08 November 2006

Multicoloured Warts and All

Chickie’s on hunger strike. Although only one year old, he’s confident that all food offered to him is repellent and, as such, a lip clamping / spoon slapping policy is currently in force. Exception to the rule is anything that looks or smells like cake, biscuits, yoghurt or sweets, then entrance can be granted at the discretion of mini-management.

Chickie’s girlfriend, The Poff, is also on hunger strike. Her approved food list does, however, contain cheese biscuits. She proudly stuffed seven in her mouth today and somehow managed to suck them into submission and still breathe. All other food offered was treated with the appropriate level of disdain, as was the mummy (Lucy Wucy) who provided it, and subsequently converted into missiles and launched at said mummy’s head.

Good news from the docs, my blood tests are all normal. Well, actually, the term used was ‘satisfactory’ which makes me feel like an underachiever. Why not excellent? I want excellent blood. Anyway, that really leaves me very little to worry about on the health front which in turn makes me worry.

Accountant is asleep on sofa. Accountant has just woken up! Nope, asleep again!

Other news… rang my sister. Her greeting was, “Hi, oh hell”. Call me intuitive but I somehow knew this would be child related making me reminisce about her dream that having a family would be like the Waltons. She has two boys. One– 10. One– 7. They’re not exactly akin to John Boy and Jim Bob but one's ginger like Ben if that counts?

My sister’s less than sunny disposition had been brought on by a conversation with her eldest. He had just announced that he has a dream, a dream to chop his hands off and grow new ones. Disturbing, some might think. I did advise her that counselling may be best started earlier rather than after he actually does take a carving knife to his hands although I guess once one hand was off, he’d struggle to do the other?

There was a reason behind the severing of the hands. He has warts. Big ones. He coloured them all in the other day.

Her youngest was also being less than co-operative. It was food related. Apparently, neither cereal or toast are acceptable breakfast meals anymore and he demanded alternatives. My sister was all out of alternatives (and patience) and had taken Supernanny’s advice when he reacted badly to this news and had his tantrum. He spent 14 minutes on the “naughty step”. It’s a minute for every year of his age but as he’d had two fits, she considerately doubled the time.

He had another episode of “temper” at school the other day. His menu concerns had extended to his lunchbox. He’d happily been eating peanut butter sandwiches for years but this week he’d decided, enough! So bread and butter was the replacement but, this particular day, my sister had decided, fearing a case of scurvy, that something more nutritious should be made available - tuna. She’d also made the controversial decision to not mention this to him. She did, however, kindly write him a note, explaining that he’d eaten tuna before and that he would like the sandwich if he tried it.

When my sister collected him from school later that day, he mentioned that his teacher would like a word. His teacher told her that he hadn’t had a very good day. It had begun when he had opened his lunchbox.

He hadn’t been particularly pleased to discover his tuna sandwiches or my sister’s thoughtful note. His teacher explained how he broke down into tears upon reading the note and this had descended into uncontrollable sobbing. The rest of the day had not been great. His teacher was sure that something deeper must be troubling him due to his severe reaction. He later assured his mum that the problem was indeed his sandwich and he wasn’t too impressed with the note either!

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