Dam Water

This month we have had so much rain. The ground smells like tadpoles from all the water sitting on the surface. According to my Pete the dam levels are 120%. (This is possible – every sportsperson in the world gives 110%, so why can’t the dam give that little bit extra.) A dam at 120% in Townsville is considered a tourist attraction, so, last weekend, off we went to have a look.

Don’t be fooled into thinking this was a misty and cool place to be, despite this photo. In reality it is 32 degrees and 96% humidity. If the mist didn’t saturate you, your sweat did.

My Pete, Pip and Melodie (our French exchange student) made their way down to have a closer look at the torrent coming over the dam wall. My Pete is holding the black and yellow umbrella with Pip in front and Melodie behind. The photo shows about one tenth of the people who were there to see the water.

I stayed at the top of the stairs. I didn’t go down to see the water at close quarters. I didn’t want my shoes to get any more squelchy than they were already. I’m pretty sure I know what water looks like any way.

Acknowledgements

I have been enjoying the poignant posts that so many bloggers have been writing under the title ” I am”. They read like poetry. They evoke feelings of familiarity about people I have never met and places I have never seen. I can almost smell and taste the responses. I was invited to complete one of my own. My sister did one first. Hers is so beautifully written and contains so much of my own childhood that I am going to allow hers to speak for me too. Please note though, as the eldest, I ALWAYS had a window seat in the back seat of the car. Our experiences differ there!

Alice offered me a tantalising invitation to tea. It should only take me six months to drive from here to London, but at least she knows that all of my u-turns will be performed legally!

Recently, while I was off being a bit downer and not reading any blogs, two very kind bloggers offered me an award. Stomper girl says that I make her day, even though she has some linking problem in her middle ear or something. Tanya says that I am a rockin girl blogger because I show life and motherhood with grace. I know that this is true because I have passed that grace on to my daughter.

Who could resist a text message like this?

Quite frankly her name should have been Grace…

Got a Bit Downer

When Pippy was little he was a very active boy. He was always busy and, generally, that meant talking. Somedays, though, he would be quiet.

I would ask, “What’s the matter, mate.”

He would reply, “I just got a bit downer.”

It was a word of his own invention. It doesn’t mean sad, or tired, or sick. It means that sort of feeling where you can’t be bothered. You know, you notice that the milk has almost run out and the shops are still open for another 30 minutes. Usually you would pop down to the shop and get more. Somedays though, you just get a bit downer, so you leave it. They are the sort of days that you would rather sit and contemplate than actually do stuff. Days when you break your routine for just quiet time.

This week I just got a bit downer. I haven’t looked at my blog, or any of those on my blogroll. The weather has been dark and grey and cloudy for the entire week. I don’t mind the rain, but I hate it when there is no blue sky or sunshine for days on end. It has been one month since Ashleigh left. She has been out of contact while she snowboarded at the French Alps. Aside from a few text messages I haven’t had the chance to chat with her. It has been one month since Philip’s surgery. He is getting bored without company or structured activity.

My Pete is a good man. He will pick up my slack forever and a day without a single complaint. He very rarely gets a bit downer. He’s shopping for a new car, visiting the dam to see the water run over, fixing the mower and organising Philip. My Pete will always pop to the shop if he notices that the milk has almost run out.

When Pippy was little he never stayed a bit downer. He always knew what to do to feel better.

So do I…

Timber!

Today, while I was out, my Pete cut down my favourite tree. It was growing so beautifully in our front yard, right near the driveway.

Ants had built a super highway along its trunk and branches.

They have chewed holes into the tree and made it weak. In the past few weeks we have had a couple of storms. Each storm had cause another branch to break and fall. It was becoming dangerous and had to go.

He completely filled the trailer, ready to take to the dump.

It was such a sad sight to see when I arrived home.

Thankfully he had filled a vase with its blossom and left it on the bench for me.

Better than flowers you buy at the shops…

Decluttering

The decluttering has continued at our place.

Since cleaning the pantry I have shifted my attention our wardrobes. In a bizarre chain reaction it would appear that the reason that the ironing is not being done is that there is no space to put the clothes after they have been ironed. Time to cull. Clothes, shoes… all gone. A huge amount of space has been created. There are empty clothes hangers by the hundred.

These are mine…

all hand-made for me by grandma.

These are my Pete’s…

purchased down at the local supermarket by me.

It would appear that a strict class system exists within our wardrobe. I am plush, opulent and embellished. My Pete is practical and cheap!

No wonder he is getting desperate in his efforts to find new hiding places.

Found ya!

Catch Him if You Can

Today is my nephew’s second birthday. He is an action man! He moves at superspeed. He runs, dances, leaps, climbs and tumbles. I tried to get a photo of him at his party, but

HE

DIDN’T

STAY

STILL

Well, not until we sang the birthday song, then he was very serious.

Ashleigh has put his favourite song on her blog for him today. We played it five times for him this afternoon. He tried out a few break dancing moves while singing at the top of his voice.

Happy Birthday Joseph.

Where are you?

After two weeks of dedicated, devoted and sympathetic parenting to Philip we returned home to a house which is filled with Ashleigh, but devoid of her physical presence. She had been in our thoughts for the whole time we were in Sydney, but we were too exhausted to dwell on her absence. We spoke, read her blog and delighted in her obvious wonder (cringed at the grammar sometimes, but that’s ok because it is her).

The little ones don’t understand – Joseph walks through the house shouting, “Ashy, where are you?”

Imogen asks, “Where is Ashleigh sleeping?”

Chelsea is so sad. She wrote a card which said, “Asheigh, I love you from the botem of my haert.” And she really meant those words.

Declan knows that grade three will be finished when he sees her again. That is a VERY long time.

I don’t want Ashleigh to feel guilty that we feel sad. I’m paying a lot of money for her to have fun! She knows how important she is to us and that it is just natural for us to miss her and be insanely jealous of her at the same time.

So what shall I do while I’m pining? I’m going to purge and clean and organise. It seems only logical. ‘Control what you can’ is the philosphy here. I began with the pantry.

I even put sugar into the sugar bowl, even though I don’t actually know anyone who takes sugar. I threw out packages with use by dates of 2005 (who knew that pepper had a use by date?) Apparently every time I make a cake I buy more sprinkles. We have them by the bucketload, the complete colour spectrum is represented. If ever there is a cyclone we could live off sprinkles for days, weeks, perhaps even a whole month.

There are another forty-nine weeks until Ashleigh comes home.

Pretty sure I’m going to need a label maker before then….

Aunty Evil, this is almost like peering into my bathroom cabinet, and you have no broadband until Tuesday.. moo ha ha ha! Who’s evil now?

Pectorial Evidence

WE ARE HOME!!

Sorry, but I had to shout that. We damn near missed the plane after being caught in a Sydney traffic snarl. The 40 minute taxi ride took an hour and a half. I am always a little panicked about being organised in a big city so we had left the motel two hours before the plane was due to leave. I was almost in a full meltdown by the time the taxi dropped us off. Luckily our plane was a full 40 minutes late too. (My fear was mostly that I wouldn’t get to the toilet before the plane took off and I would end up in the teeny, tiny aeroplane toilet and I’m never completely certain that the door would remain closed during turbulence.)

We were very disappointed by the fact that our metal chested tinman (thanks ashy) did not set off the metal detectors. I don’t quite understand this. When you see these photos it may perplex you too.

This is the actual metal bar which is now inside Pip. This is exactly where it is within his chest. It goes under his skin to the marked ‘x’, then under his ribs to a corresponding mark on the other side. The sternum, which in this photo is 3-4 inches deep, now sits on top of this bar. You can see how the bar has been bent exactly to the size of Pip’s chest.

Now here it is on the inside:

There are no discrete fractures in the ribs which have been pushed forward, but the doctor “crackled” the bones before pulling the bar through. He basically used a metal scoop to go under the sternum and push it upwards, creating greenstick crackles along his ribs. Sounds ghastly, doesn’t it?

Pip is managing his pain extraordinarily well. The doctor said to him that there are no prizes for putting up with pain, that he should take his strong pain medication for at least three weeks then to taper off it. In the first few days he was very aware of the pain as the four hourly medication wore off. He is not so conscious of it now. We are vigilantly clock watching, but he is not really looking for medication as the four hours pass. He is still having a little sleep here and there, but that could just be a side effect of the medication. He is talking and laughing and is beginning to move more freely.

He still has a few weeks of healing before I send him back to school. He needs to be off all medications before going to school and I need to be certain that he is not so fragile. I’m more scared that others might hurt him accidentally by being a bit rough. He is a thirteen year old boy – rough-housing is considered communication.

We are amazed at Philip. It has been a tough couple of weeks. He has gone through more pain than most boys his age can even imagine, but he has shown maturity beyond his years. This has all been so very worthwhile, even though it was more than just a little bit terrifying for all of us.

I have hundreds of posts to read, hundreds of emails to return, millions of thank you messages to make. I will make it a priority tomorrow to get back around to all of you.

PS I did get Philip’s permission to post this photo. He wants me to show before and after shots of his whole chest. He is very proud of it!

Almost Home

We are home from hsopital now. Thank goodness for that. Hospitals are noisy, busy places. I do not believe that any one ever goes there for rest and recovery!!

Philip is doing well. We left the hospital with a bucket full of medications (I am not even close to joking…). My Pete and I have to keep a list of what we give him and when so that we don’t confuse ourselves. They are all working together to provide him with pain relief. He is still tired, but that is to be expected. He lost two kilograms in hospital. He is as skinny as a stick. I gained four kilos to make up for it by eating from the chip and chocolate machine just beside his room.

We are looking forward to the plane trip home in a couple of days. Me, because I want to be in my own house. My Pete, because he wants to potter about and do stuff – rather than sit in one place. Pip, because he desperately wants to set off the metal detectors and tell security that he has a metal bar through his chest wall.

He shouldn’t gloat though… aeroport security might not take kindly to that!

Back on his feet

Today all tubes and medical equipment (including the machine that goes ping) were removed from my son. Getting rid of the epidural has allowed his blood pressure to stablise and he is no longer turning pale whenever he moves. I feel much better about this. The physiotherapist has him up and walking, he is doing laps of the ward with the other old men in cardio-vascular.

He is able to stand himself up, sit himself down and walk without any problem at all. He is still having difficulty getting from laying down to sitting up, but that will come. He is not eating terribly much, but has sent me on a quest to find him some chocolate milk, the sustenance of every thirteen year old boy!

Today he had some more x-rays taken. The doctor also wrote a letter:

To whom it may concern,

Philip Petersen has a metal bar in his chest wall. This may set off metal detectors.

We have to take it with us when we go through security at the aeroport.

Pip read it and added, in a dodgy accent, “As a result of an unfortunate schmelting accident…” (Austen Powers reference.)

He’s being a smart-arse again. He’s on the mend.

I slept much better last night and am feeling far more sane too. The end is in sight. Thanks for all of your support. I’m sorry that I haven’t had the time to respond to all of you. You are all treasures!