Sunday, October 30, 2005

A Note from Felix Yeomans

So Tomorrow little O is admitted to hospital. I’ve been quiet on the blogosphere the past week as Bub has kept us up every night screaming. I’d like to put it down to the fact that she’s psychically gifted and knows she’s about to have her back sawed into, but the doctors tell me it was the result of a bad ear infection that landed up bursting her eardrum. Now call me pushy, but I was under the misapprehension that the Universe would give O a break on the usual childhood nasties while she’s having her innards constantly surgically reworked. No such luck. It’s been torturous. She’s been in hideous pain and I chose this as my moment to have a minor personal meltdown. I came face to face with the frightening fear that I may not be able to return to work for a very long time. I worked out the cost of having three babies in full time childcare. Then I worked out how much I could earn full time as a script editor or in-house writer on a TV show. After tax, I would take home a total of two hundred dollars a week.

Two Hundred Dollars. That’s about enough to buy a half decent meal in Sydney.

My friends used to envy my TV salary. Yes, I worked for an evil empire of pernicious little megalomaniacs pretending to be Storytellers, but fuck me, it paid well. That was before I turned into a breeding factory and had to give nine tenths of it away to daycare centres…

An aside.
I am not a good looking person. My husband is attractive. Dark, swarthy, perhaps a little on the crazed terrorist side, but attractive. Yet it’s my bloody Lithuanian Jewish Peasant genes that have inflicted themselves on innocent baby O. And I fear I’m growing two more pale skinned little proletariat porkers. God, if you’re listening (I bet you’re a wicked blogger), please can R’s genes get a look-in? Actually, it’s specific genes I’d like to perpetuate. Can we have his lovely olive skin, but avoid that flabby stuff under his chin? Thanks.

And if you’re wondering what the heading of this post refers to... Just as I have an identity and career crisis of chronic proportions (I even yelled at my father ‘why didn’t you tell me not to bother getting three degrees if all I was going to become was a fat housewife!’), my kitsch little personalised notepad rebels against me. Remember I have a weird name? Remember that lovely R ordered me three personalised notepads so that, for the first time in my life I had something cute with my name on it? Well, on page three of my Note from Yidchick pad, I came across a frightening site.
A Note from Felix Yeomans.
I flipped through the pad and found that, interspersed with my name was this... This awkward, mass-murderer conjuring name that was not mine at all. Felix Yeomans sounds like the boy in your class who picked his nose then ate the snot. Felix Yeomans is the kid who once crapped his pants during choir rehearsal.
I am a fat housewife with three useless degrees and a daughter about to have her most major operation yet. And I’m crapping myself senseless.

Can you tell?


Blogger Urban Chick said...

i can attest to the fact that an HSC (is that right?) in arithmetic is excellent when it comes to calculating how little sleep you need* before you turn into a homicidal maniac

anyway, will be thinking of you and little O this week and hoping the surgery goes well...

warm fuzzies coming at you through the earth's core (faster than long haul plane travel)

* not much

11:12 pm  
Blogger Urban Chick said...

p.s. i have also yelled at my folks along similar lines: why did you not encourage me to be a hairdresser so as i would be living right next door to you so as to facilitate regular babysitting? instead you encouraged me to be a-m-b-i-t-i-o-u-s, follow my heart and climb career ladders 400 miles from the parental home! couldn't you have just been sexist like all my friends' parents? grrrrrr

11:15 pm  
Blogger Calliope said...

Thinking of O as 'the day' nears. If she is half as tough as you I know she will do swimmingly.

I wonder if Felix got some of your name in his message pad? Somewhere in Australia Felix is yelling at the universe, "I am NOT YIDCHICK". Damn right he ain't.

12:01 am  
Blogger Teri said...

Thank you for such a heartwarming and funny post. Hang in there, sweetie. Thoughts and prayers for you and O and her dark, swarthy dad.

1:43 am  
Blogger Lin said...

Bloody the hell does Felix even think he can have a look-see into your personalized life?

Hugs, kisses and courage are being sent your way and strong, healing thoughts for wee Baby O. We need to get her all healthy and strong and feisty and ready for Big Sisterhood!

5:53 am  
Blogger LJ said...

I think I have just added to my list of questions and complaints for the Almighty. Yep. That's pretty certain.

Keep walking, YC. One step, the next step. Seems the ranks of those rooting for you, R and baby O are growing. All that good energy has to be some use.

And by the way, as for being a "fat housewife?" I'm thinking I want the first copy of your first award-winning world famous book. And I have every confidence there will be one.

Get through tomorrow. Whatever blessings I can beg and borrow, I send to O - and her parents.

Much love, YC.

9:29 am  
Blogger Kyahgirl said...

healing vibes to little O. Its part of being a mommy to fall apart at the seams in these situations. But, unlike Humpty Dumpty, you'l be back together again in no time.
Best wishes from the other side of the planet!

3:27 am  

Post a Comment

<< Home