Sleepy Bus

I'm on the bus. Sorta. Tried to follow Nanu's prompt. But promptly lost the file with my efforts :( Oh well. All down to sleep deprivation I fear. The tyranny of the baba in our midst. And anyway, every day here is a sleep deprived Ground Hog Day, so I would probably have failed the task anyway! And so, I decided that my offering might as well be on that theme...


Tired

Today was like the day before, the day before
I think
We sink beneath the waves of tired.
mired in those early days
of our needy nefarious newborn.
everything pared, shorn to the minimum,
to the sum total of her survival.
Ruthless in her suppression of the cabal
who agitate for sleep, for peace, for time
No crime on our part goes unpunished
We the rabble who do her bidding
grey skinned, eyes red rimmed with bleary,
hair triggered leery of the twitch,
or moan, or stir that signals her
dominion - no angel here a demon really
We so clear in our desperation to
be free of poo and wee to catch a z
or two
or three
But on it goes, shows no sign of ending
And tomorrow will be like the day before, the day before
I think.

Sleepy Bus

I'm on the bus. Sorta. Tried to follow Nanu's prompt. But promptly lost the file with my efforts :( Oh well. All down to sleep deprivation I fear. The tyranny of the baba in our midst. And anyway, every day here is a sleep deprived Ground Hog Day, so I would probably have failed the task anyway! And so, I decided that my offering might as well be on that theme...


Tired

Today was like the day before, the day before
I think
We sink beneath the waves of tired.
mired in those early days
of our needy nefarious newborn.
everything pared, shorn to the minimum,
to the sum total of her survival.
Ruthless in her suppression of the cabal
who agitate for sleep, for peace, for time
No crime on our part goes unpunished
We the rabble who do her bidding
grey skinned, eyes red rimmed with bleary,
hair triggered leery of the twitch,
or moan, or stir that signals her
dominion - no angel here a demon really
We so clear in our desperation to
be free of poo and wee to catch a z
or two
or three
But on it goes, shows no sign of ending
And tomorrow will be like the day before, the day before
I think.

Bolshie Babies

I respected my parents when I was a child. Well, okay, maybe 'feared' might be a better word. And adults as a whole received my full quota of respect and deference. Cause, like, that was how we were brought up.

Which gets me to thinking - where did it all go wrong with my own children?

Middle D'Oub child, 8, turned to his father a few days ago (I'm not sure exactly what my husband did to warrant this comment) and said to him 'You know Daddy, you're like Laurel and Hardy, only in one person.'

I'm guessing my howling with laughter at this didn't help with the whole respect and parental awe stuff.

And then what about T'Oub? We were at the paediatrician yesterday for Baby Oub(ver 2.0)'s six week check up. There were jigsaws there to amuse T'Oub. So, the doctor say down to write some info out for me. T'Oub, proffering the jigsaw, says to the doc 'Is it right?' Doctor begins to gently tell T'Oub that she has gotten one of the pieces wrong. But something in T'Oubs tone of voice stops her. T'Oub repeats 'Is it right?' and the doc looks over at me and says 'She knows it's wrong - She's testing me, isn't she!' and I say 'yes.' And shook my head. My toddler, 3, had made a deliberate mistake so she could check if the doctor knew her colours and shapes. Me at 3? I'd have been hiding under the table or something.

Sigh.

Where is the terror of elders which is a corner stone of a sane society? Why are my children so confident? Where am I going wrong?

All tips on how I can break my children's spirits gratefully received.

Bolshie Babies

I respected my parents when I was a child. Well, okay, maybe 'feared' might be a better word. And adults as a whole received my full quota of respect and deference. Cause, like, that was how we were brought up.

Which gets me to thinking - where did it all go wrong with my own children?

Middle D'Oub child, 8, turned to his father a few days ago (I'm not sure exactly what my husband did to warrant this comment) and said to him 'You know Daddy, you're like Laurel and Hardy, only in one person.'

I'm guessing my howling with laughter at this didn't help with the whole respect and parental awe stuff.

And then what about T'Oub? We were at the paediatrician yesterday for Baby Oub(ver 2.0)'s six week check up. There were jigsaws there to amuse T'Oub. So, the doctor say down to write some info out for me. T'Oub, proffering the jigsaw, says to the doc 'Is it right?' Doctor begins to gently tell T'Oub that she has gotten one of the pieces wrong. But something in T'Oubs tone of voice stops her. T'Oub repeats 'Is it right?' and the doc looks over at me and says 'She knows it's wrong - She's testing me, isn't she!' and I say 'yes.' And shook my head. My toddler, 3, had made a deliberate mistake so she could check if the doctor knew her colours and shapes. Me at 3? I'd have been hiding under the table or something.

Sigh.

Where is the terror of elders which is a corner stone of a sane society? Why are my children so confident? Where am I going wrong?

All tips on how I can break my children's spirits gratefully received.

Bus to Bedlam

Well, Toddler Oub fell asleep in Montessori after our 60 minute walk yesterday. Another fine parenting result for Domestic Oubliette! And, I noticed, on my walk home these odd, large vehicles that went by periodically.

Oh yes, buses.

Discovered there is one that goes from our estate to the school. Making toddler walk for 60 minutes Vs five minute bus ride. Go me. I like to think a situation through.

So, we hopped aboard the lovely 67 to Lexlip this morning. Cost a euro and Toddler Oub got to talk with the crazies too, just for added value.

Here's a question - why so many nutters on the bus? Or is it just me? (Not is it me who is a nutter - a debatable point - but is it just me who is always on the bus when completely mad people are on it?) Mr Oub - a country boy who never took a bus in his life - pretended to die of shock when I said we took the bus. He claims I think I'm too posh for public transport. And as I always tell him - I'm not too posh to bus!

It's just the crazies I can't take.

For example - I once had a bloke sit down next to me, in the middle of the day, on a full bus, who proceeded to knock one out. Choked his chicken. Slapped his salami. Etc, etc. Sure I was slimmer back then, and took better care of myself all round. But really. I took my revenge by unexpectedly (we weren't at a stop) getting up, to exit our seat while he was mid jerk, forcing him to stand up. Ha, ha, he had to fumble swiftly to conceal perv junior from the general bus populace.



And the list goes on. Thankfully my encounters with sex fiends are outnumbered by attention from more benign loons. But they're nearly as hard to deal with. How do u get away from Mr Rosary Beads Crack Pot Head when there are ten stops till your destination and you've been too well brought up to just change seats? Yes, sod politeness and change seat...Mr RBCP didn't think of your delicate feelings when he started telling you all about his alien abduction moving holy statue experience at the top of his voice. (Everyone is looking.)

But sometimes you can't change seats. Like today on our two bus rides. Having newBaby Oub in the buggy with us, we had to go in the special buggy space. Which it seems is right next to the special cuckoo fruitcake seat. On my own, sure, I could avoid the horror of making eye contact - that international sign to potty tin foil heads that all you've ever wanted was a chat with them - But no one told the toddler on my knee! Toddlers love demented senseless loons! They speaka da same language!

So, she had a great time sharing war stories with the causalities of sanity on our two bus rides, I fixed a grin. I'm just not made with the more vulnerable in our society in mind. (I like to see myself, in fact, as in need of societies protection.)

Thankfully all the walking we've done in the last three days has made me so sore that even trotting out to the bus tomorrow might be put on hold. Darn. T'Oub can stay home and we can play shopping and cooking ad nauseum ( proto-feminist she ain't). Maybe I'll take the car? Sure it's six weeks on Monday...

The nutters will just have to get by without us.

Bus to Bedlam

Well, Toddler Oub fell asleep in Montessori after our 60 minute walk yesterday. Another fine parenting result for Domestic Oubliette! And, I noticed, on my walk home these odd, large vehicles that went by periodically.

Oh yes, buses.

Discovered there is one that goes from our estate to the school. Making toddler walk for 60 minutes Vs five minute bus ride. Go me. I like to think a situation through.

So, we hopped aboard the lovely 67 to Lexlip this morning. Cost a euro and Toddler Oub got to talk with the crazies too, just for added value.

Here's a question - why so many nutters on the bus? Or is it just me? (Not is it me who is a nutter - a debatable point - but is it just me who is always on the bus when completely mad people are on it?) Mr Oub - a country boy who never took a bus in his life - pretended to die of shock when I said we took the bus. He claims I think I'm too posh for public transport. And as I always tell him - I'm not too posh to bus!

It's just the crazies I can't take.

For example - I once had a bloke sit down next to me, in the middle of the day, on a full bus, who proceeded to knock one out. Choked his chicken. Slapped his salami. Etc, etc. Sure I was slimmer back then, and took better care of myself all round. But really. I took my revenge by unexpectedly (we weren't at a stop) getting up, to exit our seat while he was mid jerk, forcing him to stand up. Ha, ha, he had to fumble swiftly to conceal perv junior from the general bus populace.



And the list goes on. Thankfully my encounters with sex fiends are outnumbered by attention from more benign loons. But they're nearly as hard to deal with. How do u get away from Mr Rosary Beads Crack Pot Head when there are ten stops till your destination and you've been too well brought up to just change seats? Yes, sod politeness and change seat...Mr RBCP didn't think of your delicate feelings when he started telling you all about his alien abduction moving holy statue experience at the top of his voice. (Everyone is looking.)

But sometimes you can't change seats. Like today on our two bus rides. Having newBaby Oub in the buggy with us, we had to go in the special buggy space. Which it seems is right next to the special cuckoo fruitcake seat. On my own, sure, I could avoid the horror of making eye contact - that international sign to potty tin foil heads that all you've ever wanted was a chat with them - But no one told the toddler on my knee! Toddlers love demented senseless loons! They speaka da same language!

So, she had a great time sharing war stories with the causalities of sanity on our two bus rides, I fixed a grin. I'm just not made with the more vulnerable in our society in mind. (I like to see myself, in fact, as in need of societies protection.)

Thankfully all the walking we've done in the last three days has made me so sore that even trotting out to the bus tomorrow might be put on hold. Darn. T'Oub can stay home and we can play shopping and cooking ad nauseum ( proto-feminist she ain't). Maybe I'll take the car? Sure it's six weeks on Monday...

The nutters will just have to get by without us.

Walk this way

So, this c-section is the gift that just keeps on giving... one is not allowed to drive for six weeks after surgery. Apparently lots of people do drive before this deadline, but between my doctor and my insurance company, I'm not going to be one of them. I'm week five. And of course this week I really, really need to be able to get back in the car. Mr Oub has some off-site shenanigans at work, which, ironically happen to be on-site. So, while he has been helpfully working from home for the past eight weeks, now, just short of the finishing line, he's abandoning me for the office.

You could debate whether I really need to get in the car. The Oub boys can walk to school - they may not get there on time, but they'll get there. It's Toddler Oub whose the problem. Montessori is just that bit far. We tried the walk today. Just as an experiment, to see if I could get her to and from school without the need for the car.

It was quite pleasant initially. We had to go over a big bridge over the dual carriage way, which, when you're three and a half, is lots of fun. And then the walk through he village is quite pleasant. It's all old stone walls and trees, a few thatched pubs, that sort of things.



But I made a mistake. I had to alert Toddler Oub to some dog doo doo, so that she wouldn't walk in it. Hmmm. So, for the rest of the journey home all her conversation consisted of was (at the top of her voice) 'Dog Poo!', 'Stinky Poo!' and, when she spotted what she thought a particularly serious offender 'Look mom! Huge Poo!' And remember, I was walking with a toddler - the pace of which equals that of a tranquilized snail. A snail that would be picked last for sports in school. A snail, whom other snails hilariously nickname 'Speedy'.



So, a walk that I could have done I reckoned in about 30 minutes took us 60. Interspersed only with 'poo!' 'stinky poo!' etc... Well, we did have one distraction. We passed the chipper - I guess the village isn't all scenic thatch and stone - and she was drawn to the pictures of the burgers and chips. So, we got 'Burgers!' and 'chips!' for a while. And she tried to break into the chipper too. With lusty yells of 'burger!', 'chips' she threw herself against the door. And quite frankly I was underwhelmed by their security as a) two minutes more and she'd have been in (I'm not kidding) and b) despite her impressive efforts, no alarm went off.



Anyway, I dragged her away from the grease emporium and we trundled on home. We both collapsed through the door, me having probably done more harm to my recovery than if I'd spent five minutes in the car collecting her. She demanded, and was rewarded with, children's tv. (I'm such a shining example of motherhood, with my junk food addicted, tv watching, dog poo obsessed child...)

I think Ill call a taxi tomorrow.

Walk this way

So, this c-section is the gift that just keeps on giving... one is not allowed to drive for six weeks after surgery. Apparently lots of people do drive before this deadline, but between my doctor and my insurance company, I'm not going to be one of them. I'm week five. And of course this week I really, really need to be able to get back in the car. Mr Oub has some off-site shenanigans at work, which, ironically happen to be on-site. So, while he has been helpfully working from home for the past eight weeks, now, just short of the finishing line, he's abandoning me for the office.

You could debate whether I really need to get in the car. The Oub boys can walk to school - they may not get there on time, but they'll get there. It's Toddler Oub whose the problem. Montessori is just that bit far. We tried the walk today. Just as an experiment, to see if I could get her to and from school without the need for the car.

It was quite pleasant initially. We had to go over a big bridge over the dual carriage way, which, when you're three and a half, is lots of fun. And then the walk through he village is quite pleasant. It's all old stone walls and trees, a few thatched pubs, that sort of things.



But I made a mistake. I had to alert Toddler Oub to some dog doo doo, so that she wouldn't walk in it. Hmmm. So, for the rest of the journey home all her conversation consisted of was (at the top of her voice) 'Dog Poo!', 'Stinky Poo!' and, when she spotted what she thought a particularly serious offender 'Look mom! Huge Poo!' And remember, I was walking with a toddler - the pace of which equals that of a tranquilized snail. A snail that would be picked last for sports in school. A snail, whom other snails hilariously nickname 'Speedy'.



So, a walk that I could have done I reckoned in about 30 minutes took us 60. Interspersed only with 'poo!' 'stinky poo!' etc... Well, we did have one distraction. We passed the chipper - I guess the village isn't all scenic thatch and stone - and she was drawn to the pictures of the burgers and chips. So, we got 'Burgers!' and 'chips!' for a while. And she tried to break into the chipper too. With lusty yells of 'burger!', 'chips' she threw herself against the door. And quite frankly I was underwhelmed by their security as a) two minutes more and she'd have been in (I'm not kidding) and b) despite her impressive efforts, no alarm went off.



Anyway, I dragged her away from the grease emporium and we trundled on home. We both collapsed through the door, me having probably done more harm to my recovery than if I'd spent five minutes in the car collecting her. She demanded, and was rewarded with, children's tv. (I'm such a shining example of motherhood, with my junk food addicted, tv watching, dog poo obsessed child...)

I think Ill call a taxi tomorrow.

Snoozing at the back of the Bus

Howdy all.

Baba Oub is a diva. Demand, demand, demand. No sleep for D'Oub!! How dare I even consider such a concept.

So, I've hopped on the Poetry Bus in a near catatonic state... This pome may be genius or poo, my poor brain is too mushy to work out which.

The option I chose from this weeks task was to write on the topic of revenge...

The Best Revenge


I'm living well, Oh, say it hurts
or have u forgotten me?
I said, I'M LIVING WELL!
please pay attention.
it doesn't count if you
don't care.

look at how much I've got now
and how awfully nice it is.
Does this not make you sorry?
- am I not the biz?
You know you rather hurt me
really quite a lot
I remember it very clearly
(I was the one in blue - you know,
the girl who was really overwrought?)
So take notice of how much I've moved on
of how my life is oh so swell.
The scars are nicely healed now,
look closely, you can hardly tell.

So,let there be no misapprehension,
It would be too much to bear
I'm doing brilliantly without you
I'm just not sure it counts
if you really just don't care.

Snoozing at the back of the Bus

Howdy all.

Baba Oub is a diva. Demand, demand, demand. No sleep for D'Oub!! How dare I even consider such a concept.

So, I've hopped on the Poetry Bus in a near catatonic state... This pome may be genius or poo, my poor brain is too mushy to work out which.

The option I chose from this weeks task was to write on the topic of revenge...

The Best Revenge


I'm living well, Oh, say it hurts
or have u forgotten me?
I said, I'M LIVING WELL!
please pay attention.
it doesn't count if you
don't care.

look at how much I've got now
and how awfully nice it is.
Does this not make you sorry?
- am I not the biz?
You know you rather hurt me
really quite a lot
I remember it very clearly
(I was the one in blue - you know,
the girl who was really overwrought?)
So take notice of how much I've moved on
of how my life is oh so swell.
The scars are nicely healed now,
look closely, you can hardly tell.

So,let there be no misapprehension,
It would be too much to bear
I'm doing brilliantly without you
I'm just not sure it counts
if you really just don't care.

Ah cool now my tat tats*

Ever breastfed in a cemetery?

Well, on a list of things to do before you die, I can tick that one off.

I went for a stroll yesterday with baba. Seeing as I'm not allowed drive for what feels like forever, I needed to leave the house in some capacity otherwise I was likely to go completely mental. Or, more correctly, even more mental than I already am. That's more mental than any one house can contain.

So, though it was bloody freezing, the winter sun was bright. It was quite refreshing going out, being all gloved up and baba wrapped to within an inch of her life.

I decided to walk down to the graveyard - not my usual choice for recreational outings - but it would have been my lovely, and sorely missed friend, Joan's 70th birthday yesterday. She's been gone a year, and she is missed just as much - more even - than when we lost her in November 09. So, I thought I'd pop down and wish her happy birthday.

Of course, once I got down there baba had a hissy fit meltdown - she wanted to be fed. I could tell by the level of her giving out that she wouldn't last the trip home. There was nothing for it but to feed her there.

The only bench I could find was under some trees. The trees, not too surprisingly were populated by birds. Pooping birds. So, I sat there, dodging the excreting blue tits (and, said Mr Oub when I got home, considering the temperature, probably exposing some blue tits - excuse the vulgarity) and fed the baby.

I couldn't decide if this was some very symbolic thing. Nursing a newborn while reading the inscriptions of those departed. A beautiful reflection on the circle of life (cue Elton John wafting through the trees)

Or whether it just highlighted how pointless everything really is.

(Sleep deprivation and cold boobs does not a cheery disposition make.)

But, overall, I think Joan would have been amused at me, dodging poo, getting my baps out and the general ridiculous of it all. And the thought of her laugh and smile was point enough.



*anyone get the title or was I trying too hard?

Ah cool now my tat tats*

Ever breastfed in a cemetery?

Well, on a list of things to do before you die, I can tick that one off.

I went for a stroll yesterday with baba. Seeing as I'm not allowed drive for what feels like forever, I needed to leave the house in some capacity otherwise I was likely to go completely mental. Or, more correctly, even more mental than I already am. That's more mental than any one house can contain.

So, though it was bloody freezing, the winter sun was bright. It was quite refreshing going out, being all gloved up and baba wrapped to within an inch of her life.

I decided to walk down to the graveyard - not my usual choice for recreational outings - but it would have been my lovely, and sorely missed friend, Joan's 70th birthday yesterday. She's been gone a year, and she is missed just as much - more even - than when we lost her in November 09. So, I thought I'd pop down and wish her happy birthday.

Of course, once I got down there baba had a hissy fit meltdown - she wanted to be fed. I could tell by the level of her giving out that she wouldn't last the trip home. There was nothing for it but to feed her there.

The only bench I could find was under some trees. The trees, not too surprisingly were populated by birds. Pooping birds. So, I sat there, dodging the excreting blue tits (and, said Mr Oub when I got home, considering the temperature, probably exposing some blue tits - excuse the vulgarity) and fed the baby.

I couldn't decide if this was some very symbolic thing. Nursing a newborn while reading the inscriptions of those departed. A beautiful reflection on the circle of life (cue Elton John wafting through the trees)

Or whether it just highlighted how pointless everything really is.

(Sleep deprivation and cold boobs does not a cheery disposition make.)

But, overall, I think Joan would have been amused at me, dodging poo, getting my baps out and the general ridiculous of it all. And the thought of her laugh and smile was point enough.



*anyone get the title or was I trying too hard?