A WORD TO ALL MY FRIENDS

You will no longer find me on Facebook. I was embarrassing my offspring. However, no-one, repeat no-one, will prevent me from blogging!

Please bookmark me. Cheers!

Bad enough but not this bad!

Survived the first morning back in the office!

Back to work tomorrow. SuperSpouse still convalescing, but improving. And he has three fine big boys to keep him company, so I'm not leaving him home all alone!

I'm told my desk is so loaded with backlog that you can't actually see the desk. Watch this space - I'll show you the real thing!

... and the printer is on overtime!

I ironed the morning of my wedding; ironed when I went into labour; and ironed when I started printing out my magnum opus last night.

The end isn't in sight yet - I won't have got there until it's fit to be cloth-bound and delivered to the library - but at least I'm heading in the right direction. And that means a trip to get it soft-bound this afternoon.

This morning, I had to go to PC World for more ink, even though I bought two cartridges last week. Sigh! To add to my wish-list of shares in Kleenex, Andrex and Domestos, I want shares in HP. Once I have all this 'spare time', I shall investigate just how FEW shares a person can have!

We have a document!

I'm now, officially, at an impasse, awaiting approval of a couple of little details, before I can print the whole thing out.

So, what does a Pseudo Supermum do now? The laundry washing is up-to-date, though the ironing basket is awaiting attention - and introduction to two new co-workers, who will from henceforth be doing their own.

I could cook. (The invalid has regained his appetite if not all of his mobility.) I could sort out books to return to the library. Or I could drink tea. Such an array of choices!

When I finally print out and submit my document, I have to do something spectacular to celebrate. This isn't celebrating the end of the project, just a crucial point prior to the viva.

I've been wanting to do another collage, and trying to decide what to depict. It had to be something Scottish, but not a cliche'd mishmash of typically Scottish images.

I've decided to interpret one of the plates from the book that SuperSpouse gave me for my Big Birthday last year - William Daniell's Scotland. I'm looking forward to visiting Mandors fabric store!

Pseudosupermum is Off the Radar

SuperSpouse went into hospital on Tuesday 9th June for a knee-replacement operation.
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He came out on Saturday 13th June, and on Sunday became very sick. We had the doctor out twice in 12 hours. The anti-nausea drugs mean he hasn't thrown up since Sunday night, but he's still in bed, sleepy, weak and nauseous.
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The operation was a success - but he's not feeling the benefit in the slightest, because he feels so rough.
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I'm off work until he can be left alone. Technically, I'm a carer, according to the local authority definition. Meanwhile, I have given up visiting Facebook, and probably won't post here again until there's some news of distinct improvement. I don't want to clutter up cyberspace with neurotic whingeing!
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Friends who think I need cheering up - you're right! - please email me, and I'll be delighted to hear from you.

Looking for Pa's missing hat - that is, the hat that used to belong to my father, but which my son 'inherited' as a prized keepsake - I ended up tidying the clutter of skates and jackets and school-stuff and sports kits in our hallway.

Heck! I've been so busy with this thesis that I've allowed my sons to morph into slobs. A confetti of tiny bits of paper, toys, a guitar pedal, gloves, crumpled worksheets, invitations to an award ceremony!, school photo orders, smelly dishcloths (from domestic science) - and we won't mention the sports kits ...

The washing machine hove into action again. Viola Kid (who was responsible for more than two-thirds of the slobbery) has hoovered the carpet and chucked away loads of redundant pages. Two more washer-loads to go, then all I'm left with is accepting the awards invite and accepting the sad fact that we have lost Pa's precious hat. I fear it went to SmallFry's school for "Wear something funnny" Day. I don't remember saying it could, but it did. And I don't think it returned.

I'm a big grown-up adult with a husband, job and three kids, but I MISS THAT HAT!

Seated one day at the organ, I was weary and ill-at-ease -
PhD, hubby's knee, car ignition -
& the Renfrewshire quarantine - Jeez!
How much stress can a working mum handle:
With these crises all dumped on my plate?
But I'm no' gonnae let them defeat me,
'Cos my thesis must NOT end up late!

Swine Flu Alert!

Viola-Kid has been excluded from school for a week because an S1 pupil that he doesn't even know, tested positive for swine-flu. So, ALL the first years get Tamiflu, and have to stay off school and away from other kids for a week.

I was at a parents' meeting this afternoon (yes, Saturday afternoon) for an official briefing and the Tamiflu. Viola-Kid was not allowed to attend, though there were plenty of little boys hanging around outside the building, eagerly boasting that they were "getting jags". They aren't. Just boring capsules to swallow, which is nothing much to boast about.

We had angry, shouting parents, and as I left, I noticed police on the doors. Saxophone-Kid (who I had to take with me and leave in the car, in the car-park) wondered if any press were there. I wouldn't be surprised. Sax-Kid also told me that one of the little boys was roaming around, trying car doors. I wonder if HE knew about the police presence ...

Fabulous Array of Choices Today!

• Revise chapter 6
• Do online Tesco order
• Hang laundry up INDOORS having dashed out to rescue it from shower
• Think about lunch
• "Sheepdog" the boys into getting up and dressed. It's only noon, I s'pose.

Why not have a go at my new Quiz feature, to the right of this panel? (Yes, you're right, I'm feeling hard-done-by!)

Friends, I am officially Public Enemy no.1. Not wanting my very handsome middle son to end up like the image, left, we went to the hairdresser.

I offered the choice of gents' barber or unisex hairdresser. No preference was expressed. Neither, in the past, has cooperated with my efforts to see my son's face.

I resorted to bribery this time. Well, that was the aim. In fact, since he compromised with me, I compromised with him. The hairdresser didn't cut as much fringe as I'd hoped for ...

As we left town, the radio was playing a Kyrie by Richard Harvey, from the Da Vinci Code. Requiem for a Fringe?
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Six in ten Scots children do not know how to boil an egg. Cate Devine revealed our national shame in the Herald yesterday (Wednesday 20 May 2009).

( - and if your kids happen not to LIKE eggs???!)

MUMMY THE SHEEPDOG - HERDING HER FLOCK

You'd think I'd asked him to jump into a peat-bog, not do his practice! Did you hear the squeals, screams and yells? Piano came first. The piano is in the dining-room. My desk is there, too. I couldn't write a SENTENCE!

Tinkle, tinkle. (That was the highest notes on the piano. Painful on the ears.) 'How about starting your practice, son?'

Plink, plonk. (The left hand is a tone too low, AND he's decided to play with F sharps not B flats in the bass clef.)

Ah, progress. Three consecutive bars. No. False start, false hope. He can't get the hands together.

Saxophone next. That lives in the lounge. But the screams and yells would have made the neighbours think I was assaulting him. Truthfully, all I did was stand at the lounge door, 15 feet away from him, and ask him to practise. I pay the fees, he plays - seems a fair deal to me. (Boo-hoo! Big bad Mummy.)

I've given up work for tonight. No-one seems to realise that I'd actually have quite liked a couple of quiet hours revising my introduction ...

The image is from Zazzle.com - I hope they will forgive me, because I did order a t-shirt from their website this afternoon!

Bibliographing, that's what I've been doing.

Listen up, folks! I've written seven chapters, compiled my appendices, compiled and formatted my bibliography, formatted ALL my footnotes!, and revised the first two chapters.

Now I'm waiting for feedback from my supervisor so that I can revise the other five chapters. I want to submit my thesis by 31 May, so this is really rather urgent!

However, tonight, I have a special treat in store. Going through the bibliography, I noted a few references that I ought to revisit, in case there's anything I need to mention in my thesis. Heavens, some actual reading again? Now, that does make a change!

Hormone Displacement Therapy. HDT.

You think I've got it wrong, don't you? Well, I haven't. There are too many male hormones in my house, and I'm not menopausal. I don't need HRT, I need HDT.

I've just stumbled across a website claiming to Banish All Menopause Symptoms for a mere $24.95. But I couldn't find a website claiming to calm the volcanic erruptions in a houseful of men - one past his midlife crisis, two Hormonal Horrible Henrys and a dear little boy who hasn't hit the adolescent hormones yet.

So, we need HDT. Someone out there must have some solutions. Share it with me, and I'll give it a go. We could even market it at $23.95, a get-rich-quick scheme that simply cannot fail.

Huh, parenthood! It's not just Johnson's baby-powder and toddler tantrums in the supermarket.

Update!

Since I last posted here, Chapter 6 has been born, grown obese, and has been split, amoeba-style, into Chapters 6 and 7. That's thanks to Patrick Dunleavy's helpful Authoring a PhD. I discovered it was bad form to have 19000 words in a chapter. I have to say that there was a completely obvious place to make the split, and it works well. I'm very pleased with my two new chapters.

Today I wrote my conclusion for Chapter 7! Total wordcount now is 77328. I've also drawn up one of my Appendices, and this evening will be dedicated to starting another. This one is a bit tricky and might be regrettably long, but I won't know how bad it is until I compile it. Sigh!

The boys are obligingly keeping out of the way and honouring my study leave. I am officially 'here but not here', working far longer than office hours and ignoring Facebook into the bargain!

Futures Scotland Innovation Leadership: a creativity and innovation programme for researchers. Now, what's this all about? It's a two-day leadership development opportunity for high flying PhD students and researchers.

The big question is:- Can a little brown fieldmouse of a subject specialist librarian ever be said to be a high flyer?

I don't know. So, we'll let the powers-that-be decide. Watch this space.

PROGRESS REPORT

Happy to relate that the draft of Chapter 5 is finished and I'm trying to muster the energy to start on Chapter 6. The final chapter!

Running total: 55,444

Viola Kid: "Mum, have you had your hair cut?"
SuperSpouse: "Thanks, Son!"
Viola Kid: "My pleasure, Dad."
Saxophone Kid: "Eeeeeeoooooooooo!" It looks ... different! ( One had to hear this to realise it was NOT a favourable response.)

Why oh why oh why oh why oh WHY do I bother?! (My colleagues thought it was fantastic. Thank heavens for small mercies.)