Tales of the Worm King

We sat around his bed chatting, sometimes giggling, in hushed tones. Nana and Mum held his hand and stroked his warm, weathered arm, shiny eyed and smiling. Although the outside ward was dark, his room was still bright. And the woman next door had stopped wailing every three minutes. The night began to feel somewhat peaceful. Music played quietly from a small white radio. So quietly you had to strain to hear it over the hiss of his oxygen mask. In between chatting our eyes would rest on him, lying under his white sheet, his chest a cage of bones rising and falling slowly. His broken arm was in a white hospital sling, hiding the black colour of the bruised flesh. His other warm hand, held by Nana was bruised too, from the canular that kept being replaced each time he had pulled out. The same hand with a crooked finger, bent at the first knuckle after an operation. He was the only person we know who could point around a corner. A thin, worn body lay beneath the sheets. The frailty o

Well, officially it's only one senior. I accompanied the old's on a trip to Bunnings to choose paint colours. Luckily rude cheeky pommy 'Paint Expert' Steve had a  sense of humour. Mum - "I NEED more colours than that." Dad - "You don't need more, you just need to choose one that you like and paint it on!" Mum - "No. I need more, to compare them... (to Steve Paint Expert) "what are the 100 colours in Tuscan?" Paint Expert Steve *looking worried* "there are 100 colours??" Mum - "it says so up there" *points to sign* Paint Expert Steve *rolls eyes and goes to computer to check* "well, there are probably more like THOUSANDS of colours, sooooo... what do you want?" Mum *lays out about 50 different colour cards on the counter* Cue banter about which colours can be made into Tuscan, which colours can be made into Tuscan SAMPLES, how much the samples cost, whether Dulux colours can be made with

This will my my 5th attempt at blogging. The previous four were pretty unimpressive, even by my standards. The first was pure waffling (probably just like a standard conversation with me anyway), the second was a rant about Seth's APD. It was a bit too angry and I ran out of steam eventually, a bit like my year 12 major artwork. The third was half-arsed and the fourth was too lovey-dovey. Anyone who knows me, knows that kind of shit doesn't go down too well with me. So... FIFTH TIME LUCKY I say! I thought I'd start off with the latest milestone achieved in our household: Last night Seth's first baby tooth was EXTREMELY wobbly. Of the 'hanging-by-a few-threads' kind of wobbly. It required intervention and Seth knew it. Reminding myself of the good ol' days where my own Dad would assure me that he would just 'see' how wobbly the wobbly tooth was, before getting a good grip and yanking it out (can't believe I fell for that trick so many times).