radegund: (swans)
This afternoon I FINALLY attacked the landing cupboard, where stacks and nests and huddles of the Oyster's outgrown clothes have been lurking. I started out all organised (in, like, 2006), with folding and keeping like with like and everything, but that broke down fairly quickly, and for years it's been a case of stuffing things in wherever there's space.

I pulled everything out and triaged it, then put it back in piles and bags, with - and this is the genius part - labels on the shelf saying "Feaster's next size", "Feaster plus 2 sizes", "Feaster plus 3 sizes", "Oyster outgrowing". So when they move up a size, we just shift everything over. I'm counting on the Feaster moving through the next couple of sizes faster than the Oyster, which means we shouldn't need much more space than we're using now (or at least, not until the clothes get really large).

Curiously, we seem to have about twice as many 2-3-year-old clothes as the sizes on either side of it. Hmmm. I wonder if that's because this is the size the Oyster was when I took my first career break, and I was revelling in my ability to pay attention to what he wore?

For my next trick, I'll tackle the Feaster's outgrowns, which are stuffed in a plastic box in our room. They'll go up to the attic when I've separated the sizes. I'm not sure if I'll have individual bags for all the overlapping and incompatible small-baby sizes, or just have bags numbered 1, 2, 3, etc., or what. But that's altogether less urgent than today's task, which was long overdue.

And now I don't have to go panic-shopping for the Feaster, who is popping out of nearly everything. I've even washed all of the size he's moving into, so I can make the transition over the next few days. Result!
radegund: (stone-sparkles)
On Saturday, I was downcast nigh unto despair. I could see no way out. All was bleak and hopeless. For lo, the outfit that I'd been planning for [livejournal.com profile] glitzfrau and [livejournal.com profile] biascut's civilisation was Not Working. Horror! Horror!

I had a skirt. It's a lovely skirt - plain, long, made of sea-blue raw silk (and gleaned silk, at that, for extra smug points). I had a pair of shoes - white patent flat Mary-Janes, which are not exactly dressy, but I thought would be just quirky enough (on the Mother-of-Two axis) to work. So I abandoned [livejournal.com profile] niallm to the raucous unmercies of our sons and went into town, hunting for Something Fabulous™ to complete the outfit. Constrained by the requirement for breastfeedability, I was still hopeful that the thing could be pulled off. A plainish vest top, I was thinking, and a jacket of purest peacock. More Lady Who Lunches than Rock Chick, but I reckoned I could handle that.

Two vile, sweaty, head-throbby hours later, I retreated home, tail very much between legs. I'd found - indeed, bought - a vest top that I thought might work, but jacket came there none. It appears that peacock is not this season's vibe. In the end, I seized a beaded shruggy object that didn't look terrible with the skirt, brought the vest top back for a refund, and bailed, inwardly wailing and resigning myself to another foray into the abyss.

Cut to this afternoon, as I contemplated said foray with dread. Could I alter something to allow breastfeeding, perhaps? A discreet pair of zips on the seam of an empire-line bodice might work. It was worth a look. So I went to the wardrobe and took out, for a start, my grey silk beaded dress, to which La Glitz herself had alluded when I was bellyaching to her a couple of weeks ago about my outfitlessness (that's terrible etiquette, I know, but she didn't seem to mind...). "Nay, nay, go to," I had said to her, or words to that effect. "That dress hath a halterneck, and verily, it will not party with a nursing bra."

O me of little faith. I should've remembered the uncanny extent to which Glitz is my fashion fairy. (Srsly. We go shopping together, and shops just ... bow to her will and bring forth fabulous garments for me to wear.)

For no sooner had I taken out the dress than the solution sprang fully formed from my head. It was the work of a moment to whip off my T-shirt and wriggle into the dress. The halterneck, as expected, leaves the bra-straps exposed - BUT! BUT! it allows surprisingly easy access for feeding. And with the addition of my new shruggy object [ETA: it calls itself a "cover-u"], the bra-strap visibility is a non-issue. So as long as I remain shrugged, and take care, when untying the halterneck for a feed, not to let the whole front of the dress drop indecorously to my waist, we're good to go. It's all a bit XTREEM BEADZ0RZ OMG ELEVENTY-BEADED, but that's OK.

I mean, let's face it, I'm hardly going to outdress the civilisees.
radegund: (stone-sparkles)
(Except that it's not me being mysterious. But I'm the Birthday Girl, and I want to be International and Of Mystery, and YOU CAN'T STOP ME. So there.)

This past week or so, I've been getting strong hints that Something is planned for this evening. "Keep 8pm to midnight on Friday free," says [livejournal.com profile] niallm. "We might be seeing you on Friday," says a friend I bump into in town. So far so good.

Then yesterday evening, Niall casually mentions that he needs to go out for a bit after dinner and Oyster bedtime, for Sekrit Reasons. He leaves at 21:00 and returns at 23:00. He answers all my guesses as to his whereabouts in the negative.

And then, I'm driving to the RDS for the Knitting and Stitching Show (...oh...so...much...porn...), and I ring Niall to see how his day is going, and he says, "By the way, don't open the boot."

"Is there a puppy in there?" says I.

"No, a pony," says he.

"Hooray," says I, and inch on down the Canal.

So I'm curling up with the curiosity, here.

And I wouldn't mind, only he has ALREADY surpassed himself with the showering of gifts, having acquired, on the cheap (thengawd), a MAC MINI (secondhand) to replace my slightly limping but nonetheless beloved Cube. Which he got for me last birthday. (Niall gives good tech.) I feel ... engulfed by generosity. But in a good way :-)
radegund: (swan-head)
Friends, I am flattened. First (last Tuesday) I got tonsillitis. Then [livejournal.com profile] niallm conceded that the nasty cough he had was serious; came home from work; went to the doctor and got diagnosed with a chest infection; started taking antibiotics; proceeded to have really high temperatures for several days; saw no improvement in the cough; injured his back on Saturday afternoon by being racked by a coughing spasm just as he leaned forward to pick something up; passed out (twice) shortly before midnight on Saturday; saw another doctor in the small hours of Sunday; and started taking a second lot of antibiotics, plus steroids, painkillers and sleeping tablets. Which brings us to yesterday, when I was due to go back to work. Only What With One Thing And Anotherâ„¢, my tonsils hadn't cleared up. So I went back to the doctor and got another prescription, and I'm certified sick until the end of the week.

It's not the sickness that's knocked me out, really. It's the fact that Niall actually couldn't leave his bed for several days, and now he can't lift Oisín until further notice, so I've been doing more than usual. But the sickness isn't helping. I hope the drugs work. (Normally, I'm very leery of taking antibiotics, but there comes a time...)

*****************

So! Take my mind off it!

[Poll #588903]
radegund: (stone-sparkles)
Clotheses! )

Shoeses? )
radegund: (swan-head)
From lots of people:

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