Note to self: when making plans, screw up the bit of paper and throw it away (or put it in the recycling bin - do the right thing, you slovenly slattern). My plans last night were to watch the new quiz show on 7 (I'm thinking I just might try out for it), and suck on a beer. I got far enough to get the lid off my low-carb blonde beer. I might even have had a mouthful, but my 9yo started to grizzle, and that grizzle spiralled into a wail. His ear was hurting. His ear never hurts, so concerned, I took him to the hospital. His obs were taken, he was given pain relief and a blanket, and we waited for the on-call doctor. I sat there with my beautiful boy curled up in my lap; he eventually dozed off. There was one other patient there, with a support person. She was of a NESB, and I heard the hard-working and dedicated nurses talking to her. They established that she has no children, and that they would take care of her. I heard her say, 'He will be cranky.' The nurse said, 'You are here because of him. We will get you to [SHE NOMINATED ANOTHER HOSPITAL IN ANOTHER TOWN] where there is a bed, and when you are safe, he will be contacted. Don't be afraid. We will look after you.' I sat there with smoke billowing from my ears, wondering whether to offer to ring my husband and arrange for him, or another guy to go and give this guy a visit to ascertain whether the cowardly fuck would raise his fist to a bloke.
By the by the on-call doctor arrived. My beautiful boy awoke, went to the examination room and vomited on the floor. Wonderful. Anyway, he's been given ear drops and antibiotics. I got him home and once in the door he sprayed our floorboards with a torrent of acrid puke. I rushed for the paper towels, and my husband held not our son, but our new pup, lest our fur-baby make a beeline for the vomit and chow down. I really don't think I could have stood that last night. Or any night for that matter.
We were supposed to attend the annual show in my home town (45 minutes away) today, and I was worried he wouldn't be up to the trip. Au contraire, he was as bright as a box of budgies today. So we travelled en famille and watched my father (their Pop) officially open the Show. My father is quite well known in rodeo circles - he's actually very famous in those circles. Some things never change. Some do. I remember so well the iron (?) pipes the ring was constructed from, and climbing on them for the best seat in the house. It's changed. The ring is now constructed from rails of what appears to be a galvanised steel. At least I think it's galvanised steel, however I'm a writer, not a metallurgist. But the fences and gates at the buckjumping corral haven't changed from my childhood. They are still splintery boards with peeling white paint. I attended many a rodeo in my childhood as my father was often competing or judging, and I think there is some mandate that the pens where the buckjumpers and bullocks line up must be timber, splintered, and have white paint battered and weathered by the elements, and be as shabby as a bag lady. And I love it.
'Big Dog', the mascot from my local television channel, appeared. He walked around the ground, and I heard the emcee calling for Big Dog to get into the ring for tug-o-war with the children. Big Dog had by this time disappeared. The emcee kept calling for him, and I was wondering whether Big Dog was sitting on the toilet with his costume pooled around his ankles. Possibly the actor inside the suit was wondering what three years' study at NIDA had been for, if this was the gigs he was doing. Who knows. Didn't see Big Dog for the rest of my time there. Didn't see many familiar faces, but the emcee has been involved with the shebang for years. I remember sitting in church aged about 15, and seeing him walking back from Holy Communion, as my friend nudged me and whispered, 'Look at the spunk!'
Well, the children are worn out from the excitement, and the little one from having been ill. So he is now being fed anti-seizure medication, antibiotics, and ear drops. He's going to glow in the dark.
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