What's your Poison?

On Sunday morning we caught a mouse in a trap under the kitchen sink. And by we, of course I don't actually mean me- I was far too busy standing on a chair screaming Tom and Jerry stylee. The little fecker got his leg caught in a trap, and then proceeded to drag the trap underneath the kitchen cupboard, where he squeaked and wriggled and created such a distraction, it put Cormac right off his breakfast. Which absolutely never happens.
 The only way for us, ( NOT me-as if!), to get at him, was to take the plinth off the front of the cupboard and suck the horrid creature AND the trap out with the Hoover. Obviously Himself then did what any normal person would do-he threw the whole lot into my mop bucket, got out the camera and took plenty of photos.
After which, I naturally assumed we, (I COULD have done this bit), would bash him squarely over the head with a brick, but instead Loverboy made the rash decision to release him from the trap, whereupon the fecker ran off back into the field, as fast as his gammy leg could carry him.
Now, can you just imagine the story he told his mates? He'll be eating out on it  for the rest of his life for goodness sake  - he'll probably write a book, sell the movie rights-  he's on the pig's back! (metaphorically speaking)
 God, I HATE mice and it happens every Autumn-our house is surrounded by fields, which in turn are jam packed with mice. Combine that with the chill in the air, the warmth of the kitchen and the kids leaving the back door open ALL THE TIME, and we may as well just issue an open house to the entire mouse population of Glenavy.
Then, on top of that, this morning I got a text, (A text! I ask you!), from Anna's school to say that headlice had been discovered in her year group, and it advised me to check my child's hair. Well, my blood just ran cold right there because, much as I loathe mice, I'm undoubtedly on the OCD spectrum when it comes to headlice. Thankfully, we haven't had them for a number of years *touches wood repeatedly* but just the thought of them makes me shudder.
It brings me right back to Christmas Day 2005 (Christmas DAY, FTLOG!) We had just moved out to the country, (major stress),  I was 9 months pregnant with Rory (even more stress), and I was getting the older three ready to go visit relations, before hosting dinner for 16, (stress +++).   Then I found the lice AND with them my tipping point, and that was that. Christmas was immediately cancelled and the entire day was instead spent fine combing, delousing and weeping. It was horrendous, and it probably didn't help that we'd also had mice the week before, so I was ready for the hills.
The time prior to that, was in 2001 when we were living in America. Anna was two and Jude was 8 weeks old.  We were all due to fly home later that day for his Christening, when I  discovered, to my utter horror that Anna's ginger curls were walking....and so the wheels began to come off.
First,  I rushed to the supermarket for the special delousing shampoo for her, but then I panicked about whether or not I should treat Jude as well, even though, in hindsight, he was entirely bald. But in that skewed moment,  it seemed perfectly reasonable to me to phone the 1800 LICE number on the back of the bottle and implore the poor woman on the other end for advice.  And although I'm fairly certain she was well trained on the side effects and treatment times of her product, she was woefully unprepared for the oversharing, sleep deprived, Irish madwoman on the other end of the phone, crying about colic and flights and newborns and  feeds, oh, and headlice. Not my finest hour, and as you can imagine it's all left me with a bit of a phobia in that department.
Truthfully,  I 'm MILITANT about Anna wearing her hair up in school, I switch channels if the headlice ads come on the TV,  and I literally cannot look at  pictures of a magnified louse without feeling sick. But needs must ...I've got that text from the school, so  I HAVE to do a check later whether I like it or not...and just talking about it now makes me want to scratch...Ugh!
What about you?  If you HAD to pick-  Mice or lice- what would it be? Go on, choose your poison...

Cot

Do you know what this? Of course you do-it's a picture of a dismantled cot about to be packed away into the roof space. It's just that for me, it's about to be packed away for the very last time.
 This sturdy trusty cot has served us well over the years- it started off it's life in America in 1999 (where it's actually called a crib), and then travelled all the way home across the Atlantic in a container, with the rest of our wordly possessions.
Anna was its first occupant, and then each of the boys, one by one, down to Luke. Only recently, after a room reshuffle, he's moved into a 'big boys' bunk bed with Rory-it just made sense and it was time, and I didn't really think about it until I walked past the cot sitting on the landing, and realized what it actually meant.
And I think it might be fair to say that it feels a little bittersweet. Because you see, I'm very glad and grateful for the healthy, big family that we have, and we're excited and ready to move ahead into the next phase and all the adventures that may bring. The thing is, it also feels a little daunting, as new things often do, and I suppose that I feel like I'm packing away a little of my identity too. Let's face it, there's been a little person in that cot, in our house, for the last thirteen years......it's the end of an era!
Over the last year or so, I've gradually given most of my baby stuff away to family without a backward glance....but there's a few things, like my old fashioned SilverCross pram, and this cot that I'm holding on to. Because some day..... a very very very long time ahead, and maybe if we're really lucky, there may even be grand kid or two who'll come along and make themselves comfortable in it.

Bye bye Baby.....

I cleared out a cupboard in the kitchen the other day. Now, before you think that I'm really scraping the bottom of the barrel today, it wasn't just any old cupboard. It was my baby bottle cupboard - and I've had one of those in our kitchen for, oh, nearly thirteen years!
In days gone by, and even when the baby became a toddler, the bottles were just pushed further to the back to gather dust, while sippy cups, crackers and raisins jostled for space at the front instead. I didn't actually get rid of them...and although I wouldn't have admitted it to you at the time, maybe I just wasn't ready...until now.
It's not that I'm feeling broody again- I promise you, I'm not! I ADORE the stage that Luke is at now, a lot more than the baby stage, if I'm honest. With the others are at school, he's my wee mate! He chats away to me, (mostly incomprehensibly), from the back of the car, the front of the trolley, the seat in the cafe..and I love not having to carry a baby bag with bottles, clothes and food anymore.
And, although he's getting so independent, and trying so hard to be one of the gang, he's still my baby...It's never too long before he comes to find me- to climb on my knee for a cuddle, or stand with his head against my leg- before running off to the others again.
I've found that I'm enjoying and appreciating  the little things  much more than I used to - I was 28 when we started our family, 38 when Luke came along, and I think that ten years made a quare difference in so many ways! Now I KNOW how quickly these phases pass, no matter how trying or endless they may seem at the time, and that means I can appreciate them for what they are. Given that perspective, I can weather the storms, be they sleepless nights, colic, temper tantrums or potty training.
Of course, that's partly confidence too. I can look to my older children, and see that, despite everything, I haven't messed it up too much....so far anyway. Time and experience has taught me not to sweat the small stuff, (Just give them the feckin' dummy... and turn a blind eye when you see them eating cheerios off the floor!).

Thing is, when we'd got to this toddler stage in the past, we already had another baby, or one on the way, so it was definitely a case of just putting the head down and getting through...but not now. This time, we won't be down this way again, so I want to gently stroll along, with Lukey by the hand, and not dash past with a buggy, and a clatter of children struggling to keep up.

So yes, I certainly felt a little bit wistful, as I packed up all the bottles for my sister's bump. It's the end of an era round here, and the end of who I'VE been, for the longest time. I felt sad, and a little bit scared because.... who will I be now? 

But I felt something else too.....I think it might have been excitement. Because surely the end of an era means the beginning of a new one too, and it kinda hit me, that just as I'm leaving the whole pregnancy and infancy stage behind, I'm about to become the mother of a teenager! That's unfamiliar territory indeed, and I don't even have a sat nav!

 Recently, I've also found myself looking to a few experienced friends, (you ladies know who you are!), who have already navigated these milestones and transitions, and seem to be doing just fine. In fact, they tell me that there's lots to love...but that's a whole other blog!

 And as for my old bottle cupboard? Well, after cleaning it out, I declared it 'Mummy's Cupboard', issued warnings of 'Do Not Touch Or Even Open', and made it a home for all the treats I usually hide all over the kitchen-my red Lindt chocolate balls, REALLY good fudge, 80 cal bags of popcorn and my own personal box of Special K. Now, maybe it's time I considered putting a lock on it!?