JoKeane Around

Missives from the land of Keane

Journal

Posted by keanetwins on September 17, 2014

Dear Internet,

Hold me because I have to stand up in front of a group of clever people tomorrow and speak in journal club and, just quietly, I am a little bit not very happy with public speaking. It makes me all flustered and I almost always say something unintentionally funny and wish I hadn’t said it and forget what it was that I am meant to be saying and generally it all goes to hell in a handbasket somewhere between minutes five and ten.

On a good day.

I think I’ll hide behind the lectern and work on growing my hair some more so I can hide behind that, too.

Jo

Ps. Please don’t tell me to imagine people in their underwear. Tried it, didn’t help.

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Protected: Dear Student Doctor

Posted by keanetwins on September 4, 2014

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Dilemma

Posted by keanetwins on August 23, 2014

Dear Internet,

So sorry, it’s been a while etc., all my fault, and so on. Really. I’ve just been at work a lot and somehow once I get there I seem to enjoy finding ways to run around the bowels of a hospital for about fourteen hours looking daft in front of clever people and it just never occurs to me to do anything else like, well, write or (more importantly) study or eat. All day, most days.

….and I can forget about getting anything personal done (beyond an invigorating birdbath and inhaled food) when I get home because THAT is better known as ‘collapse in bed at midnight after getting three children’s lives organised for the next 24 hours’. School lunches for inconveniently disparate fussy eaters are about as much fun at eleven thirty pee em as they sound and also working several weekends in a row does mean having only the elements of food to hand with which to work. Raisin toast counts as a serve of fruit in times of need.

The twins don’t seem to mind, judging by what fails to return, and either they’re throwing it all in the bin or loving preparation and advanced meal planning isn’t as important as I once thought it was and if there is at least reference to a recognised food group before ‘additives’ in the snackie I think that’ll do just dandy.

Anyway, Rosie has fallen asleep on the couch and HALP because what do I do now? She’s been in the bed with me all week and I am really quite fed up with the 3am head in my armpit.

Jo

PS. Two weeks of groceries at once seems to add up to about three hundred painful dollars, an overflowing trolley and one very public toddler floor-plant meltdown alternating with the evergreen sprint-off-in-the-supermarket.

Oh my goodness I’ve missed the stinkers.

PSS. Three ground covers in to replace the three that I put in last week that rather rudely died. I don’t have the nerve to take their corpses back to Bunnings for a refund and, besides, what’s a small Bunnings run between friends for BABYCHINO and MAMACHINO and POWER TOOLS and, also, pebbles around feature trees and SOON! added gazebo and arch with bench and maybe a wee birdbath and I think I really need to leave my garden alone before it runs away screaming.

Hold me, before I buy the birdbath. It’s too late for the rest.

PSSS. New super huge washing machine is a mixed blessing. Ten kilograms is a LOT of underwear.

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Protected: Third

Posted by keanetwins on August 12, 2014

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Send halp

Posted by keanetwins on August 10, 2014

Dear Internet,

Send halp. At once.

The baby has breached the big bed. She’s SNORING.

Oh gads.

Jo

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Milestone

Posted by keanetwins on August 4, 2014

Dear Internet,

I think we have a developmental milestone of emesis.

Or at least I am pretty sure one gastro afflicted twin may have actually uttered the ominous words ‘My tummy hurts’, walked into the laundry, opened the cupboard, fetched the Big Yellow Bucket used only for one reason, walked back in front of the TV and neatly been sick in the bucket.

I’ve never been so excited over ill health in my life.

Jo

Posted in You're Joking? | Tagged: , , | 1 Comment »

Six by two

Posted by keanetwins on July 28, 2014

Dear Internet,

They’re six.

Times two.

Amazing.

They’ve had ice cream, chocolate, toasty, muffin, love, cuddles, presents, happy meals, chips, ice cream cake, caramel mud cake, so much love, ice cream (again), rose cake, hugs, babychino and a zonking great big McDonalds party complete with two ice cream cakes and, really, it’s no bloody wonder they were bouncing around the house at eight thirty pee em, complete with furbies, new shoes, a million barbie dolls and assorted highly desirables for the six year old set (which may possibly have been opened pretty much all of the way from the front of the house to the very back of it) and thank goodness nobody was sick in a quiet corner what will all the food.

I’m still fishing bits of random cardboard out from all over the place.

Seriously, anybody want some lightly used wrapping paper and cardboard?

I can throw in the giant bin liner I’ve captured it all in if it helps and just quietly I am very happy this birthday thing happens no more often than once per year because baking fifty cupcakes after seven nights on and no sleep in thirty hours is about as awful as it sounds.

Except for the bit where the icing and mixture are thoroughly sampled to ensure no toxicity is contained!

Jo

Posted in "Faffing About" | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments »

Send Halp

Posted by keanetwins on July 21, 2014

Dear Internet,

On nightshift.

So tired.

Seen everybody with an ovary and some without in at least three postcodes.

Send halp at once. Coffee mysteriously not working.

Jo

PS. So. Tired. Oh, so tired.

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Hedge

Posted by keanetwins on July 6, 2014

Dear Internet,

Woe is me and sniff and general misery.

Today I bit the gappy-half-dead-in-patches bullet and started the inevitable ripping up of one back border installed in moderate haste three years ago and wailed over (on the baked and deadish side) every summer since.

I’m sorry, goldfussias, whilst most of you were more than half dead (despite liberal replantings consolidating my mistake), the odd green healthy plant was awfully sad (and guilt inducing) to snap or wrench bodily from the ground.

Also, the leafy corpses could glare at me less accusingly from the overfull greenwaste bin. I feel bad enough already.

Basically, sniff.

Tomorrow the lush green side bites the dust and I feel AWFUL,

Jo (my poor gappy looking garden)

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Leave

Posted by keanetwins on June 29, 2014

Dear Internet,

What’s better than a full labour ward, a code green, a laparoscopy in a rather large individual where the people on the top end of the bed helpfully enough won’t allow folded arms OR any head down, three gynae admissions AND an instrumental delivery in theatre?

ANNUAL LEAVE.

Also, margaritas.

And three little people I miss very much. So very much.

And my garden (seriously, another dozen pavers down today between showers in the twee fairy path across the back lawn, some serious plotting for a gazebo down the end of the grass right when I figure out how to convince somebody to transport it home for me, amazing polished black river pebbles freshly laid over that awkward bit on the side of the driveway that is both too small to bother concreting and too big to ignore and a permanent puddle at this time of year in it’s natural state and, well, about a dozen nandina’s in the front yard along with possibly-don’t-tell an internet order for ninety escallonia plants to replace the blasted gappy back garden border that I apparently planted with the Wrong Thing as one third of it refuses to look anything other than rakish and half-deadish despite fertilizer and the love of a drip system).

You should just see my garden, except you might want to wait until I’ve finished ripping out the old border and about a year for the new one to start looking half decent. Anything to avoid renovating the bathrooms.

Anyway, also, there is study and please don’t tell but I actually quite like writing voluminous notes on anything and everything and I may have in my possession ten full ring binders and about twenty spiral bound sets of dead trees with writings on.

If I run out of things to do (ha!) there is always the futile sport known as catching up on endless washing.

Hooray!

Jo

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