Pocket money, tooth fairy money, gift money: why the children are rich and I am poor.
By ella | January 5, 2009
William lost his first tooth on Boxing Day and was mostly concerned whether he would have another £1 from the tooth fairy to add to his stash of money received from various relatives over Christmas. That and how quickly he could get his next tooth to wobble and fall out to boost the coffers further.
I have said the children can spend £5 of their money and the £2 they each ‘found’ in the Christmas pudding but the rest they have to put into their savings account. Because I am mean like that. We already have a rule that they save their pocket money throughout December partly because they are likely to get lots of toys at Christmas, partly so that they can see what it is like to have some money saved (a concept that has eluded them since we started pocket money since it gets spent every single week) but mostly so that they don’t go out and buy something that I have bought them for Christmas. Because, contrary to what my older boys think, my world most definitely does not revolve around waiting until Christmas Eve to buy their presents.
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Categories: Parenting
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Finding out about Santa
By ella | January 2, 2009
Despite all the sickness, Christmas was wonderful this year. At nearly seven, five and a half and nearly three, my big boys loved every minute of it. Harry vascillated between saying ‘I know that you fill the stockings, Mum’ and watching the skies for Father Christmas’s sleigh with uncontained excitement.
Even though he is on the cusp of knowing, neither Matthew nor I remember being scarred for life about finding out the truth and wouldn’t dream of discouraging something that is clearly so exciting. Life is crap enough, I say, let the children have some fun. One day he will know unequivocally and then we will encourage him to share the secret with us so that his younger siblings have the same excitement. That is as much a rite of passage as any I can think of.
Besides, he knows that Father Christmas only fills the stockings of children who believe. And he isn’t stupid, that son of mine.
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Categories: Parenting
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- Pocket money, tooth fairy money, gift money: why the children are rich and I am poor.
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December tales
By ella | January 1, 2009
For the two and a half weeks leading up to Christmas I spent most nights sleeping (ha!) sitting upright in bed with my poorly, sick baby sprawled across my shoulder in an attempt to stop the cycle of coughing and vomiting that kept him awake whole nights. To say I am tired is an understatement. I think I may actually now be in a coma and just not realise. In fact I’m dreaming right now, aren’t I?
Basically the whole of December has been spent with one or all of us sick. Edward has had the worst of it, being struck down with virus after virus and that hacking cough that is going around which made him sick daily for three weeks. All last week over Christmas he was a weak, post-viral slightly pathetic sight but very definitely recovering. He had been so ill for so long that I had forgotten how smiley and wonderful he is.
Then on Sunday my eldest complained he felt sick and on Monday Second Son had diarrhoea which grew steadily worse, accompanied by swelling all over his body which was something I have never seen before and I’ll admit I thought about taking him to the doctor pronto until I remembered that we would probably pick up something worse there. He threw up prettily all over the bathroom a couple of nights ago (which Matthew gamely cleared up without waking me, so tired am I) and he is still suffering today. A trip to the doctor tomorrow is unavoidable, I fear.
So I was in bed at 9.30 last night, missing the whole seeing-in-the-new-year thing. Which was just as well because I was awoken at 12.30am, just as most normal people would have been finishing off the dregs of the champagne and going to bed, and from then I was allowed to sleep maybe forty minutes or so until it was seven o’clock and - joy! - time to get up. Happy New Year!
In the words of D:Ream, things can only get better.
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Categories: Sleep
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‘Twas the night before Christmas, baby
By ella | December 24, 2008
A very Happy Christmas to all my readers. And this is for my lovely friend Sophie who has gone into labor this morning with her fourth boy, ten days early. It was so what she was not hoping for, but Christmas presents don’t come much better than a tiny Christmas baby! (Not broody, honestly.)
Although I’m hoping she won’t read about the ’screaming patients’ until it’s all over.
********
Twas the night before Christmas
and up on OB
A nurse yelled “Thick mec, I need a delee!”
IV’s with Pitocin
Were all hung with care
In hopes they’ll deliver
And stop pulling their hair
The patients were screaming
In their labor beds
While visions of epidurals
Danced in their heads
The staffing is short
With no one on call
Every warmer is dirty
And sits in the hall
Just when I thought
There’s an end to this hell
A patient in triage
Has a major decel
So we rush with a gurney
And race to the back
The O.R. is dirty
Not one section pack
I dropped to my knees
And started to cry
When I heard the bells jingle
And looked toward the sky
There was St. Nick
On his sleigh in the rear
He had six smiling nurses
The night shift is here!
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Sod’s law
By ella | December 17, 2008
The slippers get the worst of it. Every time he has a prolonged coughing fit, they end up covered in vomit, even when I am poised with a bowl trying to ensure the worst of it stays off his clothes or sleep-bag.
My aching, arthritic feet make shoes off limits so I survey the slippers with dismay. They’ve been washed daily for the last seven days just to be puked on again so I give up and, hoping no-one comes unexpectedly to the house, I wear them regardless. But after three days even I can no longer tolerate the sight of them. I return them to their familiar home of the washing machine, dry them hurriedly and slip my painful feet blissfully back into their clean warmth.
Then I open the fridge and a large pot of plain yoghurt falls in slow motion onto the floor.
Via, of course, my slippers.
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Categories: Daily Life
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