Fat and snot and phlegm.
This is not a post for the delicate stomached of you. For nearly two weeks we have all had a bad cold. It seems to get a little better and then comes back for another go. Today Hubby has actually called in sick to work and over the last few days Ciaran and I have coughed so hard we vomitted. Thick yellow / green snot flows from all of our noses and the house is half buried by used tissues.
Ciaran wants lots of cuddles and at eighteen months is a trainee man, fully signed up to the man-flu rules. With three men in the house its no suprise that I am breathless, forget the cough and phlegm - I'm constantly running to fetch more squash / hot squash / tissues / Calpol or to pick up the toy that was dropped off the sofa. All with a fetching streak of snot down one side.
Strangely enough although the week has been busy at work, not many people have dropped into my office. The fact that the smell of Olbas oil starts stripping paint a few offices down from mine might be putting people off visiting me (and the day I forgot to put my make up on after working til 8:30pm the previous night, and looked like a hallowe'en dress up may also have scared people away!)
To add to the misery I decided that I needed help to lose weight, at home I was not only failing to lose the few extra pounds I had gained but I was also adding a few pounds to keep them company. As weightwatchers has re-branded and seems complicated I decided to break a ten year association with weightwatchers and try Slimming World. My weight was higher than I thought (I decided not to replace the batteries in the scales upstairs!), my only consolation is that when I was weighed in I was quietly confident that two pound of the weight must be snot and phlegm.
The diet is fairly simple and I would be more confident if I hadn't honoured a long standing booking last night and gone to the College's Gourmet Chippy night. Poshly presented food with silver service in the College's Skyline Restaurant - it was amazing. The starter was my favourite - kebab (really tender and not at all greasy), chillic sauce, pickled egg, gherkin, saveloy and salad. It was sooo gorgeous. It was followed by chicken and mushroom pie with mash, three different kinds of fish and chips and a deep fried mars bar served with bounty ice cream (which despite looking like deep fried dog poo tasted amazing to my barely functioning taste buds).
Now if I manage to lose weight this week after that blow out I will be amazed! Anyone not trying to shift a stubborn stone or so should definately try the Skyline restaurant.
Friday, 19 November 2010
Wednesday, 10 November 2010
I was putting Ben to bed - after a totally nightmarish dinner involving burritos and two toddlers.
If I am home on Tuesday night then it is Holby City night, so there was a definate deadline for Ben's bedtime. Teeth brushed, bedtime nappy on, face washed, pajama's on and book chosen. After reading Counting Farm (and naming every colour, counting every animal etc...) I was considering letting him have another book until he stuck his whole hand in his mouth and smeared it over his face. Nice.
He started doing this weird lick hands and apply to face routine after Ciaran was born, I think he missed out on sucking his thumb and wants to join in with Ciaran in a weird way. It's been my mission to stop him doing it for a long time and straight after I'd cleaned his face wasn't a good time to cover it with saliva. I ticked him off and refused to read a second story as he had been silly and silly boys don't get two stories.
I turned his light off and laid down in bed waiting for my cuddle. He didn't have a toddler tantrum. He didn't cry. He had worked out that I wasn't going to give in and sat bolt upright, arms folded across his chest, staring stonily ahead. I waited a couple of minutes and felt sorry for him. I explained that I was sorry but Mummies and Daddies have to tell little boys off sometimes. I stayed calm and didn't tell him off or match his sulk with one of my own (see I am so mature that now I can avoid a stand off with a three year old!) and I left the door clearly open for him to back down from his sulk.
No response. I laid down, after a few more minutes I asked if wanted to cuddle me - No. Did he want to cuddle his toys - No. A few more minutes and I asked if he wanted me to stay - No.
So I kissed him, told him I loved him, wished him a good nights sleep and left. Some 'mummy sense' told me not to bother opening the stair gate. Thirty seconds after I left the screaming and wailing for Mummy started, quick kiss and cuddle and I was back downstairs, pride intact, son's love restored and best of all - ten minutes before Holby City started!