Once he was shy

My son was very shy.  Inordinately shy.  In fact so shy that we thought we would have to do surgery on him when he was a little boy just to remove him from the back of my legs.  He stuck to me. Literally

I may or may not have been a little neurotic given his very hard start in life but it may have just been in the way that I parent. I kept Little Pencil close to me, I pandered to all his needs and I never ever let him cry .  I don’t regret that at all.  Never have and doubt that I ever will.  In fact as I look back at the gazillion or so photos that I have of Little Pencil growing up I remember his childhood with happiness and every picture I see encapsulates that joy.

But Little Pencil was shy, wary of the world and loved me to be around him. All. The. Time. I worried about this when he was at pre-school and his “insecurity” was at its peak. In fact I briefly thought that maybe I had been a bit over the top in the neurosis stakes. But it was a brief thought and I consoled myself that some children are just shy and well, he was a shy child.

Every day I would pick him up from pre-school and look at the teacher beseechingly “was he naughty today?”  I would ask.  I wanted them to answer yes,  because I just wanted him to be confident and happy enough to be naughty in class. Without fail they looked at me like I was inquiring about the wrong child.  Little Pencil at pre-school was never naughty.

When I made the decision to move him from his pre-school that was associated with a primary school to a new school completely my decision was questioned.  In fact I was told by the staff at the pre school that it was the wrong decision, that Little Pencil would not cope with the change and that he would have difficulty making new friends. He was shy, quiet, introspective, not good at handling change or indeed big groups of people. I was told that he was a child that would flourish only in one on one interactions and he should stay with the group of children that he was familiar with

Cue to last week – Parent’s evening for the Year 4 parents.

Academically nothing much has changed for my boy. He is smart and interested in his environment, keen to learn and literally aceing it in his classes. But that is not what concerns me, what I always want to know is “is he happy? Is he shy? is he naughty?

When I ask those questions all these years later the teachers still look at me a little bewildered.  How do they answer this lunatic woman who asks after a child that no longer exists? The child they know talks constantly, incessantly, sometimes even disruptively.  He is social, he extrovert, he is confident and loud.
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Little Pencil is not shy.  In fact he may be a little over confident. And naughty? If chatty is naughty he is scoring pretty close on 100%

I should be getting used to that now, the change happened when he first made the move to all those years ago in Year K.

Little Pencil blossomed at his new school.  He had the chance at only 5 years old to reinvent himself, to be the person he wanted to be without the shackles of his past. Ridiculous to think you can wear the shackles of your past at 5 years of age but scarily true.

At only 5 his peer group and his teachers, even his parents had determined that he was shy.  We never let him be anything else than the shy kid who had been scared to attend pre-school on day one.

A fresh start at a new school that embraced him and welcomed him as an individual allowed him to be himself, and it turns out that that self wasn’t that shy.

I am thrilled that his teachers think I am odd when I ask if he is shy, I am less thrilled that he never shuts up for a second. But I would not have it any other way.

 

The day I was diagnosed by Wikipedia

There is a whooping cough epidemic sweeping across Little Pencil’s school. 5 children in his class have had it and who knows how many cases there are in the school. Well actually I do because the school are very diligent and report every case to the patents

In fact they are so diligent that the nurse has briefed them on how to sneeze (into their elbows) when to wash their hands (after meals and on returning to class) .  They are so diligent that they have even briefed the children on signs and symptoms to look out for.

It was after this briefing that Little Pencil came home and had serious words with me.  “Mom” he said. “ You have a cold.”

I was nonplussed. I do have a cold. You don’t have to be too smart to tell that. My bright red nose and the stream of tissues in my wake puts paid to that. “You need to have a throat swab” he continued “a cold is one of the first symptoms of whooping cough”

He was very serious and quote concerned. He has learned well. And because I am a neurotic hypochondriac who only wants to make her son happy I decided to go to the doctor.

My regular doctor is away and my other regular doctor (see I told you I am a hypochondriac) works too far away for me to be bothered travelling to when I am not feeling great.  So, I trotted off to the local medical centre.

Dr Wiki (as I like to refer to her) sat me down and asked me why I was there.

I explained about the whooping cough at school and my symptoms.  She asked me if the school had given the children a brochure.  They had in fact emailed one to us and  I told her so thinking I would get extra health points for having a diligent centre of education for my son.  “Do you have it with you? “ she asked.  I told her that I didn’t but they were the same as the ones I had seen in the waiting room.  I was beginning to wonder why on earth she needed to know which brochure we received when she said “never mind” and started typing on her computer.

I looked over expecting to see something like www.medicaldoctorsonly.com appear on the screen.  No such luck.  She logged onto Wikipedia.  Yes, my doctor logged onto Wikipedia and started to read aloud how you diagnose for whooping cough.
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I almost ran away.  Except I couldn’t because I would have bumped into her.  She was leaving the room to go and check WITH THE RECEPTIONIST that the facts on Wikipedia were correct.  Presumably the receptionist has her own version of Google Doctor running out the front.

Wikipedia, the receptionist and I agreed that she should do a throat swab (the school had told me this) and after convincing her she could do it through my mouth and not the back of my nose we were almost done.

“Do you still have your tonsils?” she asked after peering down my  throat with a high beam torch.  “Um, take a guess” I countered.  She thought that perhaps I may have tonsillitis but I should wait for the results of the throat swab.

I do not have tonsils.

You don’t have to be a hypochondriac to understand  why I have a regular doctor whom I can trust.  I’ll get the results of the swab from him.

P.S I don’t have a cough

 

 

Being grateful is better than being… anything else

It is fairly well documented that I am slightly neurotic (using slightly to mean over the top) and well, I am a little bit of a scaredy cat.  I have always been afraid of huge weather phenomena and  if I must admit it, end of the world prophecies.

Sufficeth it to say I have been a bit of a wreck this week.  Coping okay on the outside (although my husband may not agree with this) but inside feeling frightened, scared and particularly bleak.

I heard a woman on the radio speaking about how these continuing disasters (the earthquakes, tsunamis, floods and cyclones for the reader that is living under a rock) affect the population and how important it is for those of us that are living out of the affected areas to try and return to “normal activities” rather than getting stuck in the disaster.

I realize how important that is – especially for my Little Pencil and to some extent all the people around me who are having to not only put up with my constant jumpiness but deal with the very maudlin air around me.

I spoke to my sister on the phone today and I heard something in the background that sounded distinctly like a siren.  I panicked and yelled down the phone ‘what’s that noise, what’s happening, are you okay?’ .  ‘Um yes, Lana’ she replied, ‘that “siren” is the national anthem playing in the background on TV’.  Allright then I may not have returned to normal activities completely but I am giving it my best shot.

So to get me back on track I have decided I need to focus on all the good things in my life – all  the things that I am incredibly grateful for

  • My husband – he is supportive, compassionate and caring beyond what is reasonable expected of a human
  • My son – he is just himself and in that he is perfect
  • My sister who always gives me balance and unconditional support

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Okay now that I have finished sounding like an Oscar’s acceptance speech , I would also like to thank the rest of my family and my friends (oops can’t stop the Oscar’s speech now, I totally get why they carry on for so long)

But seriously I am grateful for the fact that

  • I have the most awesome job and am surrounded by smart and amazing people both physically and online  and I am way too busy to sink into despair about  the fact that the world is falling apart
  • I don’t live in Japan
  • I don’t live in Libya (or in fact any place where I hear news of air strikes and heavy military bombardment in my neighbourhood)
  • I can go to sleep at night in a safe, comfortable and peaceful home
  • I have perspective (even if it’s only a tiny bit),  I can see what is happening to others and instead of feeling terrible for myself I can rejoice in how lucky I am and donate as generously as I can to others that are not even one millionth as lucky as I am.
  • I can hope for a better future for all of humanity

I really am truly grateful.  And that is what I am going to focus on.

 

The most annoying habit on earth

It started off so innocently as it so often does. Unfortunately it hasn’t ended on the same high note (so to speak).

Little Pencil  has learned to whistle.

I still can’t whistle properly so when my son started experimenting with sucking air through his tongue with dogged concentration I was pretty confident that it would takes ages before he mastered the whole control of air thing and actually emitted a sound.

Maybe it’s because he practised 22 hours a day, maybe it’s because he concentrated harder than is strictly normal for a person learning to whistle or maybe it is because he spent hours gazing at other whistlers and mimicking their facial movements but it didn’t take him long to get the sound.

Now when I say he can whistle I don’t mean he can play a melodious tune.  Oh no that would be bearable.  What he can do is make a piercing hideous sound that is shrill, sharp and painful.  And he can make it often.

He has taken to whistling, well ALL THE TIME.

He whistles in the car on the way to school, he whistles in the bath, he whistles while he is playing on the computer.  He whistles when he breathes for God’s sake.  While he is watching TV, while he is meant to be sleeping, while he is meant to be eating and generally whenever he feels like annoying me it.
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He has made worse noises (he learns the clarinet after all) and he has had worse habits (he bit his nails for about three months) but somehow this one is the one that seems set to destroy me.

I am trying so hard to understand that whistling is a huge milestone for a little boy (at least that is what my husband tells me) and that I should just try and ignore it and let him whistle away but Lord I hate the sound of that whistle.   I don’t want to constantly tell him to stop because some part of me thinks that telling him to stop whistling is like telling him to stop being carefree and happy and so I spend a lot of time trying to run away from him.

When he is sitting and doing his homework and whistling I try to secretly escape to my room.  When I hear the whistle getting louder I run to the kitchen.  When he comes into the kitchen whistling  I sneak out the door.  He invariably catches up with me when I am about to huddle under the trampoline with earplugs in.

And without fail he says to me “hey mom, listen to this – I can whistle”.

Sensitive to my hatred of his whistling? Er not quite. Maybe I am being too subtle …

Do your kids have a habit that annoys you? Something that causes you to want to run outside and hide under the trampoline?

I gave up sugar

“If you had to ask  my friends  to describe me the word “sweet” would be used for sure.  Unfortunately they might not say “Lana is really sweet” , in fact it’s far more likely they would say “Lana has a very sweet tooth”

And they ‘d be right.  I am the kind of person that can’t  sleep if there’s chocolate in the house because it calls me while I’m sleeping, wakes me up and forces me to eat it.  I am the kind of person that can drink Diet Coke for breakfast and jam with my toast and sugar in my tea.  I am the person that goes into the petrol station to pay for my petrol and comes out with a chocolate.

So what on earth would propel me to try and give up sugar?”

I’d been doing a bit of reading because I was feeling stale, de-energised and  like I was carrying too much weight.  But most worrying was that I was obsessed with food.  Food was on my mind all the time – recipes, meal ideas, chocolate/bread/noodles, what I could eat for snack/lunch/dinner/ just because I deserved it.  I loved and resonated with all the books on emotional eating and many times I sat in front of my fridge literally pleading with Geneen Roth, author of Breaking Free from Emotional Eating to help me. I understand my emotional issues with food – I even explained them to my open fridge but it did not help the fact that I spent too much time obsessing.

I came across David Gillespie’s book The Sweet Poison Quit Plan mainly because I was drawn to the delicious looking cupcake on the cover and then I opened it and I read his opening sentence “Sugar makes you fat.  It is converted directly to fat by your liver and it destroys your appetite control so that you want to eat more of everything.”

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I was hooked, I know that I always want to eat more of everything and I wanted to know why my appetite control was basically non existent and whether my sugar consumption was part of my obsession with food.  The book explains how sugar is metabolized and illustrates how sugar is added to almost every single thing on our supermarket shelves but it also offers a plan to give up sugar (and thereby regulate your appetite) and  I do so love a plan.  I planned to get over  my obsession with food.

Turns out the plan was simple.  I was to stop eating anything that tasted sweet and spend what seems like eons in the aisle every time I went shopping to check the sugar levels in packaged foods because there is sugar in almost everything you eat so you need to check the content is really low.  Like  really really low – less than 4gms per 100grams.

I have been off sugar for 10 days and it is as hard as David Gillespie told me it would be.  Well he didn’t tell me that as such but his book certainly suggests that sugar withdrawal is hard.  I feel exhausted, I am still highly emotional (this may just be me), I feel a little bit edgy and somehow unsatisfied – like I just want a cupcake with icing.  Lots of icing. And little silver balls .  But it is not hunger and I only feel this dissatisfaction after I have eaten.

But, there are pluses – heaps of people (well three) have mentioned that my skin looks clear, fresher, more vibrant (and I haven’t even asked them).

And there is this: the exact thing I was looking for.  I don’t think about food all the time.  I just forget to think about it.  I eat of course but more out of hunger and less out of habit.

I would still love to dip my teaspoon in a jar of nutella and inhale (Gillespie reckons it takes most people 3 to 4 weeks to withdraw totally and get over those cravings) but this desire for liquid chocolate is not knocking on my head all day long.

It worries me a little because I realise sugar was a crutch.  Just like nicotine was once.  Now I don’t smoke and I am not eating sugar I am not sure how I will deal with a crisis, but hopefully soon my sugar levels wont be quite so crazy and life will seem less crisis filled and more even keeled.

In the meantime I am discovering a new way of eating, not feeling fantastic YET but at least my focus is expanding (and hopefully my waist isn’t)

Sleepover 101

This weekend saw the Indian Wedding style festivities of Little Pencil’s  birthday.  I am pleased to report that I survived and I am writing to you from neither jail nor hospital.  This is a most unexpected but welcome outcome.

You see last night I bravely volunteered to let my son have three friends to sleep over on the night before his birthday party because:

  1. I am a complete sucker, especially for birthdays.  I have this ridiculous need to fulfill Little Pencil’s every desire and make his birthday perfect and he desperately wanted his friends to stay the night.
  2. I had said no to having them  sleep over the night before thinking that stretching it one day would somehow make it more bearable.  It didn’t
  3. I am insane

It all started quite worryingly with the parents of the friends constantly checking that I had not gone mad and then wishing me luck, in hushed and very serious tones.  I knew that I was onto a bad thing when people who weren’t even involved in the sleepover started wishing me luck.

But I persisted because my child was very excited, he was having three of his best friends to sleep.  Two boys and one girl.  Perfect, possibly because they are the naughtiest sweetest children you could ever hope to find. Perfect also because the next day was his party and after the party we were having 25 people for lunch.  Did I mention that I am insane?

It wasn’t ALL bad, in fact I learned quite a lot from my ordeal experience of having 4 friends over to sleep. Take note, my lessons may stand you in good stead:

  • When serving dinner to 4 children do not ask themwhat they want, because they will tell you. And it will not be consistent with what the others want.
  • If the children are allowed to choose a movie and there are three boys and one girl there will never be any consensus
  • If you ask the children if they want a treat while watching the movie they will roll their eyes at your stupidity.  As they well should.  Serving “treats” before sleeping is one of the signs of insanity that they check for in intense psychiatric assessments
  • They will all need the toilet at exactly the same time.  Each one of them will tell you that it is urgent and it cannot wait.
  • Nobody’s teeth will be properly brushed
  • There will be toothbrush envy
  • Someone will forget to brush their teeth at all and just pretend they have
  • One of the children will want the lights on, one will want the lights dim and one will want them off.  The fourth one will want a rotating combination of all three
  • The children will all ask for water as they get into bed even if they have just drunk litres of the stuff and even if they adamantly refused a glass 10 minutes before.
  • All four children will want to sleep on the top bunk
  • You will not sleep a wink because someone is on the top bunk
  • Someone will fart and the other three will become hysterical as a result
  • Someone will make an annoying noise with their leg
  • Someone will make an annoying noise with their mouth
  • Someone will make general annoying noises
  • Someone will end up lying the wrong way in the bed
  • As they are about to fall asleep one of the children, probably your own, will tell a really stupid joke
  • When everything is quiet and you can hear the regular breathing rhythm of two sleeping children someone will tell you that they cannot sleep. This is because they are sitting bolt upright in their bed and playing with a ball
  • Someone will snore
  • Someone will be scared of snoring
  • They will all wake up before 6am
  • They will all be in terrible moods the next day because they are over each other and they are exhausted

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The biggest problem is that the kids will forget the pain of exhaustion and want to do it again, they may even forget the shrill tones of your voice as you scream at them, beg them to go to sleep. You will be scarred and your defence mechanisms may be so low that you will have forgotten the intensity of it, in which case you will probably agree to do it again.

Don’t.

How do YOU relax ?

I am not so much a spa frequenter as a supermarket regular, such is my rockstar life. But this holiday I decided, given there was no supermarket in sight, I would treat myself to a spa treatment or two. Given that I am an anxious worrier this actually caused a bit of stress.

I spent hours on end poring over the brochures of every spa In Noose. I studiously read and reread the descriptions for every available treatment trying to work out the pros, the cons, the affordability and how I would get time away from my family.

Those of you who have read about my startling ability to be totally  seduced and overwhelmed by product will understand that reading the spa brochure was like putting a fully stocked mini bar in front of a weary traveling alcoholic.  Everything looked appealing and I truly believed that some of the treatments  would totally transform my skin and, in the really early hours of the morning when I was totally sleep deprived and vulnerable I believed a body wrap would make me look like a had completed regular triathlon training for at least 3 months.

So I obsessed and I compared and I budgeted and I convinced myself it would all be worth it.  In fact I was fully convinced after all my research that supermodels only look like they do because they frequent day spas not because they eat only celery and spend hours a day stretching as they step out of extensive cardio routines.  Make up and lighting didn’t interfere with my dreamy reverie.

My beauty transformation was going to take more than one treatment, and I had chosen the detox for my first activity I went in as stressed and anxious as the worst case the spa had ever seen.  What if I fainted? Got too sore? Broke out in a rash? Cried? Died?

It was actually peaceful and idyllic in the spa, a little piece of Noosa masquerading as Bali but at least it was clean and I was fairly
confident that I was not going to die (unless of course I was allergic to the oils they used).  They introduced me to my masseur and I was instantly transported in to the middle of “what the hell do I do now” land  She left me to undress and I almost ran away. Should I remove my bra? Should I have worn more sensible undies ? Will my body react to the massage by releasing wind? And where on earth do I put my clothes anyway?

As it turned out the massage was quite pleasant , if you like unbearable pain. Easier to withstand then the body wrap because at least during the massage I could focus on the pain.

The body wrap? That was an interesting way for me to learn that I am completely and utterly unable to focus on the present.

As I lay on the massage table and got scrubbed  and moisturised and buffed and showered by a very interesting overhead watering contraption, I tried so hard to enjoy myself. I tried to focus on right now,I tried to enjoy the touch, the sensation the feeling of the water on my body but instead my mind went into overdrive . Rotating in a noisy cycle were the following thoughts

  • I must ask Mr Pencil if he would like a body scrub and wrap
  • Should I write about this?
  • Stop and enjoy this for God’s sake
  • She is using a lot of towels, this is a lot of washing I am creating
  • I’m glad I’m not the person who has to clean this room
  • I wonder if they employ someone especially to do washing and cleaning
  • Do they use fabric softener? They mus?
  • Stay in the now, damn it!
  • Why do I shout at myself?
  • How do people meditate?
  • Feel that shower, it’s going to be over soon
  • Have I bought all the stationery on Little Pencil’s school list?
  • Does the therapist get bored doing her job?
  • Does the therapist think I’m fat?
  • Shut up brain and let the body relax
  • What if the water gets switched off at the mains and I can’t get this mud off my body?
  • This is amazing,  I wonder if I should do it again
  • This is a very expensive shower
  • This is wasting a LOT of water
  • Some people are homeless
  • What am I going to have for dinner?
  • Do supermodels get bored having their bodies pampered?
  • Why is it that I am so bad at maths
  • I think I would like to go overseas this year

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I came out looking exactly the same as I went in. Funny that.

But at least I had decided on what I should have for dinner and I was confident that I had bought everything on the stationery list.

How do you relax? Do you?

My heart is relaxed

This week Little Pencil went for a surf lesson.  It was his first time surfing and the we were all joining him on the beach, me to take photos, my husband to look and learn and Little Pencil to er, surf.

One of the many things I have given Little Pencil, and  one which I deeply regret having foisted on him, is a bit of worry. Okay. A lot of worry. He was a little anxious before we set off. I was nervous too, but that is mainly because I am an over anxious parent. In fact I am anxious when I am not anxious. He was anxious that he wouldn’t be able to stand, that the teacher would be “mean”, that he would get dumped or drown or that he would get stung by a stingray – you know all the normal worries of a child born around the time of Steve Irwin’s greatest influence.

He carried his board down to the beach with determination and grit. Looking a little bit overwhelmed, a tiny bit frightened and a tad ridiculous with a giant surf board under his arm. But he also had on his face that look of resolute determination. He was going to give it a shot.

He sat on the beach and listened to the instructor’s brief. I could see him taking it all in, decoding the messages and committing them to his brain. I gave him space (I was forced to actually give him space by the friends that we  were with, I wanted to sit on his lap, they made me sit somewhere else on the beach)

.

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Maybe it’s the fact that I can’t surf, maybe it’s because it seemed so much like the reel of a perfect summer movie, little boy surfing the waves with his friends, blue skies above and not a care in the world, maybe it’s just because it is bloody amazing that he can stand on a polyurethane board in the ocean. Or maybe it’s just because he is my son and as my mother I am proud of everything he does

There is a Jewish word commonly used for pride in your children – nachas. It is defined as pride but literally it means a relaxation of the heart. The pride that bubbles through when I see the child I’ve brought onto this earth, the joy I get in his smiling face or his glowing reports, the pride that fully envelopes me, that actually lifts me and transports me to a place only a parent can know.

My heart is relaxed.

Nobody could ever explain “nachas” to me before I had a child.  Now. I get it.

The floods

I cannot even begin to write about the floods, about the devastation and the horror in Queensland.  Nor can I express my amazement and faith in the  humanity and the compassion of the people of Queensland and Australia as a whole.

Mind blowing.

I really cannot write but I can provide this link and ask you all, if you haven’t already, to please donate
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www.qld.gov.au/floods/donate

 

 

2011 brought to you by Glandular Fever

My New Year’s resolutions this year are brought to me by glandular fever which is a terrible pity because so far the things that glandular fever have brought me are not very pleasant at all.  Unless you consider feeling like you exist in honey with a brain made of cotton wool to be pleasant.

In fact I am still coming to terms with the fact that I actually have an identifiable disease because I believe I am the world’s healthiest person, I just feel like shit.

I keep going for blood tests, and the doctor tries to insist that I have all sorts of pathological issues.   And not the ones that you read about in psychology textbooks. Although a different doctor…, nah forget it

I tried changing doctor and even that didn’t work – the new doctor said the same thing.  It’s a conspiracy.  And so, according to the world of medicine,  I have glandular fever.

Unfortunately I am not a very good glandular fever patient because apparently the best thing to do for this badly named* virus is to rest.  And I don’t know how to rest.  Seriously I find it nigh on impossible to relax when there is always so much to do, even if I am too tired to do it.

But my husband keeps forcing me to go to bed (and it is entirely different from the type of forcing me to go to bed that he does when I am well) and worse than that he keeps on suggesting things that I should do things differently.

So, in honour of Mr Pencil I have come up with some new year’s resolutions

  • I will go to bed at 10pm every night.  I wont actually be able to start this one straight away because if I go to sleep during our New Year’s Eve party I will be mocked forever more (not to mention very uncomfortable).  I also wont be able to do this one anytime ever because I have way too much to do after 10pm
  • I will not spend so much time on the computer. Rather I will sit on a chair and only my fingers will be on the computer keyboard
  • I will eat a healthier diet.  I will do this one.  In between eating chocolates and pure icing sugar (my current weak spot) I will eat very healthy food
  • I will not complain about my weight. Instead I will complain about how fat I feel…er wait.
  • I will not waste money on clothes that I never wear. I will wear all the clothes that I buy, how else will I see that I made a huge mistake when I bought them?
  • I will not play the same 17 songs over and over again on my iPod. I will download 17 new songs to play aloud and I will listen to the 17 I love when Mr Pencil is not home
  • I will drive a lot slower and try not to get any more traffic fines. I will try.  Really I will
  • I will look after my health. No more blood tests for me

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What are your new year’s resolutions and what made you decide on them?

*I believe a better, and more descriptive name for Glandular Fever is Zombie Fog.