Where’s the car?

“Where are all those cars going, Mommy?”  Hannah (2.5 years old) asked me.

We were in the car on the way home from Junior Jivers (a play group) when a big truck pulling a trailer full of shiny new cars pulled up next to us at the lights.

“They’re probably going to a new car lot.” I told Hannah.

“The car store?”

“Yeah.”

“Our car’s not new.” Hannah told me.

“It was when we bought it. We used to have a different car, remember?”

“Yeah, a blue one.” She’s so smart, it was a blue one.  Contrary to what you Aussies might think.  Fine, the blue part is controversial.

“But we lost it.”

How could I not laugh? “No sweetie, we sold it.”

“No, we lost it.” She said matter-of-factly.

Um..ok.  I could see that this was going to be one of those never ending arguments where stubborn Hannah knows something to be true.  And nothing will persuade her otherwise.  Not even the truth.  Sigh.

So I changed the subject.

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Copyright 2012 Sheri Thomson

A book about muumuu’s?

I was driving home with Grandma and Hannah in the backseat (Grandma is scared to sit in the front because she thinks I may just kill her with my driving, and she doesn’t want to actually witness it.  She says she sits in the back because it’s more supportive to her neck).

“There’s a little girl.”  I heard Grandma say to Hannah.  I glanced in the mirror.  Grandma was pointing things out in one of Hannah’s story books.

“There’s a little muumuu.”  What?  Visions of a little girl wearing an awful might-as-well-wear-a-burlap-sack-for-a-dress muumuu filled my head.  What the heck kind of book was this?

MuuMuu House Dress – Modern Flowers Petal Sleeves Caftan Kaftan Hawaiian Aloha Pullover Cotton Lounger – Regular and Plus Size

I’m embarrassed just looking at this picture

“There’s a big muumuu.”  Why does Hannah have a story book filled with people wearing muumuu’s?  Yuck.

“There’s a baa baa.”

Oh, now I get it.

“Cow!” I tell Hannah from the front seat.  Not that she could hear me since my mouth was facing the windshield, and not her.

Sure, it may be cute if she calls cows moo moo’s now.  Not so much when she is like 5 and thinks that is actually what they are called.  I don’t want her to be that kid at school that no one talks to because she goes over to all the books and starts making animal noises and doesn’t know what people are talking about when they ask her if she has a dog at home (what’s a dog?  Oh, you mean a woof woof?).

No, a cow is called a cow, and it says Moo.  Now how do I tell Grandma that I don’t want my child thinking animals are called the noise they make?  I don’t want to insult her, or make her get cranky and hide in her room for an hour sulking.  How do I nicely let her know that a cow is not in fact called a moo moo?  Sigh, being non-confrontational is hard.

Slow down!

Our WRX goes from 0-60 KPH in 5 point something seconds (or something like that…).  This is very handy when going on a rather short, uphill on-ramp to the motorway.  The light went green and I hit the gas.  What’s the point of having a fast car if I don’t use it?

“Ok, you’ve proved your point. SLOW DOWN!”  YaYa told me, rather shakily.

“Um….I’m not even up to speed yet.  I’m only going 90, the speed limit is 110.  It’s a lot harder to merge if you’re going 20k’s under the speed limit.”

YaYa: “Oh.”  YaYa is apparently not used to fast cars.

P.S. There is no excuse for not getting up to speed on on-ramps that are down hill, yet most people try to merge at like 40k under the speed limit.  Seriously people, that is DANGEROUS.  Just the other day, I was cruising down the motorway, going the speed limit when someone tried to merge way, way under speed.  He (or she, couldn’t tell) pulled right out in front of me, despite travelling along at snail pace,  forcing me to quickly change lanes (or slam on my brakes if there was someone in the next lane.  Luckily there wasn’t).  It’s dangerous, Speed up people!

And the winner is (drum roll please)….

71 views.  Oh my gosh, that is the most views I’ve had in a single day.  Ever!!  If only I could get to 100!!  And all because of the car. It seemed like a realistic goal to me.

The next day:

Opening my laptop,  an e-mail caught my eye.  “Boo (not as in Boo, I scared you, as in pet name for my husband)!!!  I got freshly pressed!!!!!!!!!”  Sure, it was his birthday that day, but I couldn’t contain my excitement.  It’s not every day you get freshly pressed.  I fumbled over all the keys on my laptop, too giddy to operate it properly.  The wait was agonising.  Why is it the internet always takes so long when you really, really want to look at something?

Finally (after what seemed like an eternity), the page loaded.  1,220 views!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  And the day wasn’t even over yet!!!!  I felt like I’d just won an Oscar.  Well, what I imagine it would feel like.  Being Freshly Pressed is what every blogger strives for (ok, maybe not all bloggers, but I certainly did).  After 3 days of being Freshly Pressed on the front page (how does that work, I thought being freshly pressed only lasted for 24 hours?), 5,899 views, 1,853 votes, and 160 comments, the winner is…..

BLUE!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Interestingly, 24.32% of Aussies said the car is purple, the highest percentage of any country.  Maybe it really is a cultural thing.  Maybe they are taught that way.  Or maybe Aussies have a high percentage of colour-blindedness…. I’m just happy to know that I’m not colour blind.

Thank you to everyone who read my blog, voted, and made comments.  Sadly though, the argument is far from over.  Aaron, of course, claims my photos make the car look blue.  I say they look true to life.  I even took one in the sun and one in the shade, so as not to bias said photos.  I will have to find out the actual colour from a dealership or auto shop.  If I can be bothered…..  For now though, I’m happy to go with the majority, and say: “Sorry Boo, the car is BLUE!”

P.S. Since I got a lot of comments about the nice flowers next to the car, here are photos of the flowers in the front and side garden (Thanks to Trish, who planted them all a long while ago).

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Colour: Is it a cultural thing?

“It’s blue.”

“No, it’s purple.”

“Whatever, it’s so blue!  There’s not a SPECK of purple in it!”

Aaron and I have had this argument a million times in the nearly 6 years (well, we gave it back for a couple years when we lived in the city, but you get my  point) we’ve owned the little Suzuki Swift Cino.

“I’ll just look up the colour in the manual.  Or papers.  Or something.  I’ll look.  I’ll find it, and it will say blue, you’ll see!”  I looked.  I didn’t find it anywhere.  I even googled it.  I couldn’t find the original manufacture colours anywhere.  So, I did what all rational people do: I started polling people.

“Purple.”

“Purple.”

“Oh, you mean the purple car?”

That didn’t go so well.  Surely I can’t be partially colour blind, can I?

Suddenly, I came to the realisation that the only people I’ve asked (the only people available to ask) are Australians.  So what if colour is a cultural thing?  Maybe, just maybe, some hues are so close that in some cultures/regions/countries, they are viewed as one colour, and in other places, the view is slightly different.  Maybe I’m not colour blind after all.

I put it to you, what colour is this car:

Blue or Purple?

WRX: The new family car?

The key wouldn’t turn.  Poo.  I went around to the passenger door.  Key wouldn’t turn.  The key hasn’t worked in the boot for many months, so that wasn’t an option.  I fiddled some more.  Key wouldn’t turn.  Poo.  Aaron tried to turn the key.  Key wouldn’t turn.  Humph.  We went inside in search of the spare key (which has never been able to actually turn the car on, only open the door).  Hmmm…I put it somewhere safe, but where was that safe place?

“I got it!”  Grandma touched the key and just like magic, she could turn it.  Maybe all the shaking was just what the lock needed (poor Grandma).

“Don’t lock the door!”  Aaron said.

Time to get a new car.

Some time later:

Looking slightly sheepish “I kinda want a WRX,” Aaron said.

“Is that really practical?”  I asked, sceptical.

“You know when you have always wanted something that you couldn’t have and then there’s a chance you could have it and you really want it? (I can’t remember the exact words that were said here, but they went something like that)”

“You mean like a cat?”  I said.

“Oh man, I walked right into that.”

“You can get a WRX if I can get a cat.”  Oh snap!

The car shopping began on the weekend.  Because I know nothing about cars, and I just like things that look pretty, Aaron compiled a nice list of potential cars within our budget, had good safety ratings, and well, I’m not sure what else.

First stop Subaru, to check out Aaron’s preference, the WRX.  I liked the look of the Forester.  Roomy, plenty of boot (trunk) space, driver sits up high (which I like because I learned to drive in a van.  My van.  My van was awesome.).  I don’t know, I just liked it.

They wouldn’t let us drive the WRX first.  Apparently they get a lot of hooligans coming in who just want to drive it, and have no actual interest in buying it.   Eventually, we were allowed to drive it.  The salesman (Rob) went first.

Aaron trying out the 2011 WRX

Rob stepped on the gas. VROOOM!  I actually went back in the seat a little bit.  I was so not expecting that.  VROOM!  It was exhilarating.  Who knew a car could be so much fun.  Hang on, that’s not true, I kinda knew.  I knew go carts and dune buggies could be that fun.  Of course Aaron will never ever ride with me in one again, but that’s not the point.  I’m surprised Aaron wanted to buy a fast car after riding with me in a dune buggy.  He still maintains I almost killed us (not true, I knew I wouldn’t hit that tree while sliding around that corner).  Wow, this was a good car.  So comfortable too….

I moved the seat forward and tested the pedals.  Nope, still too far back.  I moved it forward again.  Still can’t reach.  I pushed the seat lifting lever.  Oh, that’s better, I can actually put my foot all the way down on the clutch.  Awesome.  I relaxed the clutch again.  Uh-oh.  My knee hit the steering column.  Bollocks.  “I can’t drive this car.”

I think Aaron’s heart broke a little bit.  He looked flabbergasted.

Then we got in the 2010 WRX.   Just in case.  Save Aaron’s dream a little bit. Plus, I really want a cat.  Hmmm…the steering column in the older one (I say older, but it was still brand new and the 2011 had only just come out) is slightly smaller, allowing my extremely short legs to reach the pedals whilst allowing room for my knees (which were millimeters from hitting the steering column).  I don’t think car manufacturers think about fun sized people when making cars.

Next stop: Holden.  We wanted to try the new Cruise (I don’t think they spell it like that, but I really can’t be bothered looking it

Hannah playing in the playroom while we waited for a salesperson

up.  I think it’s Cruz?).  We looked around at all the cars, but no one came to help us.  Doesn’t anyone want to sell us a car?  Did we not look serious enough (or old enough)? Hmmm….

“Maybe if you held your hands at 10 and 2 like you’re supposed to, you could see the speedo.”  A salesman finally helped us and we were test driving the car.

“I’m not changing the way I hold my hands when I drive, this is how I like to drive!”  Did this wanker actually think he was going to sell us a car by patronising me?

“How fast does it go from 0 to 100.”  Aaron asked sub-par salesman.

“That’s irrelevant.”  Seriously guy, you’re going to tell a customer that his question is irrelevant?  How do you even sell anything?

Even if we did want the cruise, there was absolutely no way we were buying it from him.  We sat at his desk and talked price (because it’s impossible to just get away no questions asked after a test drive).  Obviously we didn’t buy it and got up to leave.

“Hold on, I’ll just get the manager to come and say hi before you go.  You can have a seat.”  Um…

Then the manager came over and sub-par salesman pretty much told him why we were leaving.  It was so awkward, uncomfortable and random.  It was like they were trying to guilt us into buying a car or something.  So uncool and pretty much made us not want to buy a Holden, ever.

We checked out some Toyota’s as well, the Rav 4, and the Aurion.

We um’d and awed all night.  Did we want a small SUV, or a car?  We went back and forth.  One of us would want the Forester, the other the WRX, then we’d switch.  Car buying is hard!

Too bad they took the photo in front of the used car sign...

Eventually, we decided to go with the WRX.  It may not seem like it, but it really is a family car.  For Aaron, it has a turbo engine and a sporty exterior, for me, it has leather seats, a sun roof, gps, a dvd player, a boot that fits the pram and groceries (oh, and it’s shiny), and for Hannah, well, she’s a baby, so she doesn’t really care.  But it fits her car seat, and it can fit another one next to it (for the future, no, I am NOT pregnant!), along with room for someone to sit in the back.   I’m sure when she’s a little older, she’ll like the dvd player too.  Plus, all it’s doors actually open when you want them to, the windows roll down, and the air conditioner doesn’t take 20 minutes to start working.  So you know what?  I think the WRX is the perfect car for our family right now.  We’ll get a bigger one later.

So we got the WRX, where is my cat?

Gold Coast – Part 3: Emergency Room

The morning went well enough.  I took Hannah for a walk to go get breakfast (mmm…McDonald’s breakfast is just so good! To all who are gasping in horror, please note, Hannah does not eat Macca’s breakfast.  She gets the healthier stuff).  Aaron, Hannah and I went to the beach and played in the sand.  We went out to lunch.  Hannah played at the park.

We packed the nappy bag and bundled Hannah into the car.  We timed the trip to Byron Bay (to visit Aaron’s Mum) to coincide with Hannah’s nap.  Otherwise, she’d be too bored for the ride.

Squeal, babble, bubble blowing, chattering.  She was full of beans.  Sleep was not yet coming.

Cough, cough.  I turned around in my seat.  The coughing sounded funny.

“You cheeky little monkey, you pulled your pigtails out!”  Hang on, where were the pony tail holders.  Oh, there was one, dripping in spit, hanging out of her mouth.  I quickly grabbed it.

But where was the other one?

Funny coughing continued.  Oh my goodness, was she choking on a pony tail holder????  I freaked out a little bit.  Ok, a lot.  Frantically, I searched her and her seat for the rogue hair tie.

Phew.  I found it.  Right at the bottom of her seat, between her fat little (adorable) baby thighs and the side of the seat.

“Maybe if you take your hand out of your mouth, you wouldn’t be coughing like that….”  She’s cheeky.  Maybe she wanted attention instead of going to sleep.  Well, it was working.

BLAAAA (how do you spell the noise for vomiting??)!!!  A bit of fluid came out of her mouth.  She reached her chubby little baby hand into her mouth and (with an awkward look on her face) and searched for something.  Her chubby little baby hand parted from her mouth, holding between her thumb and forefinger a chunk of pineapple.

She held her arm out to me, leaned forward as far as she could and gave me that “Here Mommy, I found something for you” look.  Gee thanks, just what I always wanted.  I took it from her.  What else could I do?  Ew.

She cried a bit and then went to sleep.

She wasn’t asleep for long when she woke suddenly, screaming.

The coughing started again.

Oh please don’t throw up….

BBBLLLLLAAAAATTTTT!!  Oh goodness, it was everywhere.  It kept coming and coming.  She kept retching and retching.  Where did she keep all of this vomit?  I don’t see how it could possibly fit into her stomach.  She was COVERED in vomit.  The baby seat was covered in vomit.  The floor was covered in vomit.

I freaked out a little.  Okay, a lot.  We all know how I feel about vomit.  Okay, maybe you don’t, so I’ll tell you:  Vomit freaks me out.  I have a phobia of vomit.  The only thing I was concerned about in regards to kids is the vomit.   I had been dreading this moment from the moment Hannah was born.  Even my own vomit freaks me out.  Lucky for me I don’t vomit very much (just saying vomit so much is making me shudder).  I hadn’t thrown up (maybe I’ll feel better if I use a different term) since 7th grade until a couple of years ago when I got food poisoning from day old Pad Thai.  I haven’t mustered up the courage to eat any Pad Thai since that fateful night.  I suppose throwing up so violently that noodles come out your nose has that affect.  Then I got food poisoning again from Chicken Man (I hate you Chicken Man) not so long ago and had to get a shot (did I mention I ALSO hate needles?) to stop the vomiting.  I HATE VOMIT.  I would rather lie completely still for a whole week, nothing to look at, nothing to do, then vomit just once.  Yuck.

Anyway, back to the story….

Freaking out, I told (probably yelled, I don’t know) Aaron to pull over.  Sure, we were on a Freeway going 110Km an hour, but Hannah had what seemed to be 3 days worth of food pouring out of her.

I’m pretty sure she was still going when pulled over.  I don’t know which one of us unbuckled the child seat.  I assume I did.  Maybe I blocked it out of my memory.  It was COVERED in vomit.  I quickly put her over my knees and patted her back.  I wanted to make sure she got it all out and wasn’t choking on anything.  She was screaming blue murder.  I don’t know what passing cars thought as they sailed by us, Me squatting by the side of the road, small child across my knees screaming while I patted her.  Maybe it didn’t look like patting.  Maybe they thought we were pulled over to spank a small child.  Oh goodness. I hope no one calls docs….

Great, now I was covered in vomit also.  I took the vomit drenched dress of the screaming child who held out her outstretched arms in my direction, wanting me to give her a comforting cuddle in spite of the fact the beneath the dress, she also was covered in vomit.  Oh dear, what do I do?  I wiped her off first.  Then I gave her a cuddle.  I’m terrible.

The car seat was soaked, but we were on the side of the freeway in the middle of…well, I’m not sure where we were.  Somewhere between Surfers Paradise and Byron Bay. We had to put her back in the seat.  We exhausted our supply of wipes, trying our darndest to excavate the mountain of vomit on the baby seat.  Shudder.  It was still soaking wet.  At least the chunks were gone.

Speaking of chunks, the incident produced some startling (and unwanted) observations:

1. Judging by the end result, Hannah doesn’t seem to chew.  At all.

2. Raisins/sultanas turn back into grapes after being in the stomach for a while.

3. There are whole corn kernels in the Heinz Lamb and Vegetable 10-15 month baby food.

5. Babies stomachs seem to hold more than most adults.  I wonder where they keep their other internal organs?

6. I handled the “my child is vomiting” situation much better than I ever expected.

We put Hannah back in the car seat and continued on our way, desperate to find a service (gas) station, that hopefully stocks baby wipes and some form of cloths.

Just down the road, we found one.  I went in, reeking of spew, a giant, chunky wet patch on the front of my dress.  Darn it, no baby wipes.  At least they had wet ones.  Humph, they were 6 bucks.  Ripped off….  I hope I was just being paranoid and no one could actually smell me, but I honestly think HOW COULD THEY NOT???!!  We cleaned up some more and continued on our way.

Cough, cough, cry.  Oh goodness, here we go again.  How could she possibly have ANYTHING else left in her tummy????  This time it was mostly water (I got her to drink some after losing that much fluid before), with more chunks.  Never in my life have I seen so much puke.  Ew.

Me in Trish's dress. Aaron thought it was hilarious

I don’t know how Hannah would possibly have any energy after all the puking, but she played rather happily (after we changed her into the only other thing we happened to have in the nappy bag, her swimmers) at YaYa’s.  Aaron and I, on the other hand, set about cleaning up the festy smelling rental car and baby seat.  Despite having a removable cover, then a foam layer, the actual plastic under all of that was full of vomit.  Luckily Trish had a hose.  And a washing machine.  And a dryer.  And a dress for me to borrow.

Hannah had one strawberry, and then the vomiting started.  Again.  All over YaYa’s (sorry, in case you’re wondering, Trish and YaYa are the same person.  Trish is Aaron’s Mum, but we get Hannah to call her YaYa as she already has a Grandma that she sees every day.  And Trish is half greek.) floor.  And her dress.  Booya for us putting her catch all bib on “just in case.”

Maybe I was being over protective, overly freaking out, overly worried, but after losing so much fluid, I was freaking out for her.  We decided to take her to the hospital.  A doctors office was not an option, it was 6 something PM on a Saturday night.

Zoe wasn't allowed in the hospital so she sooked outside

They took her weight, temperature, heart rate, listened to her chest, checked in her ears, etc.  They gave her an electrolyte iceblock.  At first she screwed up her cute little face at it’s random saltiness, but then she liked it.  She ate the whole half that they gave her, plus an actual whole one.  I quietly freaked out, expecting the spew to start again any second.  It didn’t.  Relief.  They told us to come back if she developed a fever, or starting vomiting again.  Fair enough, except that we were driving back to the Gold Coast straight away, then flying to Sydney the next day.

Hannah slept all the way back to the hotel in the nicely cleaned baby seat.  She woke up at 2am screaming her lungs out.  I gave her an entire tommy tippy straw cup of water, which she pretty much inhaled before going back to sleep.  We were quite worried that Hannah and I would not be able to fly back home the next day (Aaron would have to, he would have to go back to work).  What if she starts vomiting again?  We can’t go on the plane if she’s vomiting….