever be wanted again?

On the flip side . .

No periods!!
No pain!!
Less PMS!!
Reduced risk of Cancer!!!
Saving money on girlie products!

And back to Dr Racist . . .

Amazingly we got through the entire appointment without a single racist comment - woohoo! Kudos for Dr Racist!!

Apparently there are two types of ovarian cysts. Simple and complex. Mine is of course, complex, which as its name suggests is not the type you want to have.

My uterus is also not looking so shiny and new. It's too big and full - could be from being Amazon Woman and having three children, or could be a more serious problem.

Either way, I've been referred to a gyno who will at the least do a Have-a-look-and-see-surgery to possibly ripping everything out. Yippee. for. me.

Dr Damn Nice

He was, as usual damn nice.

He confirmed the hernia by looking at the scan and saying 'Holy Mackeral'. Apparently it is large and not only do I have a talent for creating hernias, but a top quality talent at that. Meh. It's a family trait - if you're going to do anything, try to excel!

He's booked me in for an Endoscopy so I'll have some lovely pictures of the inside of my upper GI system. Following that he's going to plan the surgery as apparently it's not straightforward. His opinion is that surgery is definitely required as the stomach is now behind my heart which isn't exactly optimal. I kind of agree with that!

Well, of course!! Do I ever do anything in a straightforward way?