Skip to main content

Parenting the boy beast.

Yesterday, Dude took a nap without my having to physically hold him.  Well, he started that way, at least.  The period of Dude-free arms could have been used to do something like laundry (of which I did manage three loads yesterday) or something equally productive, but I decided to do something slightly more decadent.  I painted my nails.  *grin*  Base coat, a very pretty sage green colour, holographic glitter on a couple of fingers, top coat, and they looked marvellous.  Just as they were touch dry, Dude squawked, so I put the polish into the windowsill and held him while he finished his nap.

Perhaps now is a good time to cover Dude's history with nail polish.  Last summer, I came into the living room and could smell nail polish but couldn't for the life of me find the source.  Later that day when I went outside to get something from the car, I found the smashed debris of a bottle of my top coat on the driveway under the open window.  Cut to pre-Christmas, I painted my nails a festive shade of red and got interrupted before I could put the polish away as per usual.  That afternoon I walked in to find Dude with the open bottle of red clutched in his smeary little hand, streamers of colour over the couch, the wall, the window and his clothes.  I'd just had the sofas cleaned.

You'd think I'd have learned not to leave bottles within his (considerable) reach.

This morning, I popped out to the kitchen to get Dude a drink.  When I came back in, that old familiar smell assaulted my nostrils.   Clenched behind his back in an attempt to hide the evidence was a slightly open bottle of glitter.  Sparkly drops adorned the arm of the sofa and his hand.  While Jerkface mumbled "sorry, Mama" on loop I had to reclaim and close the bottle and run upstairs to get the polish remover and some cotton pads.

Needless to say, the polish has been put away.  I'm treating the now slightly jacked up finish on my right index finger (damaged in the cleanup) as my just rewards for leaving tools of destruction within range.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Sprogging.

That's right, folks. The Browns are up the duff. *grin* Shocked? That's okay, so are we. Seems I'm actually related to my mother (who got pregnant while on the pill more than once). Apparently I'm four or five weeks, which may seem like jumping the gun announcement-wise, but I think it'll be interesting to catalogue the changes to my body for future reference... you know, in case in a year or two I forget how miserable I was and decide we need another, I'll have a reminder of what it was like the first time... Heh, just kidding. At least, for now. Physical symptoms aren't too bad at the moment. I've not had any morning sickness (touch wood), but my appetite is very odd. Half the time I'm starving to death, half the time I'm not hungry at all (like now, while Paul is eating lunch and I'm having a glass of orange and peach juice). I've got low level cramps pretty constantly, and it feels like there's a fishhook in my belly but

Livin' that quarantine life.

After the last post aired I had quite a few people get in touch with me to make sure I'm okay.  I want to say thanks.  It's really lovely to know that I have so many people in my life that care. My first appointment with the new psychiatrist (the old one's boss) was bumped back a week, then had to happen over the phone.  By the time it took place, I had (given my GP's carefree attitude to prescriptions) been stable on my medication for about a month and a half.  I did manage to get the 24hr blood test the old psychiatrist demanded, and because I'd successfully gotten my meds I was able to undergo the test under controlled circumstances to prove that my blood pressure is manageable while medicated.  It is.  I'm fine. The call was painless.  He had my notes, but had a few questions.  I answered them as calmly as possible, carefully not going into too much detail about my dissatisfaction with the old doctor.  He did delve into that area himself a little, which

Lazy weekend.

Bliss. Sun, moglets, sun, loads of good food, sun, and Himself. Good combo, let me tell you. We let the moggies out sans leads for the first time on Thursday (sporting their new collars and tags, and freshly dosed with flea drops), just for about an hour to see how they handled it. Both of them tore headlong into the flowerbeds in search of new smells and the occasional bug to eat. On Friday I left the back doors of the conservatory flung open to let the seriously amazing weather in and the felines out. This turned into me sitting in the conservatory for longer than I'd care to admit, book discarded to one side because watching them chase bees, butterflies and each other was more amusing. Saturday morning dawned clear and sunny, so I hied myself down to the conservatory (as I woke up around half six and thought Himself might rather sleep a LITTLE longer...) for a bowl of muesli, a cup of peppermint tea, some reading and yet more book neglecting as I watched the lunatics conti