Kids and Guns

Last Sunday, I was an accomplice to my seven-and-a-half-year-old children buying guns. I drove them to the place of purchase, advised which ones ones suited their budget and supplemented their funds. Not REAL guns OBVIOUSLY. But guns all the same. 

In my defence, they bought them with their pocket and tooth fairy money. The rule in our house is that the children can spend this money on whatever they want - the crappiest toys in a euro shop, a two litre bottle of sugary drinks, whatever.  In other words *whisper* turn a blind eye.  Anyway, surely a bottle of 'sivvy' drinks is more dangerous than a pretend gun ??

Guns have always given me the shivers.  As a child growing up on a farm, you seen what happened to dogs that chased (and killed) sheep, and it wasn't pleasant. I had the unenviable job of cleaning my father's rifle. Even though it was split in two, I was always afraid that I'd blow the head off myself as I cleaned the barrel with a cloth. I'm getting a shiver now remembering it. 

When I was pregnant with my twinnies, I bought '2 for 3' books, including the novel 'We Need to Talk About Kevin'.  Without giving the story away, it's fair to say that poor old Kevin didn't fare out the best. The book is a series of letters from Kev's mother to his father wondering where it all went wrong. Was it nature ? Or nurture ? Or a bit of both ? It's the stuff that a book club could love.  But probably/definitely not what a hormonal first time Mam should read. I should have stuck

with 'A Short History of Tractors in Ukrainian'.

Preggers Me was intent on being a peace loving Momma and that Poppy Cottage would be a gun free zone. (It was also intended to be a sugar free zone ... Ah, bless, I was quare innocent once !).

Roll on a few years and someone bought Leon a gun as a present.  I winced as he unwrapped it.  But I could see the delight in his face. There was no way I could chuck it in the bin. But even if I did, he would improvise.  He has used his finger, a crutch and a stick as weapons of mass destruction.  I must say, I was rather impressed at the machine gun that he made out of Lego recently.  A feat of engineering.  'Just don't point it at me son !'

When afore mentioned son was tiny, he fell in love with horses (Well actually, a donkey. Called Jimmy. That lives in his Nana's garden). That fascination led him to love Cowboy and Indian films (Only John Wayne though. He was never a Clint fan).  I tried to be enthusiastic, but also felt the need to stand in front of the TV and explain to my boy that the Native Indians were being misrepresented. He just yawned and asked me to 'get out of the way'.  Every cowboy needs his holster and it would be nothing without a gun. So, guns were aplenty in Poppy Cottage.  Despite my reservations, I LOVED the sulphurous smell of the spent caps.  Aaaaaahhh !

Getting back to last Sunday, little man was intent on buying a Nerf gun and had, in advance, persuaded his sister to invest in a Nerf Rebelle gun - guns designed specifically for girls ... Not sure I like this ... I suggested that we look at other toys, but they were having none of it.  

We purchased, rather annoyingly to the queue behind us, with a hape of small change, supplemented by me.  

The children could barely wait to get to the car to open their purchases.  I helped them unwrap the many layers of child proof packaging.  Mya had actually bought a cross bow rather than a gun and needed help setting it up.  It looked pretty darn cool.  Tattoo designs n all. I perched it on my shoulder and fired in the car, trying to avoid the dog and the children.  Woo hoo ! That was pretty awesome !! Did I just say 'awesome' ? In an American accent ?

'Mam', Mya said. 

'What ??!!', sez I. 

'Can I have my cross bow back ? Please ?'

'I'm just checking it out Mya ... Making sure that it's okay'.

The dog dived for cover under the seat.  

'Mam ... Can I have my Nerf Rebelle back ? Please ?' 

'Sorry Mya, were you talking to me ?' 

... I channel the Guns 'n' Roses Terminator tune and embrace my inner Linda Hamilton.  I'm hooked.  

Would Anyone Read A Blog Post About Having The Flu ?

I've been itching to write something for the last few nights, but I've hit a bit of a blank.  The problem is that all I have thought about for the last ten days or so, is the flu.  It has consumed my waking hours and even my sleeping ones.  But who would want to read about the flu ?  Never mind think about it ?  Well tough, I've got the flu, I'm cranky and I don't have a life, so here I go.

I thought I was the smart gal, getting a flu vaccine last autumn.  I was after getting a lecture from the nurse in my GP's surgery about not getting my bloods checked regularly enough.  'You should get the jab, you know.  Your immune system is low'.  'Right', sez I, sleeve rolled up.  My arm swelled Popeye-esque for a week and I had the familiar, achey feeling.  And then I forgot about it.  Until ...  Easter weekend ! 

Myself and the twinnies headed on a road trip to visit friends and family in Sligo and Mayo on Holy Thursday.  Bags packed with new clothes for the kids.  Goodies at the ready.  Delighted with myself I was.  I'd further plans for hitting Wexford and maybe even Cork.  And then it hit me between the eyes last Saturday.  Influenza.  In Mayo.  In my friend's house.  Oh Holy Harry.  It seems that the strain of flu in the vaccine that I had was a different strain than the one currently doing the rounds.  Brilliant ! 

The car journey road back to Kildare was an endurance test. `I bought cough sweets, cough bottle and pain killers in Roscommon and knocked them back in the car, cough bottle straight from the bottle.  The twinnies realized that I was proper sick and willed me along, saying 'it will be okay Mam', in the same affirming way as I speak to them when they are sick.

I took to the bed when we arrived home and pretty much stayed there until Wednesday.  Sleeping Beauty wouldn't get a look in with me.  I could barely stay awake long enough to go to the toilet.  Easter Sunday, the Bank Holiday and the fabulous weather passed me by.  My favorite time of the year, a lovely time for children and I didn't give a monkeys.  In fact, I couldn't bear the light, so I skulked around looking for the darkest, coolest room in the house.  I looked at Facebook status updates enviously.  The whole country was out and about having way too much fun.  

All that I was interested in was how many hours was it until I could take more drugs to ease my temperature.   Even when I was lying on my back, and defying gravity, my nose streamed.  In the end, I plugged my nostrils with two tissues.  I looked like a woman possessed.

I went back to work on Thursday, probably a few days too early.  On Monday I was still spluttering when I arrived at a site visit at a school with 17 artists.  One of those meetings that would more work to rearrange than to go ahead with.  The friendly builder who I had met on a previous visit acknowledged that I didn't sound very well.  'I was the same myself …  I was sick for two days'.  'TWO days ?', says I,  'I wouldn't call THAT the flu.  I was barely able to walk for FIVE days'.  I realised that I was getting competitive about who was sicker.  Me or him.  It was ME, obviously, but I did feel a little silly.  Sorry Tommy.  

I 'think' that I'm usually a pretty good soldier when I'm sick.  Well, not this time.  The flu has turned me into a self pitying moany git.  If you ask me how I am, expect a five minute lecture, focusing on awfulness of it all.  Don't expect any optimism.  And certainly, don't expect me to ask you how you are doing.  You are obviously not as sick as me.  Or as cranky.  So don't bother.  

Bless my little twinnies.  They were good as gold, despite having THE most uneventful school holidays to date.  They could have torn the ass out of eating Easter Eggs while I slept, but they didn't.  Leon was my regular 'do you need an Actimel ?' supplier and Mya sought out extra packets of tissues for me.  I just wished that they were old enough to make me hot drinks and perhaps, give me piggy backs to the loo.   You really need an adult gofer when you are sick.  I must remember to have one on site next time.

Despite all of this, I did manage to get myself together to get dressed every day, to bring the children to the local hotel for hot food, and to break the monotony of the of walls.  I felt like an alien in a Sci Fi film, whose sole aim in life was to cough on the punters in the hotel and infect them with my lethal virus.  Especially the beautiful people going to the Rugby Club dinner dance.  At least I took the tissues out of my nostrils.  

Any positives to this flu craic ? 

1.  I guess that I could consider it as a honey and lemon detox.  I didn't touch any chocolate over Easter.  It is such a joy to get my appetite back.  I demolished a bowl of Rice Krispies at the weekend.  I could have been in a 5 Star restaurant.  

2.  Not that I do it THAT often, but I haven't been able to/can't shout at the kids.  I've had to resort to alternative forms of communication.  There has been a lot of hand gestures.  A fortnight long game of charades.   They think it's hilarious.  

3.  I usually treat myself to some new clothes for Easter.  I probably saved myself a fortune … if you don't add up the meds … and the medicinal trips to the hotel.  Think of the diesel money that I saved too ! 

I am 90% better now and I've got two days to be 100%.  Or preferably 110%.  I'm off on a gals night out on Saturday for my friend Dolores's 40th.  I doubt very much if anyone will want to hear my sceal.  I've bored the pants off myself as it is.    

Hope you didn't catch anything from me via the WWW.

Fifty Shades

A work colleague gave me a copy of 'Fifty Shades of Grey', the erotic romance novel by EL James two years ago. Apparently, her husband bought it for get 'for the laugh' in an airport on holidays. I don't know how the holiday went, or what his motives really were, but she came back with a glorious tan and an unopened copy of 'Fifty'.

I put it on my shelf of other unread books, destined to spend the rest of it's days there, before being donated to a charity shop.

I've been in bed for the last two days with a woeful flu. Today, Easter Sunday, I'm like a divil. I'm finding it hard to get my temperature under control. Tonsils like golf balls. Aching all over.  I've no interest in eating Easter Eggs, or anything else.  I'm restless. I have a look at the Sunday Times papers and am quite impressed with myself. I read an article about Lou Reed and flick through the Style mag, which makes me grumpy, envious and washed up. With streaming eyes, I'm far from
a pretty sight.

What to do ... I look at the 'Great Unread' shelf.  'Fifty Shades' will do. Despite the ever reliable guys at work saying that 'it's a pile of shite', I delve in. Maybe I'm more open to it because of the hype around the recent movie release, which despite regular 'we must go and see it' from my friends, we didn't.

Also, I fancy the pants off Jamie Doran, even if he regularly scared the life out of me on 'The Fall'. After watching an episode, I was often afraid to walk by curtain less windows incase he was there watching.

And, I LOVE the Ellie Goulding song from the sound track of the aforementioned film.  Actually, I just love Ellie Goulding. I love her voice and her look. I want to be her. If she lived closer, I could be her stalker, although maybe not to 'The Fall' extremes. 'Love Me Like You Do' is such a beautiful song that it's hard to imagine the film being anything but a fairy tale.

I wipe the dust off and open up.  The intro doesn't do much for me and I'm feeling impatient. I flick through, looking for the 'sex bits'. As I flick, the dialogue bores me to tears. It's so contrived, I'm morto for you Christian. At the outset, he gives his new mot, the virginal Anastasia a list of rules from him the 'Dominant' to her the 'Submissive'. The only rule that I am interested in is that Christian wants to 'lavish money on you. Let me buy you some clothes'.  Hmmm ... I think back to that £280 utility styled Marc Jacobs skirt in the Style magazine earlier. I briefly toy with the idea of being the 'Submissive'. Then simultaneously, my eyes water and my nose starts to run. Where are the goddamn tissues. I'm back in the real world. I resume my search for the 'sex bits'. I find the first big encounter between Christian and Anastasia.

I realise that I got more of a thrill out of Jilly Coopers racy horsey novels that I stumbled across as a teenager.     It too was 'lady porn', but I loved the English upper class turn of phrase - it was all very 'spiffing' and 'jolly'.  I was fascinated by Jilly Copper herself when I seen her on TV.  This posh lady with an attractive gap in her teeth wrote that ?  I don't really give 'Fifty Shades' a chance.  I'm too sick and tired. Hardly the best combination for such a racy read.

The only thing I really like about 'Fifty Shades' is the way it came about in the first place.  It started out as 'fan fiction', where the author developed her own fictional writing online, developing story lines based on the Twilight, the vampire fantasy novels. Look at where it brought her ! Fair play to you EL James.  See, no hard feelings.  Oops, excuse the pun ...

I flick to the last five pages. Anastasia leaves yer man Christian. I'm glad. He was a pain in the ass.  Another pun. Maybe I'm getting my mojo back.