Author Archive: Robyn

So We Saw The House Again Today

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and it is officially ours. We move in starting 14th October.

So house. With garden. Some of which is plain old dirt. The owner, who was living there and is now heading back to Tokyo after 15 or so years here in Belfast, told me he had successfully grown melons in it. I told him that I was hoping to do the same.

Except, I know nothing about growing food. I have planted flowers, in planters, on a patio in California and watched them die. Even though I did everything I was suppose to; watered, weeded, talk to. Still died awfully quickly.

So…now I want to plant food. Potatoes maybe. Peas. Beans? Melons? Definitely some herbs would be nice.

I’m not even sure where to start. Maybe the library? ‘How to grow food with no talent and a black thumb’ would be a really useful book right now. Do you think it exists?

So, I’m looking for advice. So far I have been told I should wait a year and see what might still be planted, although the beds look empty, because there might be perennials that will come up in the spring. Perhaps plant in some pots and transfer them if nothing comes up.

So, anyone have any advice for the novice gardener with a black thumb who would like to use this opportunity to save some money, dig in some dirt and teach her son things?

Oh wait. Dig in dirt. That’s means bugs, doesn’t it?

Perhaps this isn’t such a good idea…

The Application Has Been Filled Out…

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the deposit has been paid…we are moving to a house!!

Not just a house, but a perfect house. So perfect I am still half feeling like I dreamed it and it can’t possibly be true or ours. Kind of like the way I felt about this flat when we moved here.

But they’ve taken our money and Simon and I are meeting the Estate Agent again tomorrow so Simon can see it. He couldn’t come today and houses to rent in the area we want are being snatched up in hours, so I took it and he took my word for it.

It’s 4 bedrooms (I get an office!), 1.5 bathrooms, has a huge garden and a garage. Oh and it’s detached, a rarity in our price range in the area we’ve been looking. There’s a living room and a dining room and enough space in the kitchen that there is a table in there as well. The neighbourhood is lovely, quiet and full of families.

There is a public library just down the road and a fairly high ranking primary school as well. Not sure if Adam will go there, but it’s a possibility at least.

It’s a bus ride to nursery rather than a walk, but that’s okay. It is walkable, if we really want to, but is about 2 miles. So will probably take the bus.

There is a train station not too far for Simon to get to work.

It’s walking distance to a shopping area with a Co-Op, butcher, off license and the like.

Still pinching myself and not sure I’ll believe it’s really ours until we sign the lease.

Now to pack!

Why We Still Use A Baby Monitor

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The other day, while on IM, my mother suggested we stop using a baby monitor so that I wouldn’t be woken unless Adam really truly needed me. I was adamant in my refusal and she asked why, especially as Adam sleeps with his door partially open and Simon and I could do the same.

I said it was because our walls are very thick (true) and because I felt better having it on. And then said the subject was closed.

But there is more to it than that. There have been 11 days since Adam was born where I had no or very little control over his life; the 9 days in SCBU and the 2 days on the ward after I dropped him. It wasn’t me who responded to his cries when in SCBU, and he was left to cry more than once as it was from hunger and there was nothing they could do at that point (he was being fed via a line in his belly button, but his tummy was empty) and it wasn’t me who took care of him for one of the nights while he was on the ward. The night with the ward was mine and Simon’s choice as I hadn’t really slept in 2 days and Simon insisted I go home and rest rather than land on my face at some point. But still, I wasn’t even where I might be able to hear my baby. Never mind be allowed to care for him.

I had to rely on other people to respond to his needs. And his cries. In fact, on the second morning on the ward, when we got there someone else was feeding him a bottle. And didn’t immediately hand him to me to finish. I can’t remember if I asked for him or if I let her finish feeding him but I remember feeling horrible that someone else was looking after my son for me. It was (and is) my job.

And now we get to today. A point at which Adam is in a regular bed (with a guard rail up) and a gate on his door as he can’t be trusted to not go wandering if he wakes up in the middle of the night. And I can’t be certain I’ll hear him. Our flat walls are very thick, as mentioned previously. Also, if I can catch him just as he starts to ‘peep’ I can usually soothe him in minutes rather than hours or going into bed with him.

I haven’t discussed this with Simon, but, unless it breaks, the monitor stays until Adam is old enough to not need a gate on his door to prevent night time wandering and he is old enough to come to get me if I don’t hear him.

Or if we move to a house with very thin walls.

 

Must Be Tuesday or A Day In The Life

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Recently Dooce has been doing a series about what her days are like. I’m finding it very interesting and thought I’d do the same.

Of course, I am not Dooce. I only have one child, I don’t have a PA and I don’t run a multi-million dollar media empire. But, still. It might be a worthwhile read.

Let’s take a Tuesday, since not every of the week is the same around here, but most Tuesdays are fairly standard.

Simon gets up with Adam somewhere between 6 and 7. This means Adam cries. He loves his daddy, but, for some reason, not first thing in the morning. We tell Adam to deal with it, Mummy’s having a lie in.

I get up between 715 and 730 and put my coffee on. Simon only drinks instant (bleech) so I have to make it myself. I also make toast with peanut butter and juice, take my blood sugar and pop 6 pills; 3 paracetamol, 1 xanax and 2 metphormin.

I then share my breakfast with Adam, who may or may not have had something to eat before I get up but certainly has had some milk. Simon is in the shower at this point.

I then spend 5 minutes chasing Adam around trying to wipe peanut butter off his hands and face. Sometimes I am even successful.

After that, I make Simon’s lunch. Yes. I make my husband lunch nearly every day. Why? Well, it saves us gobs of money, for one thing. But the real reason is because that used to be my only bit of ‘me’ time in the morning.  Back before Adam was mobile and had his own ideas (oh those halcyon days!) Simon would come get him from me and play with him while he got dressed. Then I could actually drink my coffee, make Simon’s lunch and usually have at least 5 minutes to relax before I had a baby to take care of all day by myself. Now Adam runs around the flat, nearly spilling my coffee, trying to steal his dad’s lunch bag and generally being 2. Sometimes Simon convinces him to come play in the bedroom. But not often.

Then we say bye bye to Daddy and I sit and try to finish my coffee.

Tuesday is grocery day so after that I write my list, after conferring with Simon the night before about what to have for dinner during the week. Adam will be conferred with as well. Some day.

It’s around 9 at this point and Adam is running around insanely so I go jump into the shower so we can get out the door.

These days Adam decides how he’s getting to city centre. If he wants to walk, he walks, so long as he holds hands with no fuss at street crossings. If he wants to ride, he rides and I make sure we do somewhere he can run around. Today that was Corn Market and Victoria Square.

Then we do our errands. And Adam gets back into his pram at some point and falls asleep. Usually after or during Tesco.

Then we are home. Adam keeps sleeping for at least 2 hours when he falls asleep like that (whoot!) so I have some lunch myself, do some housework and/or lie around being lazy, depending on what’s going on.

Adam wakes up around 2 and I give him lunch.

Then we play all afternoon. Colouring, puzzles, his barn, whatever he feels like. This can also include sofa snuggles and CBeeBies. I really just take his lead.

Simon gets home from work any time between 4 and 6, depending on his lecture schedule. Then we have dinner. Then Adam has a bath and goes to bed.

And then I veg and then I go to bed.

And so endeth Tuesday.

 

So Today Is ENT Day!

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Yaaaaay?

What I am hoping to hear is ‘Grommets would help.’ and/or ‘Well, I agree it might be allergies, let’s get you referred over there and then we’ll take a look at the whole picture.’

Being an eternal pessimist I am expecting to hear ‘Nothing we can do. Sorry’. Because that’s what I’ve been hearing for 27 months now. He’s just ‘unlucky’ and ‘goes to day care, of course he picks up all the bugs’. Yeah. Not the answer I want.

I want a small boy who is well 99% of the time instead of the 50 – 75% we are getting right now. A small boy with whom going months without antibiotics is the rule, not the exception.

When he’s well he’s such a joy. Oh he tantrums, he’s hardly perfect and he is two. But when he’s ill? He’s very difficult. As you would be if you feel horrid all the time. And looking to Mummy and Daddy to fix it. Which we can’t. No matter how much we want to.

So it may be Adam’s 3rd GA in 27 months coming up. Or it might be a battery of allergy tests. Or it might be nothing.

Today begins The Saga Of the Infection Investigation.

Hopefully it won’t last as long as The Saga Of the Lump.

10 Years Ago Today

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My grandmother died.

This means I was home from work 10 years ago tomorrow when the Twin Towers came down. I had taken the day off to reflect and to see if I wanted to fly to Boston for her funereal.

Instead I sat, on the phone to my sister in law, who lived down the Bay from me, watching it unfold. I didn’t usually have the TV on in the mornings (The first plane hit 546 California time, yes I was already up. I’ve always been an early riser) but turned it on after the radio informed that a plane had hit the first tower. I distinctly remember thinking ‘stupid pilot!’ not realizing, as no one did at that point, that it was deliberate.

I rang into work, even though they already knew I wouldn’t be in, at some point that day to see if they were evacuating, since I worked in down town Oakland, maybe not a prime target, but one easily hit if someone misjudged the more likely Central Business District of San Francisco, just across The Bay. He said no one had decided anything yet. I knew at that point I wasn’t going to make it to Boston.

I remember the calls across the internet as my international group of friends begged for news from our friends in New York and, once the Pentagon was hit, Washington D.C.

I remember the worry of my sister in law as my brother was in Boston on business. He would be stuck there for a week until airline travel resumed. He was one of the few grandkids who did make it to my grandma’s funereal who usually lived longer than driving distance. Even my mother didn’t make it, and it was her mother.

I don’t dwell on what happened on a regular basis. I think about it on the anniversary, as do most people. How can you not with it all over the media every year? I know people who lost people. My own mother worked in the Towers 10 years or so earlier.

My heart goes out to all who lost people that day.

That day that changed America forever.

The House Is Falling To Bits

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As I sit here sipping sugary tea and nibbling (mostly) dry toast, it is day 8 of the hell that began last Thursday night with our trip to A&E with Adam puking blood.

It continued with Simon throwing up on Sunday and Adam cranky and pulling his ear.

It went further on Wednesday with Adam back at nursery but me at my biggest clients for meetings all day.

And then yesterday I woke up feeling achy and tired and with a headache. Simon had to go to work for Open Days, when the 6th Formers (7th years? What are they called now?!) come to see the University. So I was at home with an active 2 year old and find myself vomiting. Things compounded when said 2 year old was just falling asleep after lunch and I had to basically throw him into bed to go puke. Yeah. He didn’t sleep. Luckily Simon got home by 230 and I headed to bed. And spent the evening and part of the night throwing up.

And so the house is falling to bits.

You see, I have a schedule for cleaning. I hate cleaning, as most people do, so if I don’t put it into my phone with a reminder and a day to do it, it won’t get done. Or it will get done only on weekends which leaves no family time.

So I set a schedule. This past Monday I was suppose to clean the bathrooms, for example. Adam was home from nursery and, as I recall, napped for about 10 minutes, so that didn’t happen.

Wednesday I was suppose to change the beds, catch up on my laundry folding and hoover the bedrooms and hallway. I was at my client site all day.

Today, Friday, I should be running (toddler free!) errands and tidying and hoovering the front rooms and finishing laundry.

Instead, I’m sipping sweet tea, eating (mostly) dry toast and am about to head back to bed.

So the bathrooms need a wipe. The floors need a hoover.  And you can’t get into the spare bedroom for all the clothes piled up to be folded. We are almost out of nappies, I need to put 2 cheques into the bank, my finally repaired jeans need to be picked up from the tailor, we are nearly out of juice and milk. It’s Friday night so pudding and wine need to be bought.

Instead, I’m sipping sweet tea, eating (mostly) dry toast and am about to head back to bed.

Adam threw a major strop about going to nursery, I imagine because he basically didn’t see me from about 230 yesterday until 730 this morning and this whole week has been weird. So he’s been promised a trip to the museum on Sunday; a cross my heart, pinky swear, high five promise that I wouldn’t go back on if you held a gun to my head.

Oh and I think I have some emails to send for my biggest client.

So the house is falling to bits and I really should do something about some of this stuff.

Instead, I’m sipping sweet tea, eating (mostly) dry toast and am about to head back to bed.

Diabetes And Illness

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So, as anyone who has been keeping up knows, Adam has been ill since last Thursday. As of Sunday Simon started puking, although he’s pretty much fine now. I thought I had escaped it until I woke up this morning will an achy ear and a sore throat.

And with my fasting blood sugar at 8.5 mmol/L (millimoles per liter, the scale used everywhere, except the US, for blood glucose levels. The US uses mg/dL (milligrams per deciliter). For my US audience, 8.5 mmol/L = 153 mg/dL). Ideally it should be under 8, which it has been for weeks and weeks so it was too high this morning. Another sign something was wrong with me.

Also, Adam threw up again last night and has been pulling and rubbing at his ear. Oh how I long for the sentence ‘Mummy, my ear feels weird/hurts’. Or not!

So anyway, rang the GP and said we both needed to be seen and off we went.

It would appear I am viral, which means fluids, rest (HA! I’ve done, approximately 1,001 loads of laundry since Thursday, all of which need to be folded so we can find the spare room) and keep an eye on my glucose. Adam, however, does indeed have a double ear infection and a red throat, so he’s on antibiotics.

So what can I do if my glucose is too high? Not much, really. I take metphormin, not insulin, so I can’t adjust that. I can watch my carbs, obviously, which I do anyway (more or less) and eat less of them if necessary. But it’s more to be aware of my levels and if they get really high (above 10 mmol/L is high, above 12 mmol/L is really high) to call the diabetes nurses.

I also have a diabetes clinic appointment on Thursday so if I am still running high I can discuss it with one of the diabetologist while I’m there.

So why does a viral infection affect (effect?) my blood sugar? Because my body is too busy fighting the infection to worry about dealing with my blood sugar, basically. Most likely if a non-diabetic had a viral infection and tested their blood, and had a baseline to compare it to, as I do, theirs would run high as well.

So at the moment, Adam is napping and I’m contemplating what to have for lunch.

I am thinking ice cream and white bread would be very very bad choices. 🙂

Eating American…With A Twist

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As always we started the week with a meal plan:

Monday: hamburgers
Tuesday: fajitas
Wednesday: stir fry
Thursday: meatloaf
Friday: fried chicken

On Thursday our meal plan came to a screeching halt when we found ourselves in A&E because Adam was throwing up blood. By the time we got home and him into bed, all we wanted was pizza.

So Thursday’s meatloaf became Friday’s and Saturday became fried chicken, corn on the cob and champ.

Very American, except the champ, which is native to Northern Ireland.

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Fried Chicken

Fried chicken is, of course, native to the American South. This is a recipe I made up myself one day when I realized I forgot to buy eggs, since I used to dredge in egg and flour and fry. Now it’s a bit more complicated. But not really. 🙂

One chicken breast per person
3 or 4 heaped tablespoons flour
Mixed spices, whatever you like. We like a bit of spice so I use chilli powder and cayenne pepper.
Salt and Pepper
Water
Vegetable oil

Cut chicken into chunks.

Combine flour, spices, salt and pepper. Add enough water to make it liquid, but not runny. Coat chicken in batter.

Heat abut an inch of oil. Fry chicken until golden.

Eat!

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Champ (Sorry about the picture. Now you know why I rarely photograph food!)
(And, yes, that’s Adam’s plate. My regular plates do not teach a person how to count)
Champ is a Northern Irish dish. It is mashed potatoes with spring onion. You may call them salad onions or scallions.

500 grams potatoes, any sort. I usually use new potatoes because I hate peeling!
100 ml milk
10 grams butter/marg
5 – 6 spring onions, trimmed and cut into teeny tiny pieces.

Cook the potatoes until done. Drain and set aside.

Into the pot heat the milk with the butter and the spring onions until the milk tastes oniony.

Mash it all together. I usually do that in my food processor so the spring onions get even smaller.

Eat!

I have a feeling y’all know how to make corn on the cob. 🙂