Shopping with Children

It is just as well that part of my personality profile includes having no dignity or shame.  I learned prior to having children the art of never being embarrassed because I always tell my own embarrassing or outrageous stories before anyone else has the opportunity to beat me to the chase.  However, on this occasion I must admit to a slight blush. 

Let me frame up this shopping expedition.....I was at Target on Monday arvo at 5pm the first day of school holidays and end of financial year sales.  Due to capitalising on this fantastic sales time of year I was “bonding by force” with my daughter.  I’m trying to indoctrinate in her the modern “hunter gatherer instinct”, which translates in today’s age as getting a bargain as opposed to finding the best berries.  To be honest it is more like rote programming in my case because she will have no choice about shopping – I am TAMING and TRAINING her to be a mall rat – it’s going to be part of her heritage. I have always secretly resented my Mother that I was a self taught shopaholic.  She avoided shopping centres at all costs and could be found asleep on a fitting room floor when as a teenager I dragged her out to buy me a new outfit because she held the cash.   There was no natural passion for it, merely strained duty.  I simply don’t understand people that don’t like to shop.

The sale item I was after this expedition was a couple of new pairs of pants. I had 15 pairs to try on.  I was hoping there was huge variation in design and it wasn’t just my backside that is the problem. 

My daughter was really well behaved for the first 10 pairs but wanted to escape.  I explained that “Mummy can’t leave the change room with no pants on and you’ve been really patient, so not much longer”.  Much to my horror on turning around to try on another pair she entertained herself by slapping my butt cheeks with both hands,  in unison and to a regular beat while chanting over and over “Fat bum, fat bum, fat bum”.  I was hopping around with one leg in the pants trying to get my butt away from her and safely up against the wall with her chasing me around the cubicle squealing with laughter at the “game”.

As the noise reverberated off the cubical wall I was sure it had amplified over and under the door and out into the rest of the store.  I was right.  After safely trying on the rest of the pants up against the wall and fending off my backside I finally exited to a number of shop assistants standing around with smirks.  

I should have quoted my famous line from the time I did a really obnoxious fart in an elevator just before a tradesman hopped in at the level below....  there was simply no denial or explanation that would have sufficed, or anyone else to blame.  It is amazing what confidence a business suit gives you.  I squared my shoulders... looked him straight in the eye... and pronounced with pride before stridently exiting.... “You get that on the big jobs!” 

It would have been an appropriate line in this case of this fat bum incident.  That will teach me to torture my children with my shopping habits.

On The Nose

I am blessed to have a really acute sense of smell – I should be a wine taster or perfume tester or food critic – my husband also pointed out I would make a good sniffer dog at the airport. But the downside of this is the assault on the senses when looking after other people’s hygiene needs and as a mother and carer you are often literally “in the poo”!

I actually thought twice about writing this one, but given the most read blog I’ve ever written was “Dealing with the Elderly” http://madmummy74.blogspot.com/2011/05/dealing-with-elderly.html, obviously my readers can cope with the graphic logistics of a carer’s life. Maybe we can call this one BOG instead of BLOG.

All I can say is that when I turn up to school drop off or church or a business meeting, no one really has any idea of the logistics in my life that I have to juggled prior to arriving well groomed and relatively sane looking.

Currently my Father-in-law has some health problems including some Diarrhoea.  I think it coincides with the kids having tummy bugs and he catches them too, but at 90 his diligent doctor wants investigate things to assess if it is something more sinister.

I needed to conduct an in-depth analysis (as opposed to a SWOT analysis) into the best collection method for a stool sample.  Splash factor and full immersion contaminate the sample but those small urine collection bottles that S&N provide are not realistic for the elderly.  Let’s face it, as a 90 year old, partially blind, slightly large, and wrinkled with some “male sag factor” there is absolutely no hope of depositing a stool neatly into one of those containers.  So we discussed the merits of a newspaper “poo cave” versus wedging an oval plastic disposable dinner plate into the narrowing part of the toilet to act as a landing pad!  It is at this point I am a lousy carer and I left him to it.

Given the pressure and performance anxiety it was no wonder by the time the collection guy rocked up the next morning to get the sample and to take a blood test that only the blood was available. 

After much discussion that if he has bowel cancer he actually does not want to know,  I said we’d talk to his doctor about his advance health directive and his approach to aging which is to leave things be and not go through invasive tests (he was booked for a colonoscopy) .  When the time comes which may not be for ages yet, he just wants to go out with dignity.  In his case at 90 knowledge is not power and ignorance is bliss.  I respect his choices. Given this fairly heavy discussion I put the stool test out of my mind.  This was on Wednesday.

Fast forward to Friday at 2pm which was my “free” day.  I was exhausted after going to the gym, doing the shopping at the organic fruit and veggie shop, taking my daughter to her swimming lesson, cooking an omelette and salad for lunch, cooking Gary Mehgans’ tomato soup recipe from the Woolworths catalogue, and doing load of washing.  I decided to take a 10 minute kip to recharge before wrapping a birthday present ready for an after school birthday party .  My Father-in-law shuffles in and despite seeing me with my eyes closed  tells me he has executed a fresh sample and it needs to be collected.  So I get up,  ring S&N only to find that their mobile collectors are finished for the afternoon so I will need to drop off a turd after school pick up and before the birthday party. 

And if you think it ends there you are wrong.  Just when I thought I was finished with this crappy day (pardon the pun) I get called into the bathroom by my son to find he and his sister both giggling because they have perfectly orchestrated, in unison,  two poos – him on the loo and her in the potty and they are both proud to display them.  They could not understand with my strong sense of smell and already queasy stomach from the day’s events why I was not over the moon and ended up dry reaching at the mixed brand aromatic assault on my senses.

As I said, my nose is in the wrong career and being a Mum and carer sometimes is a little traumatic.......