Choose your weapon mortal!

Getting the kids ready for bed is a challenge for any parent, no matter the age of the child.  In our little household, getting the kids to go to bed, and wash their faces and brush their teeth, can be a struggle.  They don't want to go to bed and they will find any excuse to avoid putting on their pyjamas or jump into bed.

Coming from Denmark, brushing teeth has been forced upon us through school education. Obsessive school nurses shoved a fluor tablet in our mouth to see where we had cavities or made us drink fluor liquid to clean our teeth - gurgling this vile drink for 60 seconds.  My parents made me brush my teeth every evening and morning, to avoid me getting too many cavities.  However, this strategy failed completely, as I have more fillings than Irish roads.

So, last night was no different, as my wife and I worked hard to get the kids to co-operate.  I normally attempt to entertain them. So, I started to tickle my daughter a tiny bit.  Playing a bit before bedtime happens to be a nightly ritual, partly to persuade them to brush their teeth.

Brushing teeth is always something that is a major challenge for us parents, not brushing our own teeth of course, but getting our kids to brush their teeth.  I've lost count of the amount of times my daughter has claimed to have brushed her teeth, only to find her toothbrush still in its packaging or it is dry as if it has been lying in the desert for weeks.

Through my connections at work, I've managed to secure a forensics kit that will tell whether my daughter has brushed her teeth or not, but somehow my daughter doesn't really care.  I can conduct these types of tests in the comfort of our own home. However the only problem is that the results take 7-10 working days and samples collected from home are not normally admissible in a court of law.  Yes, my daughter knows this and pleads the 5th every time she's challenged.

After tickling her for a while, my daughter got more and more frustrated. She suddenly stopped all movements and stared at me intensely.  She barely moved her lips and uttered "I will challenge you to a sword fight! Pick your sword wisely mere mortal infidel".  For a second, I thought we were re-enacting scenes from Highlander, a movie she has never seen of course, and smiled.  But, she repeated the line and moved a step closer.

Now, this was getting freaky. It reminded me of the scene from "The Good, The Bad and The Ugly" (me being the ugly of course), and I started to whistle the theme song in my head.

Suddenly, she jumped forward and ran into her room, getting her weapons - a giant book and the biggest hair brush she could find.  I panicked and grabbed the nearest weapon, the vacuum cleaner tube, and took Aragon's fighting stance.  My daughter moved around me using deadly ballet steps, and sliced the air with the brush, and charged at me with the Irish Fairy Tale book.

The next few minutes was a battle for life or sleep.  My daughter made all the sounds (some gun sounds too) and we fought bravely.  My wife and son had to seek shelter on the bed, and they were both cheering on our daughter.

I felt a pain in my side and collapsed on the floor. Slowly, I looked down towards my belly and side, and discovered that I had received a deep paper-cut on the third belly tire, and slipped into the sleep state.  I had lost the battle and my daughter was standing both feet on my stomach smiling down at her victim.  The screams of victory and defeat deafened the room, and I made a few last jerks before finally falling asleep.

Goodnight my dearest, see you in the morning.

Needle in a Belly

During my wife's third pregnancy she was required to have a test done on the baby, about 3 months into the pregnancy.  This "innocent"test is called amniocentesis.  You might wonder why this had to be done, since we have two beautiful kids already.  Why couldn't they pick a name for this procedure that one could actually pronounce and remember.  Well, this test is carried out on most women in their mid 30s, but especially if you have had a baby born with a disability in the past.  Our son was born with Down syndrome and my wife has past her mid 30s with a few years. So, we tick both boxes.

From what I've been told, and what I've experienced, the amniocentesis test is a VERY uncomfortable test.  In short, it is a gigantic thick needle forced into the woman's belly that is slowly moved into position to extract amnio liquids from the womb.  To make matters worse, all this is done WITHOUT anesthetics!!

We went into hospital to get this test done and I don't blame my wife from being extremely nervous.  For the record, I'm terrified of needles and will most often pass out if I'm given an injection - no matter the size of the needle.

They called us and we were brought into this little sterile examination room, which was very warm.  My wife reluctantly revealed her belly and the doctors explained (in too much detail for my liking) what they were going to do.  Again, let me reiterate, NO anesthetics.

The procedure starts with a quick scan to find the fetus and a suitable position far away from the fetus.  This in itself is almost impossible, as the womb is small and the fetus moves at this stage in the pregnancy.  The nurse found a spot and cleaned it with disinfectant. She then handed a needle the size of a drinking straw (in length) and the doctor slowly pricked the needle through the skin.

My wife (god bless her) was in agony and she was sobbing quietly.  Imagine pricking yourself on a needle, but to continue to push it into your finger anyway.  The amount of pain generated is ridiculous.  And here comes the slap in the face.  The doctor suddenly said to my wife: "You have to stop crying and lie still, otherwise we have to do it again".  Every time she sobbed a bit, her belly moved, so the needle retracted a bit and/or it could move the fetus.  Hitting the fetus with the needle would simply be lethal.

For your information, I absolutely hate needles.  As soon as I saw this needle, the size of a ninja sword, the blood drained from my head.  However, I had to be strong for my wife, as she was the one who was in real pain - I was just a wimp!  So, I was putting on a brave face to be strong for the both of us.  This is VERY difficult when you sit in a 10 x 10 room, face-to-face with a doctor, nurse and wife.  Not to mention the thousands various medical equipment in the room and a monitor right next to me.  The heat in the room didn't help either.

I refused to look at the procedure itself, as this would certainly have knocked me out. So, I was trying to look at my wife or around the room.  Looking at my wife meant seeing her in pain, which I don't like.

My eyes wandered to the left, only to be caught in the tractor-beam of the gigantic 10 inch needle being pushed into my wife's belly. It was gently pushing her flesh inwards.  I was panicking!

Forced to look elsewhere, my eyes caught the monitor which was scanning what was happening to my wife. I could again see the needle slowly being pushed through skin, flesh and placenta. Suddenly the room started spinning and the blood was draining from my head.

Trapped in a living needle nightmare!  How much longer could they possibly punish me?  Have I done something wrong in a previous life as a needle-maker?

The doctor spoke calmly, "We have to do it again.  Your stomach moved and the needle came out of the placenta".  So, the horror started all over again.

Just so you understand, in order for the needle to penetrate the placenta, the doctor has to tap on the needle top, forcing it through the placenta's membrane.

After 14 minutes of hell, my nerves were shattered. They were finally able to extract the fluids they needed and we could go home.  My wife had to take it easy for a couple of weeks, so no heavy lifting or other activities.

The sea lion's mating call

We are in mid October and it is the season of various viruses being shared in public places, especially in offices with air condition systems.  If one employee has a cough or cold, then everybody on that floor will have it within 2 weeks.  That's just one reason I dislike air condition systems.  It's not that AC system aren't handy. It's just this whole social aspect of sharing diseases that is simply ridiculous.  And more, shouldn't we be more careful in these swine flu days?

So, at the beginning of last week I developed a bit of a tickle in the throat, which slowly developed into a cough.  Instantly, my female colleagues suspected the Man Flu, which is level 11 on WHO's pandemic scale - way above the more known deadly killers like Swine Flu and the Black Death - except this one doesn't kill, but merely paralyses the male chromosomes for a short period of time.  Either that or it is simply a urban legend developed by the female workforce.  Us men wouldn't fall victim to any viruses or other strange phenomenon, which will make us stay at home for a couple of days looking for affection and attention from our partner, would we?

I was slowly developing a dangerous cough which made me sound like seals found in Howth harbor.  I realized how bad I sounded, when people started to throw dead fish at me and when I lost my voice.  It was at times like being back in puberty, when the voice has these funny pitches and drops, to the amusement of bystanders and family.

My wife occasionally feeds our kids Manuka honey, which has healing powers, to help them fight an infection.  But not  me, I'm a man. A man doesn't need these remedies or other prescriptions. My powerful body will fight off the bad cells naturally.  The real reason for my dislike of honey is because when I was a kid I developed a phobia for honey. The smell, texture and taste makes me gag.  The cause is actually very traumatic for me, as it reminds me of the pain the nuns in my kindergarten put me through, every day for three years. They fed us kids with a tablespoon of honey EVERY morning.  That would break any man. Even a tough viking like me.

On Thursday evening my voice decided to go on holidays, leaving me speechless for the first time in my life - literally.  Whenever I attempted to say something to my wife, or reply, the only thing that left my lips was a weird ghostly voice - resembling a mafioso character in Mickey Blue Eyes.  You can call me Don Brix Calzone.

Sure, a good night's sleep would cure anything, so I headed to my favorite destination - Narnia Middle Earth.

The next morning hadn't changed much, except me hairdo that made me look like the Lucan Twins from X Factor (except I am twice their age and I can sing compared to them!), and my voice still sounded shite.  I had to go to work, as I had a business presentation.  Luckily I didn't have to talk much. I was the co-pilot controlling the slides instead.

Like every morning, I had to record my greeting on the voicemail system.  I'm 100% certain that any caller would have mistaken my greeting to be either a devilish backward recitation or some pervert stalker - but it had to be done.  People just didn't take me serious, with a voice like a teenage mutant mafioso twit.

Thank God It Was Friday, and I had to leave at lunch time to pick up my daughter from school.  I survived Man Flu!

Toxic Waste

During the latter part of 2007, we had decided to pimp our crib.  Obviously not the bling bling MTV style, but expanding our house our way.  And, during any large scale renovation work, we had to move our stuff into storage.  What better place to use than the converted attic?  Our kids were too small to have it as a bedroom and we never really spent time there.  Slowly, old furniture, moving boxes, clothes for charity found their way to the attic. The famous storage room.  Yes, my back was killing me. Deep inside I truly believed that I would develop Jean Claude van Damme biceps from lifting all these boxes.  Most of you, who have met me face-to-face, will agree that this change didn't happen.

Last month, we got a surprise message from some close friends. They were going to visit us.  We were delighted and we knew we had plenty of space in the attic.  All I had to do was to go through the stuff in the attic, which we assumed was a piece of cake.  It shouldn't take that long, we said.

The attic floor space is 20 m2 and it was packed to the last inch. So, getting into the attic was a challenge.

The Big Clean-out day came around quickly and I put on my hazmat suit.   For those people who haven't read Zombie Survival Guide or seen Resident Evil 2, a hazmat suit provides protection from hazardous materials, and might be combined with breathing equipment.  The more advanced versions come in shiny silver, which is similar to mine.  You really don't want to spend too much time in one of these suits or you will lose weight due to excessive sweating.  Imagine the smell inside the suit.
- by the way DO NOT fart when wearing a hazmat suit!

Dressed as something out of Moonraker, I ventured up the stairs. I was horrified of what was stacked in front of me.  Boxes and bags bulking to the ceiling. I had to work slowly and carefully.  It was amazing how much stuff we had accumulated over the years. I was finding stuff that I didn't know we had.  Perhaps the gremlins had been moving stuff from our Indian neighbours?  I didn't know that we owned large pieces of the Berlin wall or a treasure map to Atlantis.

We had no choice but to continue to clear the attic, as this was the only place our friends could sleep.  I was not prepared to share our bed with them, and I was sure my pregnant wife would kill or cause other bodily harm if that was going to happen.

I was lost in the attic for most of the weekend. I only came back to reality for meals and the occasional liquid refills.  I was starting to lose my mind and it started to dawn on me that I might not survive this expedition.  My family was thankfully going to start the rescue mission, Monday morning.

In the 10th hour, I discovered some unknown plants and animal species, which I proudly terminated with our Dyson Anti Asthma vacuum cleaner.  Some of these organisms would have attacked me anyway, so it was a question of being killed or kill them.

The worst thing about clearing out storage areas, indoor or outdoor, is when you open a box that contains memorabilias such as pictures, articles, VHS tapes, etc.  I got carried away with some of these boxes. I got fairly emotional when seeing pictures of the kids when they were just born, my own kindergarten pictures and family videos - so much that the hazmat suit would become all foggy.

Having spent so many hours in the attic, I was starting to see things.  The freaky thing is when you start to see movements (or at least you think you see movements) or when you think bags make strange sounds as if somebody was trapped inside.  I vaguely remember investigating a movement, when suddenly my wife tapped my shoulder.  A combination of fear and panic engulfed me. I screamed like a little kid and jumped to the floor in fetal position.  My wife seemed somewhat surprised and startled, but managed to pass me my coffee.

Gradually, I was able to see the carpet again and the attic was starting to look like the room it used to be in its glorious days.  The room was ready for our visitors, and we had a "new" room to inhabit again. A room that will be very handy once the 3rd dude arrives in April.

Phase II involved water and soap, and lasted almost 20 minutes.  All garbage had been removed. All the stuff we wanted to keep was organised and put into storage.  The room was ready.  However, I still don't know when we bought the full size Jesus marble statue? Maybe Dobby (Harry Potter's house elf ) can  explain it to me?

Regards
Sole Survivor

Gooooood Mooooorniiing Ireland

I always try to buy something for my wife and kids, when away either on business or going home to meet the family + friends.  Some would probably call it a bribe to ensure that your wife still loves you and that your kids will hug you when you return home.  They know they get something.  I hate buying sweets, mainly because I end up eating most of the stuff anyways and I forget to exercise, which normally results in me wearing a few extra rings around the middle.  And, believe it or not, our kids actually don't like sweets, e.g. chocolate, drops, etc.  So, this makes it extremely silly of me to buy sweets for the family.

Last year, when going to Frankfurt on a training course, I found this lovely clock for my daughter.  Back then, she didn't know how to tell the time, but there was something cool about having a clock in your bedroom.  We didn't install batteries either, primarily because we didn't have any batteries.

Anyway, during our daughter's recent room make-over, I decided to surprise her by installing batteries in the alarm clock.  Was it a wise idea?  No!

A few days later I was dreaming being somewhere in Narnia or Middle Earth, fighting giant Playmobil and Lego armies, when I suddenly heard a bell chime in a distance.  These bells didn't belong in Narnia or Middle Earth.  I was slowly being dragged out of my dreams, back to reality.  It was an alarm clock, informing the family that we had to get up.

But, I was the only person who heard this beeping sound.  It was still pitch black outside, and inside.  I could hear my daughter faintly crying for help, so I woke up.  I had to rescue her.  So, I got out of bed and stumbled my way through toys, shoes and clothes, towards the annoying sound.  There's nothing more annoying than hearing a sound and not being able to stop it.  The sound came from our daughter's bedroom.

Along the way I bumped my toe on the corner of the door.  In order to avoid screaming out in pain, I quickly put a towel in my mouth (I thought) and continued towards the sound on my knees.  The "towel" was in fact a pair of dirty boxer shorts, leaving me with a weird taste in my mouth.  We have wooden floors, so by the time I arrived at the source of the sound, my knees were bleeding.

I found the fecking clock - the nice alarm clock I had given my daughter, which she was so proud of.  My daughter was sitting with the alarm clock in her hands, and when she saw me she said "Dad, the alarm clock works.  This is brilliant!  Thanks".  I could see her white teeth in the darkness and hear that she was extremely happy.  I took the alarm clock away to turn it off, but I just didn't know how to turn it off.  Left with no choice, I ripped out the batteries and the house went silent again.  I could only hear the deep breathing of our kids, my wife's snoring and the 3 dogs farting.  Yes, my daughter had fallen asleep again, within seconds of turning off the alarm.

Limping back to my bad, I glanced at my own alarm clock and discovered that it was only 04.30 in the morning!  Still another few hours to sleep, but would I be able to find my way back to Middle Earth?

Sleep tight everybody
- JudgeBrix the Ugly Morning Fecker Ogre