OMFG! Nits and ticks

OMFG! Nits and ticks

My life as a mother is such a glamorous one. No, really! There comes a time in your life when you can judge just how far down the slippery slope of domesticity you've slid by the numbers you have stored on speed dial. Gone are your friends and clubbing buddies, no more are the taxi ranks and take aways above those of your family. Instead your phone seems to only hold numbers of medical professionals and emergency contacts.

Today my speed dial most definitely got a work out. First thing in the morning, house a shit tip, I was as usual chasing Pugpoo's bare bottom around the living room trying to convince her that although the fresh air whistling past her most private bits does indeed feel nice she really needs to put a nappy on before our carpet starts to smell like a male public convenience. I finally managed to wrestle her to the ground and hoist her legs in the air ready to slip the nappy underneath when OMFG is that A TICK! Yes, a tick! My darling daughter has a tick on her leg!

Thus I put in my first panicked call to out GP and an appointment was made. Oh the fun we had, three abled bodied adults failing desperately to hold down and 18 month old child so she can have Vaseline slapped on her leg to make the tick drop off (which it did later), now why couldn't they just tell me to do that at home?

Everything calms down until Ana's eventual return from school with an itchy head. 'So and so wasn't at school today because they have N-I-T-S!' enthuses my eldest daughter 'And I have N-I-T-S too.'


'Don't be silly you're imagining it' I child, but never the less I have a look and what do I find? Yes, nits. Again another panicked rush to the doctors to get something to kill the buggers (kill my arse, they were still thrashing about on the comb after an hour marinading in the stuff).

So there you have it, I have since put in a call to our local council to have our home condemned as a health hazard. Meanwhile we wait for the next exciting development no doubt on the near horizon, worms!

Hail! The Spider Killer Extraordinaire

Hail! The Spider Killer Extraordinaire!

Ever since my husband cleaned out the shed in the garden we have had a problem with monstrous spiders taking up residence indoors. For some reason they all make a B line for Ana's room, the only person here with severe arachnophobia! Last night one of them came tap dancing out from under Ana's tv unit in her room and did the shimmy shuffle across the floor in her general direction. In came mummy (because Vincent is useless with anything with more then 4 legs) with the hoover to the rescue.

Well I'll be fucked if it isn't MAHOOSIVE (and I'm not talking teenage yob gang material). I place the hoover pipe near the bastard as Ana turns the hoover on. It only bloody well runs away from the hoover and back under Ana's TV unit. I moved the unit, but no sign of the spider. Ana was in such a state by now that I even put my face on the floor and looked under the unit (If it had run at me I would have collapsed and convulsed on the floor).

Anyway spider now missing, I had to convince Ana to go to bed. we barricaded the gaps under the tv unit and sprinkle Ana's conker collection around the room (Spiders apparently don't like them) and she reluctantly goes to bed. Fast forward to about 3pm this afternoon when Shen our Labrador brings something over to me that he has in his mouth. He softly deposits the shrivveled carcass of the missing spider (unless there was more the one, which by the way doesn't bare thinking about) at my feet. I'm not sure how it died, as I didn't perform a post mortem. But I am pretty sure either Shen the daft dick loved it to death or it had a heart attack after it's near miss with the hoover. Anyway.

ALL HAIL THE SPIDER KILLER EXRTAORDINAIRE!

Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings

Last night was my hen night and my nan came along for 'something better to do.' Being that we put the cart before the horse so to speak and had our children first, it was decided that the men folk shall venture forth while the women folk sit at home and have a good old bitchfest about said men.


Sadly my nan is now suffering from dementia and can no longer remember who most of us are. Except it seems my delightful children.

Ana having special needs can be brutally honest at times asked my nan if she remembered her husband that had recently passed away.

The conversation went something like this. Ana - Naaaaaaaaaanny, do you remember great drandrad? (she can't say grandad)

Nan - Yes Dear

Ana - He died. *dramatic pause* don't worry, you're gonna die soon too (said with a little more enthusiasm then necessary)