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Mar 26

In a world where sanity is a commodity

Posted on Friday, March 26, 2010 in Family, Rantings

This is a blog post which probably should go without being written, but given the cathartic nature of blogging, fuck it.

Echinacea failed me last week for a change.  I found myself standing in Laughingboy’s bedroom in dismay as our family doctor spoke on the phone to the ambulance crew in the background and my little boy fought to squeeze oxygen into his clogged up little lungs.  Auto-pilot took a while to take over, but next thing I knew, the bag had been packed and I was riding in the back of the ambulance with the sirens blaring.  “Hey dude, they’re playing that for you!  How cool is that?!”  The irony hit me that ambulance sirens are only cool when you’re not on the stretcher, so I shut up to the quiet amusement of the paramedic.

He’s home now, fully oxygenated and saturated with antibiotics.  I was getting used to his hospital room, it was peaceful in there, apart from the odd 3am emergency helicopter landing outside our window.

I had a rough night last night… I dreamed of wading through rubbish-dumps full of rotting corpses, and trying to hawk two black bags full of household un-want at a car boot sale, also full of dead people.  It’s strange, but Puppychild losing her blanket has affected me far more than her.

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One of the people who babysat her during our wee trip to the hospital took it upon herself to decide that now was the time my five-year-old must grow out of her comfort blanket, see.  So, it went in the bin.  I thought it would have been a proverbial bin, but it wasn’t.  By the time I had phoned to retrieve it (to stash in the attic until Puppychild reaches twenty one), the bin-men had come and gone, apparently.  Gutted doesn’t even come close.  It’s amazing how like a pet a raggedy smelly old blanket becomes.

I’m thinking that some people actually deserve to have their toilet-seat superglued.

Earlier today a woman behind the counter in Avoca Handweavers smiled at my swelling belly and asked me how long I had left.  I hear that question a lot, and the answers are getting frighteningly short so today I changed tack, because I was in the mood.  I gasped in indignance and retorted at the top of my voice; ‘ARE YOU SAYING I’M FAT?!?’, and stormed off with a big smile on my face.  It felt good.  I think I might leave that as my standard answer from now on.

Bring on the comments

  1. carocat says:

    Good to hear he’s ok.

    I’m confused about the blanket. So this is the second time it’s gone missing?

  2. Oh, that is not good. All of it is not good. Are you holding up okay? And the boy?

    I’m gonna come out and say it, that is seriously fucked up about Puppychild’s blanket. SERIOUSLY. FUCKED. UP. As if you didn’t have enough to worry about at the time! The nerve of some people! Dammit, that makes me so mad I could bitch-slap someone. The Fledgling Sparrow’s 18, and she still sleeps with her raggedy old blankie (actually a cloth diaper that I used as a burp pad, this was the last of the lot, the others all disintegrated in the wash over the years), she sleeps with Blankie and Bunny at fucking Uni, for fuck’s sake!

    I am so sorry, so sorry for your hell week, so sorry for Laughingboy, and so sorry for Puppychild, her blanket, and its undignified burial. Items like that have mana, people should know this.

    I will be beaming happy sunshine beams out of my arse, just for you. And if you want someone bitch-slapped, let me know.

  3. Holemaster says:

    Next time they ask you that just say you hope to make it to 80 or 90.

    Glad the little man is ok.

  4. K8 says:

    Carocat; First time it went missing and was found in the doghouse – this time, not such a happy ending. It got binned in the name of strong principles, but not mine. Grrr.

    Fat Sparrow; Thanks a million for the arse beams – they’re working a treat. Laughingboy’s on a giggle fest listening to Spongebob in his room, Puppychild is up to her oxters in a Barbie flick in her room, and I found twenty quid in a coat pocket earlier on that I didn’t know I had. It’s all gooood!

    Holemaster; Ha! Good idea! That’s if the dementia doesn’t get me first – then it’s a stiff shot of heroin and a jump into the grand canyon for me.

  5. Baino says:

    You didn’t mention this when we spoke! How awful for you . As for the blanket, my Grandma threw mine away when I was 7 when my auntie took me to Switzerland. I was gutted. Whoever tossed Puppychild’s little plaything should be shot! No, fed to Fat Sparrow!

    And sorry, I asked how long as well . . thanks for not being a smart ass!

  6. Granny says:

    I would happily eat the contents of our overflowing rubbish bin than put poor
    blankie in it. What a most peculiar Woman!

  7. K8 says:

    Ah Baino it’s a different story entirely for people that know me, it’s the total strangers that reckon they’re in the safe zone to ask the question just because the bump is that bit too big :) They’re the ones I like to be a smart arse to, but only on one of me gothic days.

    Granny; I’m thinking of buying her a tarantula for Christmas.

  8. Granny says:

    Think nice thoughts now,for the big bump!

    Forgive,tis less tiring,so much good in th
    worst of us, so much bad in the best e.t.c.

  9. K8 says:

    Hell hath no fury like a woman’s corns.

  10. Jo says:

    how FUCKING dare she? While the poor girl’s brother in is hospital and she’s about to go through the merry upheaval of a new sibling? What sort of person does that? Beyond stupid. RANTRANT.

    New blanky mission. I know it’s not the same. But it’s a distraction. She can be scientific about the selection process and ways to replicate the comforting smell.

    Poor Kate. I hope you and them are all ok?

  11. carocat says:

    Ah, thanks.

    I can’t believe someone would do that. :(

  12. K8 says:

    Thanks for the empathetic rant Jo :) Everyone’s good now that mommy’s spewed her frustrations all over her blog, though Puppychild has developed a (hopefully temporary) fear of the dustbin. A hoarder is born!!

    Carocat; I know!! Scarred for life! (Or at least for a day or two…)

  13. I’m sorry to hear about your horrible week and about poor Laughingboy. And I’m so angry for you about Puppychild’s blanket – I can’t believe someone would do something like that without your permission. Poor Puppychild – I can imagine her pain. I had a grubby white rabbit that I would never be parted from. I would have been gutted if someone had thrown her away.

  14. K8 says:

    Thanks for not calling me an oversensitive twat :) I love that people in their adult years still have empathy for inanimate objects- if anything I think I took it worse than the child did!

  15. You are NOT oversensitive, the person who threw out the blanket is seriously lacking in sensitivity. At the very least, they are seriously lacking in judgment for boundaries. Grrrr, that still makes me mad every time I think about it. Sorry, the Spouse Sparrow is a “Oh, just chuck it in the bin” kind of person, and we’ve been wrangling over what stuff gets shipped over when we move, and what doesn’t. So yeah, I am definitely on your side!

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