Back from Normandy...

...and the second load of washing is in the machine. It's been a fun couple of weeks with lots to do...the first week we stayed in western Normandy and the theme was pretty focused on WWII and the D-Day landings, with a bit of early British history thrown in re. Richard Lionheart during a visit to Chateau Galliard. More later, including photos, but first it's a well earned gin and tonic before hitting my beloved bed, sorely missed this past fortnight.

Running in circles

You know the problem with taking a holiday is that enormous amount of work you have to finish beforehand to clear a couple of weeks free. Hence you've heard nothing from me in a while. That and the fact that life has been so very very busy with the end of the school year, camps, work, etc.....
Last week Niels had his annual Scouting camp, a week-long adventure with a group of 20+ other kids. With a theme of Lord of the Rings, the kids were woken at 11pm on the second night by a grey-bearded Gandalf, who beseeched them to destroy the cursed rings in the lava lakes of Mordor. The Scout leaders who are in charge of his group really out-did themselves this time, with an imaginative, non-stop series of adventures that culmiinated in the kids tossing their rings into a fiery inferno after trekking by moonlight through the forest near Lunteren. Goodness knows what the locals thought, hopefully they are used to Scouts getting up to all sorts of nocturnal adventures.
I collected him - and an enormous pile of washing - after seven sunny fun filled days and brought him home to his first shower in days and a welcome nights sleep. It brings back fond memories of my childhood when I would spend a week in the summer holidays at Kiwi Ranch, a horse riding camp near Rotorua. I'm pretty sure it doesn't exist any more but I have fond memories of riding horses up and down the hills overlooking Lake Kawau, trekking the paths through the pine forest and riding through creeks. By the end of the camp all the kids would be gaining confidence in their riding and we would race to the paddock in the morning to grab the fiestiest horses because they were the most fun. It was a Christian camp and we endured a couple of hours of 'education' in the evenings. I would have endured a month of such brain washing if it meant I could have stayed to ride the horses during the day! I even convinced my Mum to try and buy one of the horses - a pretty mare called Tosca - but her owner couldn't bear to part with her.

The only steed Niels got to ride on his camp was his trusty bike, but he had just as much fun regardless.

The problem with apps...and why I love Apple

In these days of booming technology, it seems our kids are learning how to use the latest computers and mobile devices faster than we can keep up. The danger is they can also find ways to bypass our security measures. We're all supposed to be super alert for instances of our innocent/ignorant family members becoming victims of the internet revolution,and my friends, I have discovered a new victim: the iChallenged husband. Before I undermine his credibility any further (and don't worry, I still love him to bits but he has taken at least a year off my life in the past week), I will offer a full explanation.
If you know me, you know I love Apple products. When I was an editor at Reed Business Information I reluctantly agreed to work with an Apple Mac next to my p.c. in order to directly edit magazine pages. Within a week...I was hooked. Apples are smarter, more logical, and just downright sexier than p.c.'s. My next love was my iPhone; it's getting a bit senior in years by now but still going strong and still awesome technology and just lovely to work with. Next step, obviously, was the iPad. I restrained myself throughout the iPad 1 hysteria but thankfully by the time iPad 2 came out hubby was also intrigued and one day wandered back into the house nonchalently after returning from Aberdeen and plopped something into my lap with a casual "here you go".  It is a gorgeous piece of technology and I can't resist stroking it working on it every day.
If there's one thing that iPads are perfect for, it's playing games. You can download thousands of free games from the Apps (applications) Store online at iTunes. You have to have an account linked to a credit card for when you want to purchase items that cost real money, such as music etc, but the range of free products is awesome. The boys love to play the jet-fighter game where they're sitting the cockpit and 'fly' the plane through a stunningly real landscape by tilting the screen in every direction in their hands. Carl's favourite is 'Tiny Zoo' where you build your own zoo and spend 'credits' slowly built up over days to purchase and breed new animals. Although you can speed up the process by buying credits with real money, my policy is that games shouldn't cost cash so don't even ask.
Last Tuesday I was at work when the phone rang. "Hello, this is Jan from the fraud division of your bank. We are seeing suspicious activity on your credit card...are you using it at the moment?" Obviously not, it was safely tucked in my wallet beside me and hubby was at home, so clearly something fishy was going on. I wasn't too worried; the bank is responsible for fraud and I've been through this with my business credit card already; it was copied when I checked into a hotel in Brussels then used to purchase a truckload of things in Lithuania, of all places. About an hour later I was home and Carl raced up to me. "Look at my zoo, I've doubled the size and bought 20 magical creatures!!!"  Alarm bells started ringing...I raced upstairs to hubby and asked with a sickening feeling of dread "honey...did you buy credits for Carl from iTunes?"
Of course not was the answer....but when Carl had shown him a screen on the iPad that demanded a password that "Mummy always fills in" his response?  HE FILLED IN THE PASSWORD. He didn't realise it was for a real account with a real credit card attached.
This is the point where I'm going to stop giving a blow by blow account because it just got so bad, so quickly. Phone calls to the bank revealed it was our fault so tough shit, phone call to Apple led to the suggestion that I send an email to customer support. Yeah, right. We didn't know how much money Carl had spent except that it was "well over 100 euros".
I sent a desperate email to Apple and didn't expect any joy. The next morning I left for a business trip to France with a sickening feeling of dread in my stomach. For almost 24 hours I heard nothing. Finally, in the car with a colleague on the way back from Paris, an email from Apple. I've seen the terms and conditions. I know all transactions are final. I know Apple doesn't own the app that Carl spent the money in. Things looked grim. The opening sentences were all standard: Hello Joanne, my name is Judy, I'll be helping you with your enquiry..." blah blah blah.  My colleague is sending worrying glances my way as I groan through the first paragraph.  It continued:  "I understand your awesome son downloaded a lot of credits in Tiny Zoo. Being a parent I understand your concerns..."  WHAT? I hadn't expected that.

 "Your sons total purchases are in excess of SIX HUNDRED AND FIFTY EIGHT EUROS".

Let's just revisit that figure: 658 euros.

I'm gonna say that again: 658 euros.

In less than 30 minutes. That's about 1400 New Zealand dollars.

...."I am pleased to say I have refunded the full amount to your credit card as this was an unintentional purchase...."

This is the point where my colleague thought I had seriously lost my mind. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, I couldn't believe that a massive company like Apple would be so HUMAN as to respond in this way. Let's just say it's reaffirmed my belief in human nature and the possibility for big business to have a big heart.
So thank you Apple, and thank you friendly support girl from iTunes. And let this be a lesson to all. When you choose your passwords it's obvious that your kids shouldn't know what they are: but under no circumstances, should you ever, ever tell them to your iChallenged husband.

Udderly Charming...Not

I was putting Carl to bed the other night and as usual, on request, was lying down with him in the warm glow of his night light talking about the days' events. In order of importance according to Carl, the topics we covered were the kid who got in trouble for pooping on the floor of the gym changing room that morning (not him!), what we're doing in the summer holidays, who he played with today, etc. I was wearing a v-neck shirt which had pulled down a bit as I lay there so a bit of cleavage was showing and he looked down, pointed his finger and laughed ""Ha-ha, I can see your tits!"
Of course I didn't find this amusing so put him straight about how that (a) wasn't funny and (b) that we don't use that word. He reconsidered for a moment while I waited expectently for an apology and then said "All right...I can see your udder!"

I'm still not amused.

Here There Be Bunnies...

After all that excitement I need some food!

This must be a bumper year for wild rabbits because we've never had so many bouncing around the neighbourhood. As long as we've lived here there has been a stable local population, and the little pile of bunny poo on our driveway stands testiment to the rubbit who most evenings sits there, presumably intrigued by the scent of our rabbits who by dark are safely locked up in the Bunny Bungalow.

 However the dynamic has changed this spring; perhaps due to an increase in numbers the wild rabbits are becoming bolder, approaching our garden even during daylight hours, which has never happened before. It started a few weeks ago: I was putting Carl to bed when hubby came in and said: "I just walked out to the garage and found a wild rabbit in the hutch!" Initially I thought he was kidding; wild rabbits are (I thought)  too shy of humans to ever come into the garden, let alone hop INTO a rabbit hutch right by our back door. But then I glanced out the second floor window down into the garden and was amazed to see a large wild rabbit making very macho overtures to Punky Muffin, who was behaving for all the world like a love-struck teenager who'se just come face to face with her favourite rock star. She was practically FIZZING with excitement.

Planning to take out the competition...wild Casanova vs Rocco



Now one of the main differences between domestic and wild rabbits is their size. Pet bunnies can be far larger, and I've never had a rabbit who could squeeze more than their head through our fence to nibble on any plants unfortunate enough to grow within nibbling reach. But as I watched this big wild bunny easily squeezed like a ferret through the gate! I grabbed my camera and started clicking. He hopped, as casually as you like, up to Punky Muffin and gave her a quick lick on the nose as if to say "I'll be back for you in a moment cupcake" before heading straight for Rocco. It was pretty clear that he was aiming to take out the competition so I chucked my camera on the bed and raced downstairs to chase away Casanova before poor old blind Rocco, who was first stunned then extremely pissed off that a strange bunny suddenly barged into his territory (and him), ended up in a fight he surely couldn't win.

An hour later emergency fence alterations were in place, with extra netting fitted to hopefully keep out the marauder. Days passed and the wild rabbit never returned so we assumed it was a one-off event.

This morning however, as I was working at the table in the kitchen, my attention was cuaght by Punky. For a mute animal rabbits are surprsing eloquent and her body language was saying as plain as day: "OMG who the hell are YOU??" On the other side of the fence was a juvenile wild bunny, about as big as my fist, hopping back and forwards excitedly. Whether it saw Punky Muffin as a Mummy or a Hot Mama wasn't clear but she was out of her mind with excitement at this new development. I walked out to check it wasn't a pet rabbit that had escaped but as soon as it saw me it took off at the speed of sound to a nearby stand of trees, so it's definitely wild. It was gone too fast to take a photo so I've snapped some of Punky in her hyper-excited state.



"Did ya see him? Did ya see him? Didya? Didya? Didya see that?"



Rocco typically missed the whole thing because he's blind, but did his best to calm down Punky Muffin in the only way he knows how...

"Forget ze boy...only a man can give you ze lurve you need..."

Whether she is in the mood for love or war isn't clear but she's now patrolling the fencline like a doberman, hoping to spot her new acquaintance again. The rabbit fencing is clearly sufficient to keep out the wild bunnies but frankly she's looking a bit disappointed about that.

Back To Nature

Buzz Lightyear enjoys a late breakfast

Now that Carl's foot is well on the way to mending - although he still insists he wants to keep the crutches until school starts again (no chance) - I thought I'd share more of our camping adventures with you all. For years I have resisted hubby's attempts to go camping with the kids. It all just seemed too stressful when they were small. We did try it in Sweden when Niels was 2 years old. We borrowed a large tent and headed off, stopping halfway at what turned out to be a crowded campground by a lake. Rain the previous two days combined with the sheer number of people had made the ground muddy and slippery, and as we struggled to figure out exactly where each of the 284 support poles in the damned tent were supposed to go it was inevitable that our lively 2 year old would get bored and wander off.
At that time Niels favourite activity was to try and climb into cars and pretend to drive them. Any car. Not just ours. A passing stranger, fellow camper or lurking child-snatcher would be his best friend if he could only sit in the front seat. After hauling him a couple of times out of cars nearby that belonged to other families he seemed to get the idea.

It was time for a new distraction. While we were still tied up in sheets of canvas (all the wrong shape! How can you make a tent out of 27 pieces of randomly cut canvas!?) Niels spotted the lake through the trees and that was it. His new favourite activity was called 'Run-to-the-lake-then-stop-when-the-water-reaches-my-chin-and-sit-down!'

Can't you see I'm busy?!

He literally would run into the water and plop himself down on the sandy bottom, the only sign of where he had disappeared being a stream of small bubbles gurgling out the sides of his nappy. To a stressed-out Mum who has just spent 8 hours or more in a car and is facing the prospect of sleeping in the mud with a kid determined to either disappear or drown, it was all too much. The rest is a bit of a blur but I vividly remember desperately just wanting to go home; Niels was crying, I was crying, hubby was still optimistically trying to get the damned tent up and I felt like the world was ending. Looking back I can laugh and wonder why I got so wound up about it, but back then it seemed like this was a cruel self-inflicted torture, certainly not a holiday.

The rest of the holiday went ok - especially once we gave up on the tent and stayed in a cabin - but my enthusiasm for camping with kids had evaporated.
Scroll forward 8 years and it didn't seem like such a big deal. The boys are older, more self sufficient, toilet trained, passed the age when they get tummy upsets and holiday illnesses. Surely nothing could go wrong...
The first night we were finally in our tent, me in the middle with a boy on either side like a mother hen with her chicks under her wings. It was dark and I was hoping I wouldn't notice how hard the ground and how thin my mattress was, when Niels said "Mum, my tummy feels funny........I feel sick!"

Frantically  fumbling with the zips I just managed to get the tent open and Niels outside before HEEEEEEAAAAAVVVVEEE! He puked everything he'd eaten during the day in a big steaming pile. Lovely.

Our (second) campsite

Needless to say the next morning we re-located to a new site. After taking ten minutes of agonizing stretching before I was able to heave my aching bones into an upright position, I staggered off to the office to organize a new site for the next night. By the time I had returned to prepare breakfast I was almost able to stand upright, and once the kids were off playing I headed home to fetch the thicker cushion we use for our garden bench to sleep on.

Lazy days...

Night 2. My new mattress is softer but only about 1.2 metres long. I'm 1.65 so obviously there's quite a bit of overhang. Utilising spare clothes wadded into piles I managed to create a narrow mattress just long enough to sleep on, assuming I don't need to move until morning. Rolling over is out of the question. We're all a bit tired tonight so the boys fell asleep quickly, leaving me to try not to think about rolling over or how stony the ground is. For hours. Eventually I must have fallen asleep because Carl woke me up at 3:45. "Mum my bed's wet...did you spill something?"  Unbelievable, he hasn't peed the bed for years but here we are. And we're not talking about a littel boy pee, we're talking a 10 litre "look what a man I am" flood which had half the tent awash. All the bedding had to be dragged out, the floor mopped, new pjs found and even another pillow made. Eventually, faced with the reality of 2 beds for 3 people, Carl crawled into my sleeping bag and promptly fell asleep, leaving me trying not to think about how numb my arm under his head was. And how I now couldn't lie flat. Until dawn.

That morning my mission home was to fetch new bedding for Carl and do two huge loads of washing.
Night 3. Nobody puked. Nobody peed. But we still hit the trifecta because Carl had injured his foot jumping into the lake and woke up crying at 2am with it swollen and sore. Eventually after lots of cuddles he settled down and slept again, once more leaving me to watch the tent slowly lighten as dawn approached.
So yes, our camping trip was a success, but I can't say it was easy. The kids had a blast and I enjoyed sharing it with them, but our next trip will also be within a short distance of home, I can promise you that. And I'm taking my bed.

Roughin' It

De Vrolijk campground, Laren Gld.

With hubby away, the kids having a two week holiday and gorgeous weather arriving just in time, I decided to take the boys on an adventure and take them camping for the first time in their lives. I've been camping a few times in the past; our first holiday as a couple was camping in Denmark, while one of our most adventurous was camping in the Rocky Mountains in Canada, listening to the crackle of large animals prowling the woods at night while I cowered under a thin sheet of canvas, hoping the steel bear-bins in which we had to store our food were far enough away to ensure the bears would stay 'over there' somewhere. We counted 23 bears -both grizzlies and black bears - on that holiday but fortunately never had to share a tent with any of  them.

This time I chose the campground 'De Vrolijk' which is about 15 minutes away in Laren. I figured it paid to be close to home in case it all ended in tears and we needed to bail out. Plus the camp has a large lake with a beach where the kids can swim and play, a major attraction.

Long story short, our camping adventure was a huge success, with the exception of Carl's accident on the final evening. At about 5 pm, just as we were getting ready to think about cooking some dinner (tinned meatballs, mosquitoes and sand with rice) over our single spirit burner stove, he did one jump too many into the lake and landed awkwardly on his right foot. His toes dug into the mud, his weight landed on the back of his heel, and he ended up with a very sore foot. The next morning it was swollen up impressively and he couldn't put any weight on it at all. Hmmmmmmm. Cue forward a couple of hours to us sitting in the ER at Zutphen hospital. My back was aching from piggy-backing him everywhere and he was looking sideways at the wheelchair a nurse was trying to coax him into.

The triage nurse who first saw him suspected a broken ankle (OMG!), but x-rays eventually showed no broken bones, but plenty of swelling and deep bruising. At this point Carl cheered up considerably when he realized that he would be getting an impressive pressure bandage, and this was nothing to the sheer joy the next morning when I picked up some crutches for him so he could be mobile.

So far his biggest concern is that the bandage and crutches remain a permanent fixture until he's been at school for at least one day, and he wants me to email photos of him, fully handicapped, to his teachers as an advanced warning. Niels is jealous of Carl's special status and between moments of muttering darkly looks like he wants to chuck himself under the next car to get crutches of his own. I wonder what age we are when getting injured is no longer fun and exciting? About the age we stop having a parent to fuss over us 24/7 I suspect.

He's Back!

Crisis averted, Monkey has been found. Phew! Turns out he was under Carl's mattress, having ended up under there when hubby changed the sheets. It's so hard to get good staff these days...
Smiles all round :)

MISSING! One Slightly Worn Monkey...

WANTED: ONE MUCH LOVED MONKEY, SLIGHTLY WORN

Something truly terrible has happened...the fear of every parent with young children. Carl's Monkey has Gone Missing. MISSING I tell you! This is the same Monkey who has comforted him every night for the past four years, been dragged on and off countless planes to New Zealand, Singapore, Scotland, England, Denmark and more countries besides. He's survived hundreds of hours of car trips doubling as a pillow, tens of thousands of kilometers stuffed in hand luggage, and countless washes in the machine, Scout sleep-overs, days being dragged in and out of the sandpit, piles of lego, bicycle bags...and yet he's never gone missing before. To be honest he's rarely more than a meter from Carl's reach outside of school hours, and has been smuggled into school on more than one occasion. 

The photo above is just one of countless which I have found on my iPhone over the years, taken in secret by Carl when I'm not looking in homage to his best buddy. And here he is Christmas 2009, joining in the fun, as always within reach of Carl:

Monkey comes from Build A Bear, that chain of shops where kids get to pick out their cuddly toy of choice, stuff it, put in a heart, help sew them up then convince their parents to spend a small fortune on cute outfits. 

This is Monkey dressed in the Star Wars Stormtrooper outfit I brought back from Houston last year:

Since then Carl's looking a bit better (more teeth) and Monkey is looking a bit more tattered (less fur) but they are still inseparable. Which is why No 2 sobbed himself to sleep tonight while his parents turned the house upside down looking for a small brown primate whose 'birth certificate' lists him as Triceratops Transformer, but we all know simply as...Monkey.

Growing Up

Niels practising, 26/3/2011

Sometimes kids just seem to grow overnight, and that's certainly been the case with both No. 1 and No. 2 lately. Every time I turn around, Carl seems to have grown into the next size of jeans, and tomorrow I'll have to weed out all the too-small t-shirts from Niels cupboard. Where have my little boys gone?
So here's a couple of photos to keep the family updated in case you don't recognise us next time we arrive at the Airport and think I've traded in my little snuggle-muffins for a couple of strapping Dutch boys. As Carl would say in his best posh British accent, "bloody hell lads, what's going on here then?"

Ben 10 to the rescue!

Spring Has Sprung!

It seemed like it would never happen but suddenly spring has arrived. The grass has greened ever so slightly, crocuses and snowdrops are blooming, and even the daffodils are on the verge of bursting into flower any minute. The wildlife is getting that itching feeling again too; our resident blackbird is once again lining her nest right by the back door, scaring the life out of me whenever I walk past by shooting past horizontally at nose level when I approach the door. Last week I was amazed to see a falcon perched on top of our bird feeding table, only about 4 metres from the window. At first I had a bit of a panic as I thought he was eyeing up Rocco, obliviously muching bird seed that had fallen to the ground below. However given that the rabbit was about 5 times larger than falcon, I'm pretty sure it was actually eyeballing the littel hole at the entrance to the burrow of our resident field mouse, who has hibernated the past few winters at the base of our magnolia tree. I realise this is a specatacularly bad photo but he kept flying away to a nearby tree every time he saw me approaching the window with a camera:

Spring is also the time of year for pruning some trees, and I was lucky to time a visit to my friend in Vorden just when she was having the willows on her farm cut back. Willow branches are utterly delicious - if you happen to be a rabbit - and provide a welcome snack at this time of year when the vegetation has been nibbled to bare dirt after a long winter. So I filled up the back of the car and brought home a load. The bunnies were ecstatic with my offering, less so with my trying to get photos of them eating it.


Monsieur Rocco A. Rabbit says: "Yezz? Can you not zee I am buzy, eating ze willow...enough of your zilly photoz, be gone!"

 In the mean time I've stored the pile in a corner of the garden - having rabbits is not really conducive to tidy gardening anyway - and give them a couple of branches a day to munch through, which keeps them busy and happy. Unless I try to take a photo, of course.


Madam Punky M. Rabbit is NOT AMUSED



...And It's Still Winter...

For the third year in a row, hubby took the boys to Sweden to visit their Aunty and cousins in the spring break. I say spring, but as you can see by the photos, winter still has a strong grip on Scandinavia. However there were no complaints about the cold (mainly because I wasn't there!), and they all had a great time. It was also the boy's first ever time on skis, and they spent some time burning off energy cross-country skiing.

Niels was determined not to be photographed, so this photo above is the only one of him on skis. Carl, a natural exhibitionist, was only too happy to pose of course. He also celebrated his seventh birthday with his cousins; it's hard to believe he's growing up so fast. Last night he came downstairs half an hour after I'd put hi mto bed to announce he had discovered a wiggly tooth. He returned to bed...then raced downstairs ten minutes later with the tooth in his hand and a bloody hole in his top gum! Apparently he just couldn't wait for nature to take it's course and pulled it out himself. Eeeeuuuuuww!

No I Don't Glow In The Dark

Fuel rod control mechanism on top of reactor vessel

Every now and again I get to do something very cool for my job. This is one such occassion. Can you guess what this is? Anybody...anybody.... Ok, I'll tell you. I'm leaning on the top of a nuclear reactor vessel. A real one. This is a massive metal structure that houses a nuclear Pressurized Water Reactor (PWR), the most common type of nuclear reactor used today. Those big metal pipes coming out contain the control rod mechanism, which allow the uranium fuel rods to be raised or lowered into the core to speed up or slow down the fission reaction. How cool is that?
A couple of weeks ago I visited the International Nuclear Academy in Chalon-sur-Saone, a town in Burgundy, France. They have access to a nuclear power station simulator which includes every important piece of equipment you find in an operating nuclear plant. Not replicas or small models, but the real things. And it's all HUGE. I can't even imagine how many tens of millions of euros it's all worth.
The centre is used to give power plant operators and technicians hands-on training, and I had a lot of fun climbing up and over steam generators, handling fuel bundles, peering through massive coolant lines and watching trainees hone their skills removing spent fuels rods out of a reactor (below). The reactor pool is even filled with tens of thousands of litres of water, glowing a bright blue, just like the real thing.


Operators removing spent fuel rods and inserting new ones into a reactor vessel

The only thing missing of course is the uranium; this is all real equipment but obviously none of it has been used with real fuel so there's no radiation. You can even practice filling up spent fuel rod canisters (below).



Spent fuel canister



It may not sound like a great day out of some people, but I felt like a kid in a toy shop. Definitely a highlight so far!

Yes It Was THAT Flu

It turns out that our town has been hit by the Mexican flu, so I suppose that's what made Carl so sick. In the end he was off school for a week, but he's still tired and a bit paler than normal. Niels recovered quickly and is now completely in denial that he was ever sick. At least he doesn't suffer from man-flu (yet!).

Spring is finally arriving and I'm crossing every apendage hoping that we don't get a late snow storm or freeze. The flowers have started to come out, the birds are chirping like mad, and the bunnies are digging up the lawn. Again.



Rocco dozing in the sun



Rocco is doing brilliantly, and I've just taken a quick pic of him in the garden, dozing in the sun (above). He can hold this pose for anything up to about quarter of an hour before suddenly coming to life and hopping off to continue his rounds in the garden. I guess it's the bunny equivalent of nodding off in front of the t.v., without the drool. And in case you are wondering why Punky Muffin never seems to be in the photo with him, it's because every time I walk outside, this happens:

Punky Muffin: "pet me or feed me, just don't ignore me!"

Och Aye, It's Glasgow!



My tartan

 So we made it to Glasgow, woo-hoo! By Saturday morning Niels was looking a bit rough; his temp had gone up to 39.1 so I gave him a dose of paracetemol and he seemed to cheer up. He is so rarely sick it was bit of a novelty for all of us, and we kept our fingers crossed that it wasn't going to develop into anything too bad. First priority was the slap-up buffet breakfast downstairs. Niels first ecstatic words were "Cool, they've got haggis for breakfast!" and he tucked into a plateful of that. (I know, I know, but he's a half Dutch-half New Zealand kid who lived a large part of his life in Singapore and loves haggis, what can I say). I enjoyed some black pudding while Carl tucked into a bowl of baked beans...I wasn't volunteering to sit next to him for the rest of the day!
We spent the morning with friends, whose daughter kindly offered to babysit the boys while we went to the party that night (thanks Karen!). After indulging in a lovely roast chicken lunch we resisted the urge to just roll our now considerably round bellies back into our beds for a wee nap and instead headed off to the excellent Science Centre, one of Glasgow's highlights. After half an hour in the very cool interactive and hands-on Science Mall we watched an amazing film in the Imax theatre there about the Hubble space telescope. Emerging feeling very small and insignificant in the grand scale of things indeed, Niels was clearly started to wilt so we walked back to the hotel - which is next to the Science Centre - to chill for a few hours.
Surprisingly both kids were keen for dinner, Carl indulging his passion for good old English fish and chips with a bowl of baked beans on the side (guess whose bed he's was going to be sleeping in tonight?).
In the evening I slipped into my new tartan skirt and it was off to the party. It was an enjoyable evening and we returned to the room by about 11pm and said goodbye to Karen. Both boys were asleep in one big bed so we were getting ready to hit the sack...when in wobbled Carl, shivery and feverish, tearful and jittery. I took his temperature and it was FORTY TWO DEGREES!!!!
Cue controlled panic mode as we simultaneously stripped him off, dosed him up on Paracetemol and draped wet towels over his upper body to try and quickly cool him down before he started having a seizure. Clearly he'd caught what Niels had but in a more aggresive form. Crisis averted, but we would be keeping a close eye on both of them for a few days.
The next morning the boys were both feeling pretty rotten but making the most of it. After a very small breakfast - let's face it none of us needed more food anyway! - they crawled back into bed and stayed there until we caught our bumpy flight home.
Funnily enough they both keep saying what a fun weekend it was and how much they love Scotland, which just goes to show that if we could all look on the bright side of life as much as kids do, we'd all be happier people.

Bumpity Bumpity Bump...

Ok as hubby rang especially from the North Sea last night to remind me, I can't keep complaining about the winter because we DID make it to Scotland last Friday afterall, despite the high winds. After our flights were cancelled we were luckily able to get seats on the evening flight departing at 8:35 for Glasgow and discovered it is possible to get sea sick on a plane. Yes, sea sick.

Meanwhile, Niels had come home for lunch on Friday and seemed off colour. He was quite tired so rather than send him back to school we bundled him into bed for a rest since it was going to be a late night. By the time we went to the airport he had a bit of a high temperature so I packed Paracetemol and my digital thermometer just in case.

As we boarded the plane the first thing we noticed was that it was MOVING. Not rolling down the runway, but sloshing from side to side as the wind gusts outside made it heave and pitch like a ship anchored in a stormy bay. We staggered down the aisle like 150 drunken sailors and it's the first time I've boarded a plane and heard every passenger clicking their seat belts on before the engines have even started. Ominous. The kids were excited to be off to another country, favourite monkey and bear clutched in their hands and no sign of sleepiness despite the late hour.

Taking off was...interesting. Remember that stormy bay? Apparently there were a few ski jumps installed just for fun and we bounced over every one before the wheels left the ground. Trying to keep a jolly I tone I said to the kids "this is fun, isn't it...aaaaAAAAAAAAAaaaahh!" as the wings dipped first left, then right, then the plane did that bizarre maneuvere where the nose twitches left, the tail flicks right, and you just know deep inside that planes are not supposed to fly diagonally! As we climbed steeply - presumably to avoid any more ski jumps - the sloshing sensation continued and Carl slowly turned pale, then slightly greenish. Out came the sick bag and I was left cursing the fact that Mum's always get to sit between the kids; why is it never Dad's that get puked on? Was that hidden in the small print of the marriage vows?

Amazingly once we gained altitude the flight smoothed out, the puke crisis was averted and the landings - there were about four before the wheels finally settled on the ground for good - were not too frightening. As my Dad says, any landing you can walk away from is a good one. It was off to the Crown Plaza where the kids were too hyper to sleep before 1 am, and hubby and I resorted to splitting up and taking one boy each into our beds and shutting the connencting room doors to settle them down. Hardly a romantic start to the weekend.

Now I REALLY Hate Winter

I just sat down to check up in for our flights to Scotland, where we plan to have a weekend away with the kids and go to hubby's belated work Xmas party. PLANNED, I should say; our flight has been cancelled due to strong winds. Bugger bugger bugger. Looks like I won't get to wear my new tartan skirt after all.

Kid's City; Play Paradise in Borne

In the weekend the boys and I finally made it to Kid's City, a large indoor playground about 30 minutes away in Borne, near the German border. I say finally because we were on our way out the door to visit it when Rocco had his accident. Although I moan about my kids sometimes, I was proud of the way they swallowed their disappointment at having that trip cancelled as they were literally climbing into the car and focused on Rocco's problems for the weekend instead; not bad for a 6 and 9 year old.

The delay just made our visit even more fun this time. With a swash-buckling pirate theme, Kids City is three floor of sweat-inducing fun for under 12s. The multi-layered playground is of the type you see everywhere these days with netted sides and padded obstacles, except bigger and better! 50 different play elements have been incorporated into the structure, which is a veritable maze. Several seating areas provide places for parents to escape to, although as is always the case in these places, ear plugs or an iPod are essential to prevent your brains bledding out of your ears every time (someone ele's) brat gives a piercing squeal.

The cafe sells pirate themed food and for those who really can't bear to leave, there's a Pirate Buffet at night. Really.
Because the seating area is raised up, you can look down into the play area and watch Dad's being pelted to a pulp in the ball-bin, and little boys pinging themselves of the walls of the bouncy castle until they want to puke. And all for only €4.95 per child! Guess where we'll be going for Carl's 7th birthday next month...

Update on Rocco, & the Perfect Winter Pavillion

Firstly thanks to those of you who rang or emailed messages of support for Rocco. The good news is; he's doing fabulously! In fact after the first day he couldn't figure out what all the fuss was about, although he was high for a week on painkillers which may explain that. Anyway I appreciated the good wishes and they at least partially compensated for the 125 new grey hairs which appeared overnight. Rocco had his stitches removed on Monday afternoon, and he is healing well. I've just this minute raced outside to take a photo so here he is:

I think his new look makes him look wily and wise, although it has been sorely tempting to put a pirate patch over his eye...
By the way this photo was taken in the bunnies new Winter Pavillion. After last year's cold and snowy winter I wanted to find a good solution for the rabbits this year that would allow them to enjoy their daily activities outside without having the discomfort of dealing with the snow and ice for weeks on end. I think Rocco is too much of a Senior Bun to have to deal with wading through snow, and sometimes last year the fur around his bum seemed to be wet and cold for days. So one afternoon in late November I had a flash of inspiration and sketched up the design for the Winter Pavillion. Our good freind Derek agreed to make it, and even drew it up professionally in 3D Auto Cad to make sure it was perfect!The Pavillion is basically a deep tray with an overhanging roof, raised off the ground to prevent it getting damp. Lower access points have been made on three sides, wheels at one end and a handle at the other make it easy to move, and the generous overhang keeps out snow and rain. With a deep layer of hay it's the perfect place to chill, hang out, and have your ears licked (if you're into that kind of thing). The main thing is, the bunnies LOVE it! Key to the success of the Pavillion I think is that it's open on all sides so they have a 360 degree view (well at least Punky Muffin does because she can see!) to patrol the garden, while still being sheltered from wind and rain. Once the snow started falling they literally spent all day in there, nibbling on snacks like veges or apple branches which I toss in a couple of times a day. If anybody wants the plans on CD, you can have them in excahnge for a donation to the Opvang Franky rabbit rescue; just send me an email via the comments button below.
With Rocco being blind (even before he lost his right eye), he relies on his sense of smell to navigate around the garden and the snow seems to mask many of the familiar scents; the first snowy day I saw him standing bewildered and a bit lost, nose in the air, trying to figure out where he was. So each day I shovelled the 'bunny trails' clear for him, keeping his regular circuit free of snow; the perimieter of the garden, his favourite pee spot, access to either side of the Winter Pavillion and to the ivy plant he's determined to kill by chewing through its ankles before spring. With these paths kept clear he would happy hop around, stretching his legs doing his circuit before snuggling back into the pavillion. We could almost hear him happily "bumbly bumbly bumbly" - ing to himself as he went along. As I tell my friends, my rabbits are not spoilt; they are much loved.

A VERY Bad Day

Yesterday was supposed to be such a nice day. The kids and I discovered that there's a massive indoor playground about half an hour away on the A1 heading towards Germany and planned to spend the day there; me with a pile of books and my iPod, them running around and yelling themselves hoarse in the pirate-themed 'play paradise'.

We were getting ready to go, and in the back of my mind it registered that I hadn't seen Rocco outside for a while. As we got our stuff together I glanced out a few times, checking the places he would normally be around 10am and decided to have a quick check before jumping in the car. I found him in the hutch with his back to the door. Opening up the lid I said " hey Rocco..." then noticed two drops of blood in the straw bedding. Carefully scooping him up, I looked down and spotted a red mass protruding from his head where his right eye should be. It was one of those horrendous moments, when you feel like your guts have just dropped into your shoes while your brain implodes against the top of your skull. My heartbeat went from 60 to 120 in about 0.5 of a second as Crisis Mode set in. I quickly put him back down, flicked the door of the hutch shut in case he tried to leave and ran inside. Grabbing the phone I rang the vet clinic; they were just about to shut. After telling them I would be there in less than 5 minutes with an emergency I yelled at the kids to either come with me or stay here but to decide RIGHT NOW. Within a minute I had Rocco in the car and we were at the vet within 2 more minutes.

At first it looked hopeful; as the vet first cleaned the wound with saline, the red mass turned out to be a blood clot. However as she rinsed further we both went "Oh!" as we simultaneously saw what was clearly the lens of the eye crumpled on his lower eye lid. The eyeball was ruptured. The eye would have to be surgically removed and the lids stitched permanently shut if he was to survive.

It's at moments like this that I start mentally kicking myself in the head as I try not to get emotional, not to let feelings take over from logic and crowding the space in my head as critical split-second decisions need to be made. The vet and her assistant were both on their own time; in theory I should bring Rocco back on Monday (never an option) or find the emergency vet in the region. However without hesitation she asked her assistant if she would work overtime and the answer was yes.

There was no question about whether or not to operate. Rocco has been practically blind in both eyes anyway for a long time due to cataracts, and if he survived the operation his quality of life would not be impaired; he would not be in any pain or further handicapped. However the big danger was the anaesthetic. Rocco is 'officially' (according to the vet) the oldest rabbit in our town, and at 9 years 7 months, the oldest one she has ever seen. Surviving the operation was a huge risk for him, but one we had to take. There simply wasn't another option. As he hunched on the examination table, motionlessly leaning his head in the palm of my hand, I wondered if this was goodbye. He never made a noise the entire time, but feeling that small weight of him in my hand, leaning for support in a silent plea for help, I was acutely aware that his life was literally in the balance. Gently putting him back into the cage, I tried not to think that I may never get to pat him again and telling him I'd see him soon, I left.

There followed 90 nail-biting minutes while I waited at home for the phone call. I filled the time frantically trying to find what he had poked his eye on, and setting up a large cage in the lounge for him to recover in for the next week or so. He will have to be separated from Punky Muffin until the stitches come out (PLEASE don't let them un-bond again!) and for the first night he would need extra heating to prevent post-operative shock setting in.

Finally the phone rang; he had survived and was starting to wake up. I collected him gratefully, only just resisting the temptation to crush the vet in a huge hug. Gingerly laying him in his temporary home in the lounge, he flopped groggily into the soft bedding and gradully woke up over the next four hours or so. By late afternoon he was starting to nibble vegetables, and he was more or less fully awake by late evening. This morning he was feeling a bit lethargic but since the weather was sunny and all the snow has melted in the past couple of days I let him out - closely supervised - to spend time on the grass with Punky Muffin. He immediately cheered up, gave himself a thorough groom and started trying to hump her. He is truly unbelievable.

The reason I'm posting these pictures is so that you can see that while small animals do get seriously hurt despite our best attempts to keep them safe, rapid veterinary help can do wonders. Don't give up on them. The odds of Rocco not waking up after surgery were high, but he deserved the chance, and he sailed through. He's got some recovering to do but with continued TLC he should make a full recovery and be back harassing his girlfriend within 8 or 9 days. Once the swelling goes down and his fur grows back he won't look like he's just gone 3 rounds with Mike Tyson. The point is our pets deserve every chance we can give them to lead long, healthy lives.