Three Ring Circus

My toddlers eat really well. Ivy especially.

Can you see my tongue pressed firmly on the inside of my cheek?

Today I made lunch, which Ivy and Noah pulled apart, smeared over themselves and then threw to the ground.

I gave them banana.

Noah told me, in no uncertain terms, that banana was only good for one thing; face masks (and not his own either, mine, in case you were wondering).

I gave them sultanas.

When I responded in the negative to Noah’s query of whether the fruit was chocolate he threw the offending brown pieces at me. Like a seal trainer offering up some fish, or throwing the dog a bone…maybe. That’ll teach me for answering honestly. I need to become a stealth Mummy.

I have come to the conclusion they are existing on chocolate, air and their beloved vanilla flavoured formula ("nilla shake - shake").

Linus the dog sits under the highchairs. He knows where his bread is buttered (pardon the pun).

There is nothing wrong with his appetite, nothing at all.

His girth is ever expanding, thanks to the six extra meals (plus snacks) he is getting.

Perhaps I should be more worried about what he is eating, rather than what the twins are not.

He was originally a mini foxie!

At 8am: Some of the kids (Ivy  included) have woken up with colds. Imogen will be staying home because she is too sick for school.

I realise that my quest to start the Christmas shopping is not going to happen.

It is cooler this morning and the sick children have begged off our daily morning walk, which I was kind of looking forward to but what is a girl to do? Break out the chocolate I say!

Ivy has a check up with the ENT doctor and I will begin my ‘negotiations’ to have her adenoids and her tonsils taken out.

Ivy finally has an appointment for the sleep clinic. It’s only taken ten months to secure.

The big kids have told me about three children in South Australia who are critically ill, two of whom are in a coma, because a highschooler gave them some ecstasy tablets and told them they were lollies.

I am very thankful that my children have had the knowledge of the devastation of drug use for as long as they can remember.

 

At 11pm (Don’t say anything - I know I should be in bed): Imogen is sleeping ok and I think her temp has broken. Ivy’s temp is going up and Noah is calling out in his sleep (asking for a book).

 Ivy is scheduled for adenoidectomy straight after the sleep study and if it shows that Ivy has apnoea, she will have a tonsillectomy too, although our friendly ENT doctor was quick to tell us that he felt she did not suffer from apnoea (yeah, like he has to sit up with her in the wee hours because her sleep is interrupted by gasping and hysterical crying) and there would be no need for tonsillectomy.

Can anyone say FIGJAM?

I now know that I hate predictive text on my mobile phone. When I tried to text David this afternoon, that… "Immy is sick" it predicted that I was trying to say…"Limbo is shmuck"

Is shmuck a word?