Grin and Tonic

broken bones and unbroken habits

Posted on November 5, 2009 by Grin & Tonic by Alana Kirk

Poor Poppy. After all that wrenching and wailing, it now seems her elbow was broken after all (well, it certainly was after all that wrenching and wailing). When the pain persisted, we took her back to A&E where a tiny fracture was diagnosed. Everything about Poppy is tiny, so why should her injuries be any different? So now she’s sporting a rather fetching (tiny) red cast – she chose red to match her shiny (tiny) red shoes. And so proud is she of her colour co-ordination, she only wants to wear the cast and the shoes. Which is a tad impractical in November.

And as Daisy then went through Poppy’s drawers pointing out all the red clothes that she has to wear for the next three weeks, I realised that they have come down with a severe case of Fashion Faux-pas Fever. You see, I’m a matchmaker of Monica-esque proportions. I match my socks with my bra. I match my bra with my pants. I match my scarf with my gloves. It would be inconceivable for me to wear a blue bra under a red top. I actually wouldn’t be able to leave the bedroom. I’m no clothes champion I hasten to add. The words Alana, trendy and is have probably never been said together in a sentence. I’m more grounded than heeled. But, I can only wear brown boots with a brown coat, or black boots with black jeans. Black and brown shall never meet on me. I know it’s an illness. In the midst of a medley of things that matter, what they eat, how we’ll school them, recession cut-backs, and the multitude of decisions I make every day to keep us all alive and thriving, I allow myself this frivolous fashion foible, this trivial tasking of colour coding clothes, this – lets face it – shallow luxury. I may look 108, haven’t slept properly in years, have 2 inch roots, but damn it, my bra matches my socks.

It’s genetic of course. Just like her arthritis and bad eyesight, I’ve inherited my mother’s “don’t miss-match” mania. And so it seems I’ve passed it on to my girls. Even a broken arm can’t break the colour code. Bless them. Secretly though I was delighted Poppy chose the red cast. It goes with her red shoes, and red coat. How on earth could we have left the house with a colour-clashing cast??

I know, I know, I need to get out more. …. But only if my shoes and coat match.

Posted in broken arm, colour coded, fashion | 1 Comment

Love Hurts

Posted on October 28, 2009 by Grin & Tonic by Alana Kirk

So today I felt that parental pain like no other – pain worse than my own, the pain of watching your child suffer. It’s pretty depressing when your child ends up being more heroic than you…

There we were, monkeying around at the zoo, having a whale of a time, when Bang! A wobble, a topple and a thud, and our day tumbled upside down. I knew the minute she hit the floor that Poppy was hurt. Badly hurt. The cry was pitched just that octave above normal, her eyes wide with shock rather than that wide-through-the-crying-look while trying to assess if I was watching enough and needed to upscale the wailing. There was no faking this time.

As I ran with her to the First Aid booth, I knew her arm was broken and the first thing I screamed at the nurse (I’ve given up trying to pretend I’m calm in a crisis) was, “Painkillers! Give her some pain killers!” Naturally enough she did no such thing. But all that time… all those ticking moments that she examined, assessed, asked questions, wrote down details, my child screamed. And while I answered and nodded and gave out my telephone number, I screamed too, inside. “Just take the pain away! TAKE IT AWAY!”

But all I could do was hold her, knowing there would be no pain relief while we waited for the ambulance, no pain relief as we rode to the hospital and no pain relief until she had been poked and prodded by a doctor. A whole horrible, hideous half hour of pain. And it made me want to actually vomit, knowing I couldn’t take it away. But worse was still to come. The X-ray showed it wasn’t broken. Instead, her elbow had popped out of its socket. Turn away now if you are squeamish. I had too. Yes, the doctor took my little 2 year old baby’s twisted arm, pulled it out and wrenched it around until he got it back into position. Poppy hit the roof, and I hit the floor. Hubby had to carry both of us out of the hospital.

Poppy and I spent the afternoon under a blanket on the sofa, recovering. She’s finally asleep now, plied with as much medicine as I can legally give her. I’m not sure I’ll sleep though, no amount of medicine can take away the sickness in my stomach. One painful afternoon and I’m drained. So this is a tribute, a hug, a tip of my cap, a salute to the brave, incredible strong parents who have to do this on a daily basis. To parents whose children are ill and have long term pain. I do not know how you do it.

Posted in children, pain, parenting | 3 Comments

Who’s a good mother anyway?

Posted on October 21, 2009 by Grin & Tonic by Alana Kirk

Well, not me for starters. So here I am writing a magazine article about good parenting, and as I read through the many emails and blog replies to my survey (thank you everyone by the way), I nod in agreement as people place patience, quality time, sense of humour, creativity and flexibility as the ‘super’ ingredients in the melting pot of parenting. I even tap myself on the back for ticking a couple of the boxes.

And then this morning happened. Trying to get two toddlers up, fed, dressed and out the door by 8.30 is hard enough at the best of times. Add to the chaos, Daisy’s Halloween parade and torrential rain and I was just a smidgen stressed. I hurried them, they harried me. There should be a law against having to face-paint a witch (“with sparkly bits mummy!” ) before it’s actually light outside. By the time we were ready to plunge into the thunderous downpour I was cackling menacingly like the witch I’d just painted on her face. Crackling in an evil, hoarse, shouting, impatient, bad-mother sort of way. I even had a couple of moments as a fully screeching banshee.

Daisy wouldn’t wear the leggings under her witch’s outfit and my patience flew out the window on a broomstick, leaving me in the midst of a foot-stamping tantrum. I yelled to the point where she cried. I even slammed a door. I’m pretty sure I didn’t see ‘slamming doors’ on the list of good parenting ideals.

And I realised that maybe the first rule of being a good parent is that there should only be one child in the relationship? We kissed and made up and she was a bright ray of sunshine again before I could even say Abracadabra. But as my little witch (“I’m a good witch mummy”) skipped into school, this bad witch flew home on her broomstick with a sour taste in her mouth… the bitter bile of guilt.

And as I sit down to write my article on what makes a good parent, I realise it’s a lot easier to write about it….. and a lot harder to do.

Posted in children, good parenting, halloween | 2 Comments

Calling all Parents

Posted on October 18, 2009 by Grin & Tonic by Alana Kirk

A bit like death and taxes being the certainty with life, you can rest assured there are two things we can rely on in motherhood – endless nappies and endless guilt-tripping. The pressure of parenting is palpable – from the magazines we read (who needs to see some celeb emerging with newborn in size 6 skinny jeans, I ask you???) to the school gates where we congregate (often the most bloody of battlegrounds) – we are bombarded with images and examples of how we are supposed to be. But are they realistic?

I’m writng an article for an Irish parenting magazine on the difference between society’s perception of a ‘super mum’ and how we, the actually parents, think.

As part of my little survey , can I be so bold as to ask ye super / semi-super / not super at all parents your thoughts?

If you could list three things that make a good parent, what would they be?
Is there one area of parenting you feel intimidated in by other parents / magazines (spending time, parties, fashion, academic results, etc)
How do you think the media portray ‘good’ parents?
What ‘celebrities’ are portrayed as good parents and why?
In a rating on 1-10 how would you rate the following in terms of importance (as taken from a widely read magazine) – being a size 8 2 months after birth, child in matching Louis Vuitton accessories, spending quality time with your child…
Should we feel guilty for wanting to escape occassionally?

thank you, thank you, thank you.. any other comments very welcome…. one word answers can suffice although any ranting essays are welcome too….

will post up finished article soon. thank you…

Posted in motherhood, supermums, survey | 4 Comments

My 3 year olds last kiss

Posted on October 15, 2009 by Grin & Tonic by Alana Kirk

Last night my three year old girl – the light that has lit my world since the day she was born – kissed me good night for the last time. It was sad and beautiful.

This morning I hugged my four year old for the first time, and it felt fantastic. It seems like only yesterday I held my breath as I held her in my arms, so awestruck was I at her very existence. Yet in other ways, four years seems like a lifetime, my lifetime before her forgotten, like a murky dream I can’t quite remember.

Only four years of my forty, yet it feels like the other way round. Like all I learnt before would fit into four years, and all I have learnt since into 36. I’ve grown up as much as her, and at times it felt her rising star has shone more brightly in direct relation to my dulling down.

And yet… there are more times her light has shone a beam on me, highlighting a side of me I like better – a kinder, wiser, loving, caring me.

So tonight I will kiss my four year old goodnight for the first time, and see a better me reflected back in the glint in her eyes. We made each other it seems…. So happy birthday to me too….the better me.

Posted in birthday, motherhood | 2 Comments

Disaster days are often the best…

Posted on October 6, 2009 by Grin & Tonic by Alana Kirk

I just had one of “those” days. This one was so bad, it started the night before and kept on going. Having had two weeks of broken sleep, hubby finally returned from his various trips and I scuttled off to the spare room for a good nights’ rest. Sod’s law dictated though, that as soon as I snuggled under the duvet, Poppy’s croupy cough crescendoed and I ended up bringing her in with me, thus my sleep-filled night was a snot fuelled fright, and s’not a lot of sleep was had. It was 5am and I was ready for my bed.

We pulled back the morning curtains and searched for the sky, but the sun had put her hat on and marched off to another continent. It rained, it poured and the heavens snored thunderously. And being Dublin – where let’s face it, the rain reigns – no-one can cope and everyone and their dog got into their cars (including me!) and it took twice as long to drive as it normally does to walk, so we were late. But before the road rage there was an epic temper tantrum. Screaming and shouting and stamping of feet (that was me), wailing and crying and screeching (that was Daisy) and by 8.30 I was ready for the hills.

We finally got to playschool and Daisy continued her recent phase of not wanting to stay. Poppy on the other hand cries because she wants to go and doesn’t understand she is too young. So I have Poppy in my arms screaming and holding onto Daisy, who is being restrained in her teacher’s arms, screaming and crying and holding onto Poppy. We tear them apart (my heart along with them) and we finally get the right one to stay and the right one to go. It’s 9.30 and I’m ready for a gin.

I decide to head for Ikea to take half the shopping back from the last visit (I think it’s their marketing magic – you go for one thing, buy 20, take half back, but when you are there buy 10 more things, but end up having to take five back and the cycle continues until you are 90 and can no longer drive, but that’s another blog for another day.) Because it’s raining, it takes me an hour and when we get there (Poppy now trying to get herself out of the car seat in protest) I discover it doesn’t open until 11. I have to pick Daisy up at 12 so I literally turn around and head back to school. It’s 10.30 and I’m ready for retirement.

When we get home, I can’t even give them their usual half hour TV (my crucial half hour switch off) because in the midst of our respective tantrums this morning, I threatened Daisy with no TV today and now have to carry it out. It’s only mid-day and I’m ready for a breakdown.

With the mood inside as dark as the skies outside, I decide to abandon all plans to cook, and clean and write. When the pieces aren’t falling into place, sometimes we just need to figure out the puzzle, so I sat down on the floor with my girls and a jigsaw. We ended up doing 21. Yes, 21!

And with each one completed our smiles got a little wider and our moods a little lighter. We talked and laughed and eventually our bad moods lifted. I’ve run myself ragged over the last two weeks trying to do fun things, go to new places (art gallery a DISASTER), and I realised an important thing today. Like the proverbial Christmas present, kids often just want the box. In this case, me. At the end of our jigsaw marathon, I asked Poppy if she was tired. “No. I’m ‘appy”. It’s the end of the day, and I’m ready for that gin, but now, it’s in that “Phew, what a good day” sort of way.

Posted in disasters, jigsaws, motherhood | 1 Comment

Lice are Nice

Posted on September 27, 2009 by Grin & Tonic by Alana Kirk

No, really, they are. I’ve decided not to get hysterical about the hopping, crawling creepies that have festooned themselves in our household hair (my husband’s rather bald head notwithstanding). Instead, I’m going to rack it up as one of those ‘oh the joys of motherhood’ things and focus on the positive. Yes, like I tell my daughters, if you look hard enough, you’ll find the good in everything. (I so much prefer ‘do as a say, not what I do’ but hey ho, here goes)… the positive points of our family infestation.

1. We now all have really clean hair. Seriously, this stuff actually KILLS things..
2. The lice comb finally got out the three month old tangle in Daisy’s hair (it wasn’t really screaming, it was more wild whimpering on her part…)
3. I now feel like a ‘real mother’ with proper child-rearing experiences
4. It is preparing us for other such cringy creatures (“Just wait till they get worms!” my sister-in-law laughed helpfully)

Dear God, is there no end to the disgusting digressions our children take us on? As a little aside while I strain my brain for more lice positives… here’s my top 5 grim gross-outs:
1. lice (despite being nice, honestly… see above and below)
2. worms (even the anticipation of them is enough to make me wretch)
3. poo – everywhere, always, and inescapable. In nappies, on the floor, in the pants. It really is shit.
3. Vomit – on me. Everytime.
4. Snot – 6 months of the year. The height of horror when Daisy wiped her green goo away with my new Boden skirt. Actually wiped her snot on my skirt…

Anyway, I return rather hurridly to my positive points. Now where was I? Oh yes, number 6.

6. The shared experience brought us closer as a family (ok, nobody else would hang out with us…)
7. I can now advice other naïve mothers on what to look for, what to buy, and how to hide away
8. Our hair is really clean… oh, I said that already. But it really is VERY clean..
9. Even lice are nature’s wonderful creatures and must be loved. Even if that means loving killing them.
10. Oh Sod it. I can’t do it! Lice are NOT NICE! They are horrible, harrowing, creepy, dirty, nasty creepy creatures and I have exterminated them!!

Now bring on those worms.

Posted in lice, motherhood, snot, vomit, worms | 3 Comments

It’s a Number’s Game

Posted on September 21, 2009 by Grin & Tonic by Alana Kirk

Here was my day:

Number of miles walked taking Daisy to school – 6
Number of shopping bags carried home from supermarket – 3 (one a rucksack on back, two in pram squashed behind a crying Poppy)
Number of cottage pies I made? – 8 (2 large, 6 small)
Number of vegetables chopped for above Cottage Pie – 4 carrots, 2 onions, 4 courgettes
Number of buns made (for play date tomorrow) – 12 (with a strawberry on top)
Number of rooms hoovered – 11
Number of corners cut – 23
Number of toilets cleaned – 3 (plus one bath and 2 showers)
Number of trousers ruined by toilet bleach – 1
Number of items arrived from Boden (Hip hip Hooray) – 1
Number of nappies changed – 6 (3 of which would be biologically referred to as rancid)
Number of loads of washing – 2 (including emergency load at 4am after Poppy puked over everything in a 3 foot radius)
Number of emails sent – 5
Number of proposals sent – 1 (number of times checked for spelling – 17)
Number of items not ironed in basket – 63
Number of phonecalls made / taken – 5 (this includes 3 (yes, three) from my mother)
Number of apple pies made – 1 (didn’t want to but had to use last of apples from garden)
Number of rows knitted – 8 (had to watch Land Before Time with girls as they were scared)
Number of ‘I love you’s’ said – 5
Number of jigsaws assisted with – 4
Number of times I shouted at my girls to go to sleep while I wrote this – 5 (not sure if the last one would be classified as a shout or a scream)
Number of blogs written – 1
Number of Gin & Tonics I plan to have now – who’s counting?

Posted in gin, girls, parenting | 1 Comment

Killer Food

Posted on September 18, 2009 by Grin & Tonic by Alana Kirk

I’m lucky to be alive. Really. I’ve had so many death-defying experiences in my life, it’s a wonder I’m here at all……. Or so you’d think if you spent time with my mum. The funny thing is, I don’t actually remember these calamitous childhood horrors, and I don’t appear to be traumatised by my early dances with death. But to hear my mum hover (yes, she hovers so intensely you can actually hear a soft hum) over my children, it would seem that life is one long list of dastardly death traps just waiting to happen.

It all began when Daisy was about two weeks old. I’d (so stupidly, obviously) placed her Moses Basket downstairs close to the table, where, lurking ominously a few inches away was ….. the Murderous Melon. Now being a new mother and all, I had never heard of killer fruit, and for all my voracious reading of baby bibles had never come across this phenomenon. So there I was, gazing goo goo at my little wonder, when I was scared out of my skin by the shrieks of my mother.
“What are you putting her there for? Move her away! Move her away!”
As I frantically looked around for the man-eating tiger, all I could see was the fruit bowl.
“There, there!” she yelled as she pointed towards the (very innocent-looking, it has to be said) fruit bowl.
“What??????” I screamed, fearing some exotic South American tarantula was somehow crawling towards my baby from the depths of the pears.
“There. There… the melon! It might roll off the fruit bowl and fall on her head!”
And thus the legend of the Murderous Melon began.

Over the last couple of years, the Most Wanted List has included the Dangerous Door (dangerous because it opens, you understand), the Terrible Tricycle, and the Sly Step to name but a few. As for letting them out of my sight in a shop…. my mum practically ties Daisy’s top to her handbag. My favourite however, has to be the Killer Crust. One day I’d cut the girls a slice of crusty loaf and pulled off the round hard edge to give them the soft bread in the middle. Daisy, ever the girlie, placed the semi-circle of crust around her neck as a necklace.
“No, No Daisy, don’t do that! It might strangle you!”
“It’s a piece of bloody bread mum!” I shrieked in exacerbation. “Relax!”
How on earth did I grow up to be such a well-adjusted (ahem..) adult – surely if this was my mum, I must have been cocooned in a cotton wool straight-jacket? But I wasn’t. I remember going off to play with my friends in the old deserted railway track and turning up back home when I got hungry. I must have played with dangerous doors and sat next to murderous melons with no ill affect. So why has my mum become scared of my daughters’ shadows?

I’ve decided it’s just one of the many funny foibles of grandparenting. Like taking twice as long to do everything, it’s just one of those annoying things – that bug us mums to the point of murderous intent – that we have to accept (along with all the free childcare and hugs). You see, I’m too close, too frenetic, too hassled, too frazzled, too preoccupied with the next ten minutes of tasks, I don’t have the luxury of languishing in worry about rolling melons and dangerous doors. My level of worry only extends to the main criminal characters – The Road, The Stranger, and The Dog Next Door. Maybe when I’m a step removed too – with all the love and little of the responsibility – I might just be afraid of the Murderous Melon too…… that is, if Daisy or Poppy haven’t thrown it at me first! Now there’s a thought that would make my mum laugh in satisfaction…. My melon demise. You can just read the headline now… “Grandmother felled by Murderous Melon…”
(PS. Sorry mum, you know I love you!)

Posted in grandmothers, motherhood | 1 Comment

It’s good to talk…

Posted on September 14, 2009 by Grin & Tonic by Alana Kirk

A weekend of sleepless nights, high emotion, and hugs and happiness. Just another weekend with the girls…. Only this time it was my girl-friends…

Four ragged mums decided it would be beneficial to all concerned (our kids most of all) that we step out of the fray for a couple of days and rejuvenate the batteries. That was the official line anyway. The less-tactful truth was we needed to escape the neediness of our daughters and sons, and embrace the solidarity of our sisters by putting on some sassy lippy and abdicating our responsibilities. Oh yes, and drinking copious amounts of Merlot. So off to Donegal we went, a four hour road trip suddenly an opportunity to talk rather than a challenge to survive; loud singing to Abba rather than the Wheels on the Bus; hang when we get there rather than beating the clock before the children implode.

Do I feel well-rested? Do I hell. I feel absolutely wrecked, and delirious with weary exhaustion. Do I feel better? Abso-bloody-lutely. We laughed, we cried, and sometimes we even cried laughing. We walked along a deserted beach, we ignored the kitchen and ate out every meal, we sunbathed (yes, we sunbathed. In Donegal. In September. In bikinies. Not a fleece in sight.) We confessed, we consoled, we provoked and we absorbed. But most of all, we talked. And talked, and talked and talked. And after all that copious amount of busty red wine was drunk? Oh then we really talked. And then some.

I haven’t stayed up to 4am without a baby in my arms for over 5 years! I missed my little girls of course, but I needed – for a little while at least – to be surrounded by these big girls, great, strong, vibrant women, of which it was life-saving to be reminded that I was one.

I’m as tired as I ever was in those endless weeks of nocturnal nurturing…. But I’m as happy too. Girls weekends are great – whatever the size those girls are. Now if only my hubby would agree to let me sneak off for a couple of days to recover…..