Level Up...

Level up:  "To increase one's stature in life or performance at a particular task, often used in gaming, eg: 'I leveled up after defeating the dragon.'"

In parenting we are often presented with challenges.  I have discovered that I personally have four options to consider when a situation arises:

#1:  Run away.

#2:  Deny all responsibility.

#3:  Go insane.

#4:  Level up.

The first three are only token responses, but I still feel like I need to consider them before I'm open to dealing with the issue.... I'll give you a couple of slightly exaggerated examples so you can fully feel my pain:

Scenario one: Your two week old baby has cried non-stop for half of it's life.  You had 45 minutes of sleep last night, and that was only 'cause you were too tired to remember to turn the baby monitor on.

Your options are:

 A:  Go and live in the forest.  You've always wanted to anyway.

B:  Tell the baby's father to take it back to the hospital - it's obviously not your child, the hospital staff must have switched it with a demon when you weren't looking.

C:  Start singing at the top of your lungs.  You will no longer hear the baby, and it will provide a nice distraction from the fact that you haven't eaten, slept or showered for days.

D:  Level up and deal with the situation.

Scenario two:  Your toddler has decided that he is a cat, and therefore will only eat catfood.  Every time your back is turned he is in the cat bowl waffling down some Whiskas.

Your options are:

A:  Decide that you are in dire need of some personal time, and take a trip somewhere beachy for a week.

B:  Send your toddler to his grandparents house for a holiday - they have a cat, so hopefully they'll fix the problem for you while he's there.

C:  Sit and rock in a corner.  Commit to staying there forever.

D:  Level up and deal with the situation.

As spectacularly tempting as the first three options sound - particularly in scenario one, because there is something about the combination of sleep deprivation and a crying baby that is designed to try to make you turn off all the logical parts of your brain -  they are not really techniques that co-exist well with deliberate parenting.  So what do we do? 

We level up.  We deal with the situation.  We slay the dragon.

And after the dust has settled, we suddenly find ourselves on the other side of the problem, only this time we're clutching a rock in our hand.  And we feel slightly more prepared, because while bludgeoning a dragon to death with a rock doesn't seem like a skip in the park, it sounds a hell of a lot easier than using our bare hands.

Every time we level up we gain more.  More understanding.  More knowledge.  More awareness.

I have leveled up to the point where I now get to hunt dragons with a laser sighted crossbow, which you'd think would make it much easier, but the fun thing about leveling up is that the next level is always harder.  That's why you get better weapons.

I am currently hunting a dragon that can turn invisible at will.  It may not even be a real dragon.  My crossbow is fricken useless.  But I have faith that when I come out the other side of this, I will have earned a weapon to fight invisible dragons.  Or, you know, some sort of fake dragon detector system so I can stop shooting at shadows.

  

We are raising the future.  That requires effort, and involvement, and crap-loads of perseverance.  There is no giving up.  If you give up while on a dragon hunt, you're gonna get yourself a little bit eaten.

So next time you are faced with a bullying issue, or night terrors, or a child who will just not stop rocking on his fricken chair, see it for what it is - a dragon that needs a good ass kicking.

We are the new generation of dragon slayers, and 'Level Up' is our war cry...

xox

Lost and Found...

The two days a week that the Attack does not attend childcare, he comes with me to drop off Connah at school, and then goes to my mothers house for the day.  We park down a side street in the general vicinity of school because there are always 80 billion people all trying to shove their beloved offspring out the car door as close to the entrance as possible, and I'm just not up for running that gauntlet at 8.45 in the morning.

On those days, Connah tackles the three minute walk on his scooter, and The Attack rides his trike, so that in the afternoon, The Attack and I can walk to school from work - which is about 10 minutes away - and Connah can get his scooting fix on the way back.

So, last week, we park to drop Connah off as usual, and make the trek past the rottweiler crossed with a hell-beast that just barks nonstop at any person who dares to use the sidewalk in front of it's house.  We escort Connah to his class, and The Attack goes happily off to Grans house.

When he is returned to me that afternoon, I go to get his trike out of Grans car so we can head off to school to pick up Connah.

The trike is not there.

I check my car just in case, although I never put it in there because he insists that it accompany him to grans house, even through she doesn't have anywhere for him to ride it.

Of course it's not there, so I turn to my mother:

Me:  Did you pick up Ash's trike this morning?

Mother:  No, my boot was full of stuff and it wouldn't fit.  Remember? I did tell you this earlier.  You put it in your car.

Me:  No, I very much did not.  We totally just abandoned his trike on the side of the road didn't we?

Mother:  At least you remembered the child.

The Attack and I walk to school - which is painfully slow with no trike because he has stubby little three-year-old legs and a distractable nature that insists he inspect every bug / mud puddle / roadkill corpse that we pass by.

After we have collected Connah, we take a cursory stroll down Hell-Beast street to see if we can spot the trike discarded somewhere.  Perhaps thrown in a tree, or discarded atop the roof of a car?  But no such luck, it's been six hours and I resign myself to the fact that somebody has probably stashed it safely in their garage and is currently using it as a bong.

The next day, after we retrieve Connah from his class and are trudging wearily back to our car, we pass by Hell-Beasts house, who promptly starts barking his evil little head off.  I glance nervously at him to make sure he is in fact still contained behind his fence, and hasn't managed to melt a hole in it with his super-evil-power-glare, and stop in my tracks.

Because there, sitting on the grass directly behind Hell-Beast, is The Attacks trike.

Well, crap.

The Attack is very excited by this discovery, and starts hopping from one foot to the other yelling: "Go get him!  Go Get him!  We'll wait here."

I look at the Trike with Satan's spawn dancing around it going ballistic, and seriously consider just letting him have it.  We'll buy a new trike.  A better trike.... An unstealable trike!

And then I look at The Attack with his hopeful trusting little eyes and know that I have to get his stupid damn trike back.

I put the boys in the car, and park it outside the house.

Walking up to the fence again I decide that I actually enjoy all my limbs being attached to my body, so I have no intention of dangling any tasty body part within reach of Hell-Beast.  

I see a car parked half behind the house, so maybe someone is home.  I walk the length of the accessible part of the house looking for a door, or even a window to knock on, but all points of entry are located within reach of Hell-Beasts snapping jaws.  

I stand in front of the gate and just let him bark, growl and snarl at me in the hopes that somebody will come out of the house to see what their dog is mauling, but they must be fairly used to it because no one appears.  

This is going swimmingly!  

I decide to re-group and come up with another plan.  As I retreat, I do not make direct eye contact with Hell-Beast for fear that this will make him realize that I'm escaping, which will cause his desire to eat me to ascend to new heights and he'll sprout gargoyle wings through force of will.

I make it back to the car in one piece and inform the boys that after careful consideration, I've decided to wait and see if anybody comes home.

Amazingly enough, about 10 minutes later, a car pulls into the driveway.  I jump out of my car and walk up behind it, realizing at this point as I stare at it's very tinted windows, that I'm about to meet the owner of Hell-Beast, which in itself is an indication that this will probably be a serial killer, and nobody knows where I am except my children who are locked in the car across the street, and since I have not yet trained them in serial killer combat, they will not be much use in this situation.

The car door opens and out steps a mountain man - Not a man from the mountains, a man the size of a mountain.  I do not know how he fit in his little gangster car.

Mountain Man:  "YES?"
Me:  "Ummm, excuse me sir (yes sir - it doesn't hurt to be polite to serial killers) did you ummm happen to find that trike on the side of the road maybe yesterday?"   

Mountain Man:  "I DON'T KNOW WHERE THAT TRIKE CAME FROM."
Me:  "Oh, well, we kinda left it on the side of the road yesterday...."
Mountain Man:  "COULD BE THE CASE, HAVEN'T SEEN IT BEFORE."
Me:  "Could we maybe have it back?  Please?
Mountain Man:  "HMMMMMMMM, WELL, DON'T SEE WHY NOT."

And to my absolute horror, he flings open Hell-Beasts gate, but instead of immediately galloping over to devour me, he stays sitting very quietly and subdued by the front door.  Mountain man strides over to the trike, detaches several dog leads that have been tied to it, and hands it over with a "HERE YOU GO, LITTLE LADY."  I resist the urge to say that he would probably consider a Mac truck to be "little" and instead go with a much-less-likely-to-get-me-killed "Thanks so much! Have a great day."  And make a hasty exit with my prize.

I return to my car and The Attack gleefully points out that half the mudguard had been ripped off, and the metal pushing pole has been chewed to within an inch of it's life and is now useless.  Awesome.

So, what have we learned from this experience?

#1:  Don't abandon stuff on the side of the road.

#2:  If you do abandon stuff on the side of the road, an opportunist will use it as a dog toy.  Or possibly a bong.

#3:  Being polite can help you avoid a serial killing.

#4:  If you lose your child's treasured possession, (especially through carelessness or stupidity,) you are honour-bound to get it back. Even if it means you have to face Hell-Beasts, Mountain Men, and when you get the item back it is a twisted metal wreck covered in dog drool.

Oh well, I'm still counting it as a win :)

xox

Pacify Me...

My baby had a pacifier.

And now that everyone has their judgey pants on, we will begin:

Connah didn't have a pacifier.  I tried a few times during a three day standoff where he refused to sleep any longer than 10 minutes at a time, but he didn't seem interested, and I didn't push it because by that stage I was a little bit convinced that he was a demon-baby that would grow some teeth and chomp off my hand if I pissed him off too much.  Sleep deprivation is nifty.

When The Attack was born I didn't hold out much hope that he would take one either, and when you're surrounded at every turn by people disapprovingly shaking their heads at toddlers with pacifiers at supermarkets / playgrounds / restaurants ect  you don't really want to join that club anyway, so all was well in the pacifier-free land of newborn.  

For about a week.  Then the absence of sleep slowly started it's power struggle for my sanity, and I halfheartedly waved a pacifier in the general direction of my child with the thought that maybe I could sleep for the few minutes it would take him to figure out that it wasn't actually food before he started screeching.

He slept.

The Attack took to his pacifier like he had been born with it.  He has slept with it every night since then.

For the first two years, whenever anybody asked - usually with their judging pants pulled right up to their armpits - when I was going to get rid of it, I'd ummm and ahhh and make some excuse as to why he still had it. 
I'd read enough about the subject to know that all the experts recommended  weaning babies off the use of a pacifier by 12 months, but the only valid reasons I could find for this age cut-off was because excessive use could impact on teeth and speech development.  Oh, and of course, they could become dependent on it. 

It was always a struggle to get Connah to sleep.  I did not do the 'cry it out' method - it's just not my thing, so he was fed, and walked, and rocked, and fed some more, and swung, and when all else failed he was driven around the block until he fell asleep, and then carefully transported into his bed, where half the time he'd wake up and we'd start all over again.  He did grow out of that, and by two he would fall asleep on his own without the drama, but he's never enjoyed going to bed, it takes him quite a while to fall asleep, and it's not uncommon for him to wake though the night even now.

The Attack, however will trot merrily off to bed, often decline a story, grab his pacifier and be asleep within ten minutes.  And, he'll generally sleep for twelve hours straight.  It's fricken amazing.

So when he was two, I decided that he could keep his pacifier until he was ready to give it up.  He only used it when he was falling asleep, so it wasn't doing any damage to his speech development or teeth, and the dependency was only ever going to be an issue if I removed it from his unwilling little grasp, which I now had no intention of doing - he would stop when he no longer needed it.  Which, with him being an unreasonable pre-schooler, I expected to be at least a few years.

So imagine my surprise when a week ago, he presented me with his pacifier (that he had bitten a hole in during the night) and told me that we should throw it away.  When I said that it was the last one we had at home, he explained that it didn't matter, he didn't need one anymore because he was big. 

Alright then.

The last seven nights have been very similar to how he's always been, minus the pacifier:  Trot merrily to bed, decline story, fall asleep within ten minutes.  He hasn't even mentioned it.

So this is me officially advocating pacifiers.  And since I am such an expert because I have done it once, here are the rules:

#1:   Only use a pacifier when the baby / child is going to sleep.

This means no plugging them in when they're crying, whining, grumpy or you're trying to do something and they just won't shut up.  

How you deal with these moments is how you grow most as a parent - you don't want to give that up. (And if 'growing as a parent' isn't incentive enough, do it because if you don't, you'll eventually have to face a teenager who is no longer placated by a pacifier, and then you're really gonna be screwed.)

#2:  Don't constantly try to convince your child to give up their pacifier.

Don't say mean things.  Don't tell them that only babies have them / they are too big for one, ect.  Not only is it completely counterproductive because it makes them feel insecure, therefore they cling to the thing that makes them feel secure - their pacifier - it also makes them feel guilty for absolutely no good reason.  Do you know what guilt does to young impressionable minds?  DO YOU?!?!  I feel a serial killer rant coming on, which is completely unfounded, but still possible, so we'll just go with "bad".  Bad things happen when guilt gets into young impressionable minds.

#3:  Own your decision.

If your child is happy, and you are happy, stop stressing and rock it.

#4:  Learn to cope with other peoples disapproval.
Don't try to justify your parenting decisions to people who obviously don't get it.
Instead, think up fun things to say to mess with them.  

When a well-meaning person says to you "he's a bit old for that, don't you think?" shrug and reply "yeah, but he says it goes really well with his whiskey, so what are you gonna do?"

Another option is to grab the pacifier, jam it in their mouth and say "Hmmmm, it still fits you, so I think we're good for a few more years."  (Then you would of course throw that pacifier away because you don''t want your child to catch judging cooties.)

That's it.  After three and a half years of pacifier use, that's all I've got.  

I can offer no proven advice on what to do if your child decides to give up their pacifier, and then throws an epic fit the following night because they want it back, although I would suggest that it could be an opportunity to teach them about following through with their decisions.  You may need to use a drawing.  And possibly a globe. 

Yeah, ummm, good luck with that.

xox

Once Again into the Breach...

I have been absent for a while. You could be forgiven for thinking that I must have been kidnapped by poachers who were trying to locate the whereabouts of my secret unicorn sanctuary so they could harvest unicorn horns to sell as hats for evil little garden gnomes. But you would be wrong.

I have been busy. (Yes, yes I know that's exactly what a secret unicorn savior would say, but it's still true.)

So, here's what's been going on:

#1: We brought a house.

The whole process - from finding out that our rental was going to be sold, to locating a place we wanted to buy and moving in, took about 6 weeks.

This was actually quite a fun process for me, (even through I wanted to build because I really don't like second hand stuff that other people have put their smells and general grubbiness on. Issues much? Maybe....)

So anyway, we saw several houses which were all decidedly average, and I gained great appreciation for real estate agents and their ability to make everything sound exciting. ("You'd just have to knock out those 6 walls and put in another bedroom and a bathroom, get a dishwasher installed, fix that hole in the floor and paint over the graffiti on the walls, then it would be perfect!" / "Who doesn't want four bidets in their house!?!" ) It was awesome.

Eventually we found our house. Like we literally walked through the front door, and knew it was our house. We put an offer in that day, and four weeks later we were living there.

FYI apparently when people sell their houses, they don't bother to clean them. I mean, they'd put in some token effort, but really.... is that my burnt up crumb mess in the oven? Is that my soap scum in the shower? Are those my 8 million sun faded stickers on the window? Well, yes actually, legally they all belong to me now. Splendid.

Also, it seems to be considered acceptable to just leave all your old garden accessories behind when you sell a house. I hate garden accessories. Especially gnomes. We're still finding ornaments and little "welcome" plaques stashed everywhere. I'm going to start a burning pile.

#2: Connah started school.

I know right!?! How is that even possible?!? He is a tiny, tiny child! Except that he's not. He's actually quite giant now.

I transitioned him for three days, which basically consisted of me sitting on a moppet sized chair for 6 hours a day watching him, and avoiding the disapproving glares of various faculty members.

I was politely informed that it was customary for parents to only stay for an hour or two when introducing their child to the school.

I was told that if a parent stayed for extended periods of time that it would only make it harder for the child to adjust.

I was asked if I was a teacher's aid / if my child had special needs / if I had a job. Because obviously only jobless wanna-be teachers with special-needs children hang out at school for three days.

I wanted to shake them. Because they so didn't get it. I don't care what has worked for the majority of children in the past, I don't care if I am not doing things in a way that they are familiar with, and I definitely don't care if it makes them uncomfortable to feel like I'm scrutinizing them for three days. 'Cause I kinda am.

I had made an agreement with Connah: I would stay with him for three days - in the background, not interacting with him, but just being there so he could feel secure while he acclimated to his new environment. I believe in what I am doing - short of hog-tying me and dragging me off to be cannibalized, they were not getting rid of me.

Since then he has been doing awesome. The kid just soaks up knowledge, it's incredible to watch.

#3: The Attack started childcare.

I spent three days helping him to adjust, and he took to his first week like a rock star.

Since that first week, he's gone backwards a bit, and now gets upset when I leave him there in the morning. This is horrible for me, because Ash is usually happy. Like, crazy happy. He is emotional - he cries easily when he's angry, frustrated, hurt or scared (mosquitoes are his latest fear, one just has to fly in his general direction and he's screaming like it's a 12 foot tall spidergater. With rabies.) but he doesn't often get sad. When the Attack is upset because he's sad, it's like something has turned his spark off, and you just want to kick whatever did it in the face, because the spark should never be turned off. And then I remember that it's all part of the learning and blah blah blah and I stop kicking inanimate objects in the non-existent face. But I still want to.

He bounces back from these episodes like you wouldn't believe. One minute you'd think the world had come tumbling down on his tiny little shoulders, and the next he'll be two inches away from your face dancing while trying to pull the funniest face in all the land. He is pretty awesome.

He is quite social at daycare, and interacts well with the other children. This week they have been collecting shells. He comes home with pockets full of shells which he says that he and his friends dig for in the sandpit. He gives these shells to me with the instruction that I must keep them. Forever.

So I have been busy. Not so much physically busy, although it did take me an hour and a half to pack Connahs lunchbox the first time. I now have it down to fifteen minutes - I feel like that's quite an achievement. Also, my six minute drive to work has been upgraded to an hour because of the various drop-offs. No, my busyness is mainly mental, because inside my head it sounds like this:

*I hope Ash isn't feeling sick at kindy... he did say his ear hurt this morning.*

*Connah forgot his bookbag! No, he didn't, I put in in the front pocket. Yes he did! He took it out to read his story! No, no, I definitely remember him putting it back in when he put his sweater on.*

*Did we remember to switch the power company over to our new accounts?*

*How am I going to stop the dog from smashing his face against the aviary?*

*It's lunch time at school... I wonder if Connah has any friends to play with yet....*

*It's lunch time at kindy..... I wonder if Ashden is going to eat, or just starve because he doesn't like what they give him...*

*What the hell am I supposed to do with 16 garden gnomes?!*

*What if Connah is being bullied? I will fricken kill those bullies! No, then he might get bullied for his mother coming to save him... Maybe I can secretly kill them.... make it look like an accident or something..... *

*What if Ashden's hurt ear is actually some sort of exotic brain liquefying illness that's only symptom is ear pain until it's too late?!*

*What if our new house is haunted by evil, evil spirits who creep into our rooms at night and whisper evil, evil things directly into our minds so that we all turn into SERIAL KILLERS!?!?!*

You get the point. There is no room for pondering new blog posts when your brain is all full up of crazy. Fortunately, most of the crazy has gone now, and I'm just left with my regular amount, which I maintain is a perfectly acceptable amount to have.

So I will leave you there, with visions of sugar plums dancing in your head. Or more likely, with the thought that your own house might be haunted, and you too may become a serial killer.

Your welcome.

xox

Jingle Bells...

Did you believe in Santa?

I mean believe right down to your toes, to the point where you immediately dismiss that 8 year old who just told you Santa wasn't real as being high on crack, because any idiot knows that he is real.

Do you remember that feeling? That almost tangible feel of magic, the unquestioning faith in something unseen and highly improbable?

Everyone's Santa was different. One friend believed that Santa delivered gifts to the whole world in one night.

Another insisted that Santa only delivered gifts to one country, and his elves took care of the rest of the world.

Some were told Santa could only come when no one was looking, and others had Santa show up on Christmas day to hand out gifts himself.

Some Santas had their elves make all the gifts, other Santas went shopping.

Our Santa visited every house in the world in one night. He traveled via flying reindeer, and he entered our house through a window that we left open for him (we didn't have a chimney). He crept into our rooms and left a gift on the end of our beds for us to discover when we woke. He always had a bite of cookie and sip of beer before he left, and in the morning we would gleefully discover the half eaten remains of the carrots we left out for the reindeer.

Parents write the story of Santa. We weave it from our own experiences, adding in extra pieces that we find along the way, until we have created an intricate tale that explodes joy and excitement directly into the hearts and minds of little children everywhere.

Those of you familiar with my parenting style may point out that Santa is not exactly compatible with the whole "truth" thing I've got going on with the boys, I agree and seriously considered not including him as part of our Christmas traditions in order to keep the complete honesty intact.

But I remember the magic of my childhood Christmases - the wonder, the excitement, and I think that was in large part due to the Santa my parents created for me. I want my boys to have that, so in this case, magic trumps honesty.

There are so few years of Santa. By the time a child is able to really understand the concept, you've got maybe four or five chances to create that magic before they stop believing.

So we make reindeer food, and we receive personalized e-mails from Santa, and we ponder the possibility of catching a glimpse of a flying sleigh on Christmas eve.

And I watch them glow.

Magic. Totally worth it.

xox

Very Importaint Things My Three Year Old Has Taught Me Recently...

#1: It is entirely possible to exist on a diet that consist solely of toast and candy:

(actually, I already knew that one... did it myself for years.)

#2: You can make almost any animal into a loyal companion simply by lugging it around relentlessly:

Endurance is the key here people. You can not give up when the creature struggles, kicks, scratches, bites or pecks at your eyes. Just push through it and eventually you'll have a life long friend.

#3: Remember everything that has ever happened to you. Ever:

This is a vital skill for when you need to find your stuff:

The Attack: "Where's my truck?"

Me: "Ash, you have a billion trucks, which one are you looking for?"

The Attack: "The white one with the red roof."

Me: "Off the top of my head I can think of 6 white trucks with red roofs, can you tell me anything else about it?"

The Attack: "It's a big one, and I can fit lots of my little cars in it 'cause it's got gaps for them, and it drives really good down hills, and it's still got some dirt stuck on the tyres from when I drove it in the dirt patch. Oh, and I jammed Cinnamon's head in it one time and she died."

Me: "Oh, that truck. Yeah, ummm, I banished that one to the top of your closet."

#4: Scaring people is funny:

This can be accomplished simply by jumping out from behind a door while growling like a rabid monkey, or by strategically placing a giant inflatable Tyrannosaurus-Rex just inside a doorway so people pack themselves when they come around the corner. Either way: Funny.

#5: Be very specific when asking for what you want:

Use as many words as necessary. If you want a small grey possum with white on the ends of its ears and a black nose that has a basket with a green bow on it so you can carry it around and it can sleep in there, ask for that. It doesn't necessarily mean you're going to get it, but if you're not specific enough, you'll end up with a stuffed possum teddy in a box and you will throw a tantrum. Seriously, you will.

#6: Jump, spin and balance on random objects just for fun:

Even when you're supposed to be sleeping. Especially when you're supposed to be sleeping.

#7: Pick flowers to give to those you love:

This makes people happy.

#8: Underwear is overrated:

Declare your underwear wet or uncomfortable at 7am, ceremoniously discard it, and gleefully go commando for the rest of the day.

#9: Playing on other peoples competitiveness can get you what you want without upsetting anyone.

The Attack: *after looking longingly at Connah's cookie* "Can I play on the computer when I'm finished?"

Connah: *jumping up so fast he chokes a little bit* "I'm finished first! Can I play now?!"

The Attack: *Slyly shifting over to Connah's place* "Connah doesn't want his cookie, can I have it?"

#10: Get excited:

About pretty much everything. Going to the pet store? Found a ladybug? Time to take a bath? Celebrate by breaking into an impromptu dance. Squealing is optional.

#11: Look around:

Seriously, there is stuff everywhere that is worth seeing. Have you ever noticed how children have no concept of hurrying? It's because they are (usually) living completely in the moment. What possible reason is there to hurry when the most important thing in the world is what's happening right now? So stop and watch the sun rise. Literally smell the flowers. Take notice of what's around you and start actually living the life you have right now instead of constantly looking forward and just being dragged along for the ride.

There you go, the keys to happiness according to my three year old. Go forth and incorporate them into your life.

At the very least you'll up your awesome level by several degrees.

xox

In Sickness and in Health... But mainly Sickness...

Doctors suck.

I don't say this in an off the cuff, blase kind of way, no, I say it vehemently. And loudly. Possibly coinciding with some sort of kicking tantrum.

I didn't really think a lot about doctors before I had children. I probably averaged going about once a year, so I had no need to think about them. I went, they gave me goods and / or services to attempt to make me feel better, I left. It was splendid.

Fast forward a few years, and I'm sitting in a doctors waiting room at least once a month.

First on my sucky list, is the Health-lines that you can call.

What is their purpose? To "assess your health needs, and give information and advice to help you decide on the best level of care".

This is usually information that you already know 'cause you've been googling symptoms for the last half hour. They always end the call by saying "If you are concerned at all, go and see your doctor." This completely negates any reassurance that they have given you, because it's obvious that they are just insuring that it's not gonna come back on them if they say you're child is fine and then everything turns to crap AND OF COURSE I'M CONCERNED OTHERWISE I WOULDN'T BE ON THE DAMN PHONE!!!!

So I make the call to the doctor.

Me: "I'd like to make an appointment with my child's doctor."

Receptionist: "I'm sorry, that doctor has no appointments available for the next 4 days, would you like to make an appointment for Thursday?"

Me: "Well, no. My child is sick now."

Receptionist: "You really need to book at least two days before your desired appointment date."

Me: "I didn't know two days ago that my child would need to see a doctor."

Receptionist: "Well, that's unfortunate. We do have an on-call doctor if you'd like to come in and wait for the foreseeable future until he's available."

Me: "That sounds spectacular. We're on our way."

Off to the doctors we go.

GP's are an important part of our society running smoothly. They preform the valuable task of evaluating the usually benign complaints of the germ-ridden, mucus-hacking masses that flock through their doors every day. They are educated, fairly intelligent, busy people, but some of them seriously need to get some fricken people skills.

I understand that they are trying to keep the appointments to a 15 minute maximum.

I understand that they have probably already seen this in 60 other children recently.

I understand that they may be answering question that have been previously asked.

I understand these things, I just don't care about them.

These are my children. I have been granted the privilege of raising them, which includes protecting them from harm until they are able to do so themselves, and since I am not formally trained in medicine, when they are sick that requires a qualified assessment.

However, handing over that responsibility - even momentarily - to a condescending doctor who rolls his eyes at my various enquiries is terrifying.

I have been told by one doctor, when I contradicted his advice, that perhaps I should "stop consulting Mr Internet" and leave it to the professionals.

Another refused to answer any of my questions, instead responding with various ways of saying "you're paranoid":

Me: "What symptoms should I be looking out for?"

Doctor: "There's no need to worry about that at the moment."

Me: "Well, you said if he gets worse, I should take him to the hospital, so what does "worse" actually entail?"

Doctor: "Don't jump to conclusions, I'm sure everything will be fine."

Me: "I'm not jumping anywhere, I'd just like to know what to look out for."

Doctor: "There's no need to panic, we'll cross that bridge if we come to it."

Me: "I'M NOT PANICKING (well, maybe a little bit now...) I JUST WANT YOU TO PROVIDE THE INFORMATION THAT YOU ARE APPARENTLY QUALIFIED TO PROVIDE!!! ARE YOU A PRETEND DOCTOR? DO YOU NOT KNOW THE ANSWERS? OR ARE YOU JUST BEING DELIBERATELY VAGUE TO ANTAGONIZE ME!!! AAHAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!!"

And then I kicked him in the face. Well, no not really, there were children present after all.

I have learned something throughout all my enforced thinking about doctors. They are human. They have bad days. They get distracted. They make mistakes. And I'm painfully aware that when one of my boys has a medical problem, a doctor is more capable at diagnosing it than I am, but if they can't / wont even answer my questions, I'm left with very little confidence in their abilities - are they having an "off" day? Are they going to miss the real problem because our appointment has run into their coffee brake? Have they recently broken up with their significant other and have Celine Dions 'My heart will go on' stuck on repeat in their head?

I don't know. I am trusting them with the health of my children, and I have no idea if they are even concentrating. And that sucks.

I know that there are good doctors out there, in fact, the one my boys are actually registered with is awesome. We just never get to see him because he's always booked for days.

So, I think the only option is to add an extra class to doctor-school about how to get some people skills. It could be entitled: "How to compassionately interact with a terrified mother who thinks her child may expire at any moment, without acting like an ass."

If I was a doctor, I'd totally take that class.

xox

(Picture courtesy of Connah while we were waiting for eleventy billion hours to be seen by a doctor. Yes, those are guns in his hands, apparently he was pissed off too.)