Mice (and Men)

We have a rodent issue.

Something gnaws loudly in the living room, goes quiet when the husband jumps up and down on the floor, then happily continues 10 minutes later.

Whoever/whatever it is probably throws us four middle claws.

Cocky sonofabitch.

The husband bought a rodent sonar-thing and mousetraps, last of which will be great as we found a drawer full of scattered mouse droppings this afternoon, amidst Son#2's excessive anger outbursts, a handyman, Son#3's tantrums for Star Wars paraphernalia and a sleep-over friend for Son#1.

Nonetheless.

We're coming for you, Mickey.

The mouse population ate my blooming vegetables in the garden, and feeding the birds is also out of the question after I saw a mouse doing the backstroke in the birdfeeder, full of seeds.

Mmmm.
We're considering a cat, although the prospect of hair and scratched furniture puts me off all of a sudden.

Hopefully, #1's friend will bugger off early tomorrow, we can clear our bedroom from building debris and go do something lovely that doesn't involve wine (with which I'm more and more convinced I have a problem).

Horror of horrors.

A world without wine...

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Calming down

Our handyman is soldiering on in the attic.

Hopefully he'll be done with plastering on Wednesday.

I took my car's lights to be fixed, €45 later and I decided that my credit card could treat me to a warm bathrobe for 10 bucks more at IKEA.

It is, after all, the largest part of my wardrobe (ahem).

A friend came home with Son#3, and I dragged them to  IKEA where I chucked them in the play area for an hour while I drank free coffee.

Then later a friend for Son#2 who seems to think that shouting at one's mother is an Olympic sport.

The day started off with Son#2 flipping me the middle finger over his oats, so he's on a short leash if you ask me.

But I'm thankful for the friend nonetheless.

Son#2 is an outsider (like his parents, who know what that's like).

The boys have rugby tonight.

I hope the weekend will be lovingkindness itself.

Sons#1 and 2 fight continuously and it is getting my goat.

Big time.

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Spiffy

What bliss, spending my morning watching pointless TV.

It is 11 degrees outside, and Son#3 and I are wrapped in fleece on the couch.

The husband is stressed and so am I, although I'm ignoring work stress for the moment

(I have to wonder if this is at all effective: three words: pulsating back spasms).

Problems, deep sigh.

You can run, but you can't hide.

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Checklist

I told my boss off.

She's going to investigate buying out my contract.

I want to be done with them now.

Asswipes, they are.

Then I finished rehab. 

I cried quite a bit.

I'm really, really going to miss the entire rehab team.

Groceries with Son#1.

Pharmacy.

Home & dinner.

Sons#2 and 3 fell asleep in one fell swoop.

Not even the usual Son#2 Nuclear Meltdown prior to bedtime.

Is Son#2 sick?

We're being kind to ourselves.

And selfish: cancelling appointments if it all gets too much, for the kids too.

They are pooped, and so are we.

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Humbug

Rehab is ending.

I said goodbye to the physiotherapist and my shrink today.

Tomorrow the social worker and occupational therapist.

Then it's all over.

I feel like an orphan being kicked out of the orphanage: Go on now! Sort it out yourself!

I have a meeting with my boss in the morning.

I saw my coordinator in a meeting with the person they've appointed in my place (illegally it seems, according to the union - I can still claim back my job).

But it burns with humiliation.

It burns viciously when someone from the administration office comments casually that they're putting a lot of effort into kicking me out.

I don't want the damn job anymore anyway.

Oi vey.

You have to change to stay the same!

Change!!

Change Now!!!

It's inevitable.

You don't have to like it.

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Clarity

My mum was taken to hospital by ambulance in the wee hours of Friday night, dizzy beyond belief.

She thought she was dying.

Not yet, Mum. 

Please.

It has been a quiet weekend, cleaning and tidying up after our handyman who is converting the attic into a 4th bedroom.

Laundry, groceries, dishes and cooking.

Stepping on Legos and threatening Son#3 with 'square eyes' if he keeps watching TV.

(Simple joys)

Work woes and worries keep my mind full and occupied.

But I stood doing the dishes for the third time today, realizing that management and I are clearly on opposite sides of the moral and ethical divide.

You don't screw the sick & weak.

(And the sick & weak won't let themselves get screwed either.)

But here we are.

I have nothing to lose.

I have nothing to lose!!!

What a wonderful feeling.

Liberating & Clear.

What is more beautiful than that?

Now, Mother Dearest: 

Be Well.

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We Miss England

It was so lovely in Devon.

With Lovely People too.

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[Insert Lightbulb]

Today I heard that my rehab ends next week.

Time to go it on my own.

I dropped the message with the university's coordinator today:

Get rid of me, fine.

But don't be nasty.

Play nicely.

Please.

There are a gazillion less nasty ways to let us go our separate ways.

Picking up my boys from school is bliss.

I just want to be with them, even if it means fighting, caring and no free time.

Today, they are light.

So here we are.

Sons#1 and 2 playing fishing games on the computer.

Son#3 and I are watching Lego Movie for the millionth time.

We are where we need to be.

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I Love Maira

And there you go.

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Begin Again (And Again)

Back at work.

Slowly building up my hours.

It's lovely to see colleagues but the business of being sick has soured my relationship with management.

I need to end my affiliation with the university.

It's a long and drawn-out goodbye.

I get it, you know: 

You can't keep betting on the cripple horse (and I happen to be the cripple horse).

But it's nasty now, and I don't want that.

Rehab continues too.

I seem to be making strides in terms of physical strength.

All good.

The boys are back at school.

Son#1 ran away from school again today, and I stood half-in, half-out of my unflattering bathing suit, ready for rehab when the teacher called.

He was hiding in our garden after a fight with Davy, a low-life Red Bull-swigging skivvy who wanted to beat up Son#1 (whom I am certain wasn't innocent either).

Son#2 went to hospital twice on Sunday for severe asthma, and I kept the heavy breather home on Monday, just to be sure (which started nastiness from my boss - I am supposed to leave my 8 year old with a non-existent stranger with severe asthma because by God I need to work my hours at work forgodssakes not with sick child at home!!).

Son#3 is doing gifted things for gifted kids at school, new teacher and no more peeing in his pants 8 million times a day.

You can't stop progress.

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