Hoochiemumma

Personal Blog

Month: May 2020

Just Call Me Karen

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I think I got talked about by the nursing staff at hand-over. I rekon theres a high chance I may have been referred to as a “Karen”.


Well, buckle up. I’m a Melissa.


Here’s a bit of a back story and update:


We’re heading into week 3 with number one son in hospital. Usually it’s a stock standard 2 weeks of IV’s… bug dead.. see ya later. Didn’t quite happen this time. Anyway… he has an inhaled med he does with his chest physio, and because it can cause a bit of lung irritation, it’s being diluted to half strength… all within the orders written up by the Dr etc etc blah blah.


Time comes to have this medication. I remind the nurse that he’s having it half strength.
Nurse returns telling me he’s been having it full strength, because that’s what’s been signed off on the drug chart so that’s what she’s brought in.

She told me this THREE times, because each time I corrected her, her ears must have imploded and she couldn’t hear what I said.


I reiterated my point AGAIN and politely but assertively suggested that it may have been signed off incorrectly on the drug chart by the physios and can we just have it mixed the way I’ve asked….please and thankyou very much, for fucks sake, Amen.


Now this is where I shall intervene and just hit up anyone who is embarking upon a career in the health or caring industry.


LISTEN TO YOUR PATIENT’S. For the love of god, even if you think they’re complete cretins and dumb as a bricks….listen to them.


They’re not always going to be right, but the chances are that when you question those who live with chronic illness, they probably know what they’re talking about. I might even be so brave as to say that the PARENTS of children with chronic illness know more about their disease than you, and sure as hell know what the fuck is going on in the room of which you weren’t present when the bloody mediation had been given.


Gah.


I don’t think in anyway that my exchange was aggressive or rude, I just had to repeat myself until she actually listened, and by the third time, I may have had a tone in my voice that resembled “Karen wanting to see the manager”.


Also, I was tired, so I wasn’t my usual delightful self. After all, I’d been sleeping on a bed the devil himself designed and quite frankly, since I’ve hit my 4th decade, the idea of making others a bit uncomfortable doesn’t destroy my thoughts or conscience as it once did. I’m over pleasing people who aren’t pleasant. It’s exhausting.


What was interesting was that the next morning the day staff mentioned something about the conversation slash exchange I’d had with the nurse the day before. This nurse was older, more experienced and appeared supportive. She empathised about how she is aware that parents know what’s going on with their children’s health blah blah blah…but during our chat she used words and phrases like “argument”, “good for you”, “tiger mum” and “speaking out”.

Ummmm….What!?


And what exactly is a tiger mum..?


I asked the Google machine and this is what it said.


I’m confused because I’m obviously not Chinese and I don’t know Amy Chau so I think she meant being a mum “like a tiger”.



This is much more accurate, plus the father reference is much more relatable too…


Please bare with me while I pull up my feminist knickers here as I ask…


What is the male equivalent of a “tiger mum”?
Who is the male equivalent of “Karen”?
And why are women seen as difficult, argumentative or speaking out of turn when they make others uncomfortable or question something or god forbid….disagree?


I may be wrong, but think I can pretty safely say that if I had a dangly thing between my legs and was in the same situation, I wouldn’t be seen or described in the same way. I’d probably be seen as confident, strong, knowledgeable and interested. We don’t use these words for women enough. We assert them to be difficult, bitchy, sassy, opinionated and up-themselves.

Plus our names get changed to Karen.

Well I love Karen’s. I know a few awesome ones too.


I think we should all find our inner Karen, and I mean that in the most wonderful way possible. We should demand more than the bull shit we’ve been dished up over the generations.

Question the nurse. Speak to the manager. Ask for more information. Disagree. Speak up without fear of how is “looks” or “sounds”. Assert your point when you’re not being listened to. Don’t be afraid to cause someone just a little bit of discomfort.

It’s taken me over 40 years to be okay with the idea that I may offend someone or cause an eyebrow raise by just asking a question and that it’s NOT MY PROBLEM.


Fair chance the people we make uncomfortable are under 25 years old who think they know everything there is to know, can’t differentiate between you’re and your and lack the ability to count back change without a calculator. How’s that for stereotyping?


Their time will come though. They’ll hit their 40’s and feel the freedom of age and wisdom. They’ll want to talk to the manager and ruffle a few feathers because they’re old and sick of everyone’s shit. They’ll do this and look back remembering the Karen’s of yesteryear. They may even smile, shake their head with a knowledge that they have now become the Karens they eye rolled in their twenties. They will embrace this change and their new found title.


Without further adieu, I present to you the “Jessica’s”


And in 20 years time, they’d like to see the manager.


M

*disclaimer.. I adore nurses. They do one of the hardest job in the world and don’t get paid nearly enough for what they do. I was a nurse for a while too, and this is definitely #notallnurses

Girls Girls Girls and a Rogue Booger

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Friendship

Recently I’ve had my memory launched back to my Primary School days when I was 7 or 8 and things were a bit bumpy in the friend department.

One particular name pops up…

Vanessa Fucking Pickard. I don’t think her parents gave her that middle name.. it was probably Jane or Louise like most girls born in the ’70s.

Vanessa was the unelected leader to the cohort of girls in our class. All the girls seemed to follow her and do what she said. They loved her and I couldn’t figure out why because she scared the beejeebers out of me.

Maybe the other girls in my class were a bit scared of Vanessa too? She seemed to have some kind of magical power. It was a power I was envious of. How’d she get everyone to like her? How’d she become the boss of our little world of girls? I don’t know how or why but one day she decided that she didn’t like me, and that was it…I was “outed”.

I think my gatekeeper friend was in another classroom perhaps? She was a year older than me and hey, maybe she was just sick of the shy new kid that she got lumped looking after because her dad was the principal. I don’t blame her. I was almost mute in my younger years. (I’m sure that wasn’t the case Cath..ha!)

I remember wishing for recess and lunch to never come. I felt so safe in the classroom…I didn’t know what to do at recess and lunch. I had no one to play with. When the girls would see me, they’d shoot off in another direction. I remember the look on a couple of their faces. It was guilt mixed with “if we don’t follow her, I might be you next week”. With nowhere to go, I would seek out my older sister who was in year 7. Popular, pretty with lots of friends, she was nice enough to let me hang around a bit until one day she pointed out that I had a GIANT BOOGER  hanging from my nose in front of all of her year 7 friends. I think she was trying to be discreet but my reaction to the devastation of “CODE BOOGER” alerted everyone else to the fact of my unfortunate situation. Tears ensued, which made code booger a giant boogery mess of a situation.

My lonely days came once more. There was no way I was going anywhere near all of the big kids. “Rogue booger” may strike again and I couldn’t risk another humiliation. Around this time, I remember our Principal talking to our class, or maybe it was the whole school…. there weren’t many of us. He spoke of inclusion and kindness and friendship. At that moment I knew he was talking about me. I knew he was talking to Vanessa. I also knew that my dad with his big fat giant mouth was the reason this was happening. I was 7 or 8, but I wasn’t stupid. I can’t remember how long this friendship outage lasted. It may have been a week or months. It’s all a blur now. But I’m 45 years old now and I can’t recall where I put my phone most days, but I remember this. I remember the feeling. I remember the sadness and the sick feeling in my belly.  I remember not wanting to go to school. I remember hiding behind the classroom so no one could see me..the pasty quiet kid with no friends.

God, school years can be so hard.

Vanessa Pickard moved away that year and I never ever again experienced that kind of ‘outage’ for the rest of my school days. I think I was one of the lucky ones.

But in turn, I’m sure I was no angel either. None of us are. We all slip up on the pathway of learning how to live in the world. I’m certain I have been cast as a villain in at least a couple of people’s stories. Most of us are at some point in our lives.

The 8-year-old Melissa hopes that Vanessa stepped in a few dog turds on her path to adulthood but the older and wiser Melissa wonders about what happened to Vanessa. I wonder if she learned what it meant to be a good friend? Or did she grow up to be an older version, changed her name to Karen, and makes demands to see the manager. I wonder if she ever had a turn at being “outed” during her school life? I wonder if she was even aware of her actions and the impact they had on others?

This child-ing business is tough. And parenting our children through these times is tough too. I’m sure Vanessa Fucking Pickard never knew how many tears I cried about being left out. She may have had a whole bunch of stuff to deal with herself. Who knows? She probably wouldn’t even remember her years at our little school, as she was shipped off to yet another place to live,  like all of the other Army kids.

So to all of the Vanessa’s out there, please try your hardest at not being mean bitches. There are good bits to everyone, even the bitchiest of bitches have goodness buried in there somewhere. Let that shit shine! You never know…maybe one day it will be your turn to be crying behind the classroom.

And to all of the Melissa’s, for the love of God, carry a hanky. Code booger is never far away.

M

The Rona Files #3

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Learning from home, homeschooling, home learning….what ever you call it, that’s what’s been happening in the Hooch House this week.

We did a half arsed version of this late last term when the world turned to shit and we decided to pull the kids out and tuck them under our protective safety wing. Anxiety levels were high for a lot of people, especially those of us with family members who fall into the high risk bracket. My energy was taken up by simply processing our new world and trying to keep up with the daily changes we were seeing sprawled across the news. I filled my brain with an endless information stream and then wondered why I wasn’t sleeping so well…? Needless to say, the school work took a back seat and a hit and miss attitude it was.

By the time term 2 kicked in at the beginning of the week, so had all the amazing prep work done by the schools. They had us sorted. School packs and online learning were ready to roll! We were on. Here we go. Term 2 come at us. Mrs Mum was up for it.

Unfortunately it started off slightly rocky on Monday morning. It appears that some better “teacher” prep by Mrs Mum on Sunday night might have helped a little bit. We had schedules and papers all mixed up; apps downloading, login pass words flying, breakfast crumbs in library books; systems crashing and not enough coffee. We had tears before 10am, a teenager sneaking in some Netflix and a cat shit in a shower.

What. The. Actual. F*#k.

I’m not ashamed to say that on Monday night I was a bit knackered and if I had heard “muuuuum” one more time, I think I would have cracked. Also, why do they do it at the same time?

BUT….fast forward to Friday and the Hooch House was a well oiled machine of education gloriousness.

I have honestly been blown away by the way the kids have adapted to this situation. Not only have we been stuck together 24/7 for 7 weeks, they have also taken to a new way of learning with hardly a whinge. It’s been an interesting insight into the “school version” of each of them. Like a lot of parents, when I’d read their school reports, I think “who the hell are these kids? They don’t sound like mine AT ALL”….My messy and seemingly lazy 11 year old is anything but that when it comes to school; the big one actually does have a great work ethic and my funny little fella… well, actually, he doesn’t change his spots too much 😂. I understand his teachers frustrations and wonderment at the fact that it appears that his head is secured up his arse but somehow the information gets in…?

I’m so very proud of them and during this week, I’ve also learned a few things along the way. I’ve learned that explaining when and how to use quotation marks is harder than you’d think; that if allowed, ice cream for ‘recess’ would be the order of the day; I need to brush up on my times tables; the English language has way too many weird rules that make no logical sense; like me, my daughter likes to slam doors when she’s pissed off; I should have incorporated ‘laundry duty’ into the daily lesson plan; in the deep recesses of my brain is the ability to help explain how to calculate the volume of a triangular prism but the four years of French has left the building. Mostly I have been reminded of how fabulous our educators have been throughout this time and how lucky we are to have been serendipitously born in Australia whilst living through a pandemic.

To my fellow Mrs Mums…I wish you strength and good internet connection as we smash out another week of school work delivery, while questioning our IQ’s and clambering through the golden nuggets of knowledge we were once taught and now forgotten.

 

Patience be with you.

M

 

 

The Rona Files #2

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It’s turning savage in the hooch house.

We’re slowly regressing into an abyss that I can’t deal with right now.

As I write this the middle one and the young one are fighting over a mattress on the lounge room floor.

There are declarations to “stop… get off” and “oh my god she just blocked my mouth and nose AT THE SAME TIME”.

Followed by ….”Mmm acting strong there are you tough boy”.

And the old classic….”I was on here first”.

Then came the rebuttal….”But you left to go to the toilet”.

Seriously, is there a bigger argument ever in the whole universe about how much time you can leave your spot and what activity you can leave your spot for before your spot becomes a free for all? It’s an argument that will live on forevermore. I’m not even sure I can nail that one down. Snooze ya lose in this house. Especially when the whole seating situation is currently in a state of disarray. I’ll explain in a sec. We have lounge room issues.

So the argument ended with an arm twist (or something… I wasn’t looking) and a declaration of “I hate you and I wish you never existed”. (Harsh, but understandable). There was even a well placed F-bomb. And that came from the one who doesn’t swear! 4 weeks iso with potty-mouthed mother has clearly changed that.

I didn’t utter a word.

Not one.

I just couldn’t be bothered with it.

Kill each other for all I care. I’ll have a couple less to feed, which would be nice because holy shit balls I’m sick of feeding these people 15 times a day.

So.. the mattress…why do we have a mattress on the floor you may ask? (Or more than likely you didn’t… but I’m gonna tell you anyway).

Well… besides being savages, we ordered a new lounge which feels like about 5 years ago and it isn’t here yet. “It’ll be here soon” apparently. Anyway…We had the house re-floored because we had stupid bloody carpet moths eating our stupid bloody carpet so we moved all the stupid furniture out like a stupid game of musical chairs which included more than chairs, unfortunately. It wasn’t real fun. It was in fact, stupid.

So why go to the effort to put the crappy lounge back in the loungeroom when the new one will be here any year now? Let’s just put the armchairs back in, chuck a bean bag in there plus the mattress off the trundle. It’s not like we’re having visitors any time soon. That way we can listen to the kids argue over where they will sit every day. They can risk breaking limbs and getting blood noses all for the prime position of “mattress in front of TV spot”. Listening to that will be SUPER fun. Yep let’s do that. Good idea.

In completely unrelated news, I went into town today wearing a top with holes in it, faded old tracksuit pants, suitably styled with Havianas. I didn’t have makeup on and the white regrowth sprouting from my mane is something to be equally admired. I saw people I knew and I didn’t even mind. It was quite refreshing. I at least usually wear clothes into town that I haven’t slept in.

Did I mention we were savages now?

Week five iso has started off to be quite the kicker!

Send hair colour and boxing gloves please.

M