He Kicked Like A Mule & He Bit Like A Crocodile

This week, I have been mainly:

  • Listening to Johnny Cash, to whom I treated myself to a digital update of recently. A resplendent mixture of song and audiobook.
  • Exchanging suppressed snorts of delight with John at Harry’s increasingly lengthy (a few 6-word sentences emerging this week), endearingly deluded and uproariously pompous declarations.
  • Gurgling appreciatively at the Bronx Zoo’s escaped cobra‘s twitter account;

very injudiciously, the snake in question let himself be recaptured earlier today.

  • Being rejected, despite May‘s kind coaching, for library jobs (plural!) which paid abysmally, and for which I was overqualified. On that scale, I am not looking forward to the magnitude of a potential employer’s recoil from me if I ever apply for a well-paid, suitable position; although I admit those last two terms may be mutually contradictory in my current case.
  • Thinking that perhaps I shouldn’t wear a confederate flag bikini with beer hat outfit to interviews in future.
  • Noticing the odd, sore crusty spot behind Harry’s ear yesterday bedtime, as he began to pop a fever.
  • Welcoming a migratory, fiery little 39°+ form into our bed at 2.45am – immediately prior to cleaning the vomit out of it at 3am.
  • Dosing Harry with analgesic – first into one end; then, when the Calpol came immediately hurtling back, into the other.
  • Peering every 15 minutes since at the tiny spots that are proliferating, very slowly but inexorably, from Harry’s ear to knee.


(The domestic jury is still out on a formal Chicken Pox diagnosis, as all but two of his blisters are either teeny-tiny-minuscule or already crusted because he has furiously scratched them off almost before they form – but I’m confident it’s varicella. Half his nursery has succumbed to it in the last couple of weeks, plus fever, diarrhoea (which he’s had for the last two days) and vomiting are all classic early symptoms. Most of his classmates’ mothers reported barely noticeable symptoms. Once again, I feel as if Harry – and I by default – have been handed a shitty horrible piece of the stick to hold, because the poor child is still on fire and Not Well At All.)

  • Contemplating a week of Pox quarantine.
  • Rejoicing because hey! my sore throat is completely better! A belated slap on the back for that Alexander Fleming, there!
  • Discovering this morning – during a rushed 60 mile round race while John babysat Harry – that I have 3 mature follicles, another 6 that will be ripe for the plucking by the time Monday rolls around, and various others that are still in the race.
  • Widdling myself laughing at Father Ted.

Busy, busy, busy.


12 Responses

  1. Ooooh- sorry about the pox. That is unfortunate. And the library job. And that snake’s foolishness in being recaptured. And Johnny Cash, although I suppose that’s just a matter of taste rather than circumstances.

    But hurray for follicles! And sentences or pronouncements, as the case may be…

  2. oy, i still remember the chcken pox. and i was 4. it was awful. my sympathies, all around.

    just watched a johnny cash/burl ives duet on youtube the other day. good times.

    have you noticed that the news has been v coy about exactly how that cobra — i repeat, COBRA — got out? think i’ll wait a bit before taking the bean to the zoo….

  3. Sorry about the jobs and the pox. A pox on those who failed to see your skills too.

    Weird things have happened to the mobile interface with your and others’ blogs. I don’t like it. Not that anyone probably asked you for your views.

  4. A pox on any pox that plagues you and yours, I think you have had more than enough of them recently. Hope Harry is better soon.

    Way to go Follicles! I’m still holding out for a nice round dozen, it’s such a satisfying number 😉

  5. I think I need some examples of these endearingly deluded and pompous sentences, actually.

    Hope the pox is short-lived, and the follicles aren’t.

  6. Oh, my. That there is a blog post chock-full of information.

    I had not seen the cobra’s tweets. Hilarious!

    Hugs to the poxy one.

  7. Poor Harry! I still remember when we were visited by the “pops”as they were called at our house. It is a miserable childhood illness.
    Good luck on Monday at your retrieval, I have my fingers and toes crossed for a baker’s dozen.

  8. I want to know what the “endearingly deluded and uproariously pompous declarations” were. Maybe “I’ll never get chickenpox because I am too awesome to succumb to diseases of mere mortals?”

  9. If Harry succumbs to a bad bout of chicken pox I recommend the following to get him to sleep.
    Bath with whatever anti-itch stuff currently recommended. Paint pox with similar. Dose with paracetamol and antihistamine. Gloves on hands. Parent in bed with him holding arms firmly until he goes to sleep. This worked for number 2 son but took me about 3 days of hysteria (both of us) to perfect. Fingers crossed Harry will have a milder case. Lovely news about the follicles

  10. I too remember the chickenpox. Or rather, I remember my sister standing naked in the kitchen, crying, covered in the spots, while my mother relentlessly applied calamine lotion, while I felt smug because although covered in calamine lotion too, I wasn’t crying.
    Ah, siblings. I hope one of those lovely follicles turns into one for Harry though I’m sure s/he will be happy they missed the pox 🙂

  11. Thinking of you LOADS today, and hoping it all went well!

  12. I always love to see Johnny Cash mentioned in a blog post, as you well know.

    Sorry about the pox – when P had them (on her 1st birthday), her poor little head was smothered in the little fuckers. She looked like absolute shit, I don’t mind saying. I always liked the advice – “don’t let them scratch!”, as if that is remotely possible.

    I hope Harry continues to feel better!

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