I have had a great day today visiting my pal from Uni, Charlotte. I got to thinking on the way home about friends and what keeps you linked with people over the years, even though you don't see each other that often? I have no doubt, that if she lived down the road then we would be in and out of each other's kitchens drinking tea all the time, but she doesn't, so it could easily be a year before I see her again. At one point in my life, this would have made me really sad but nowadays it makes me happy as I don't think we will ever lose touch. So what is it that binds you to some people and not others? Shared values I have realised the older I get. I cannot hang around with people (and their kids) if we do not hit parenting from the same-ish angle. The number of times Zak has been told off for stuff he hasn't really been doing, to make a point to some vacant looking mother whose child is running riot. That is a whole other blog post however, and one I am sure I have already done! Charlotte and I used to live together at Uni too and there is something about having lived with somebody (if you got on that is!) that gives you a bond as you were the person who was there every single day, warts and all. It makes me laugh that when I see my other Uni friends that I lived with, (Clare and Lyns), we always end up getting into bed together in our pyjamas to chat in the mornings as we used to do when we were 20. When you are in the midst of a consuming friendship you can't imagine not telling that person every last thing you are doing but as you move on you realise that you can actually live your day-to-day life without them.
Shelley has always laughed at the fact that I have a new bezzie every five minutes and also that I feel the need to classify my friends in my head. She finds it hilarious that if questioned, (by her - always - who else gives a fuck?!), I can come up immediately with a current Top 3, Top 10, Top 20 list. Not quite sure why it's so surprising; I had a colour-coded list of boyfriends as I went through them as a teenager classified into 'I dumped him', 'he dumped me', 'mutual amicable split'. Don't even get me started on the point allocated spreadsheet I had to decide about our #seriouslynevergoingtohappennow third child. There was a positive and a negative column with a range of 1 - 3 points given for each consideration. E.g. a big negative three pointer was 'having to put sun cream on three children'. Serious stuff. I'm laughing on the other side of my face since Shelley got her new best-baby-mummy-mate, and just in case you ever meet her, we really don't like her by the way. ;-)
Then you have your nearest and dearest mates that decide to up and head off to sunnier climes. They are mainly both called Jenny. Again, it seemed like the end of the world at the time, but you adjust and it is then ridiculously exciting when they come back to visit.
You do end up sharing your day-to-day tribulations with work colleagues. Although I have made some lifelong friends through work, it always surprises me when you can end up not speaking to people quite easily ever again when for such a long time previously you knew every intimate intricacy of their lives. It proves we are all fickle creatures at heart really.
Stu gets cross when I get back from Sam's house and she phones me for an hour later on that evening. (I'm still not a big phone user but she knows that I just won't answer if I'm not in the mood - i.e. drunk.) I was saying to her the other day that there are some people who don't seem to need the relationship that she and I have where we know pretty much every little mundane detail of each other's dull lives. 'Ah', said she with wisdom in her voice, 'those are women who have husbands that want to sit down and talk to them'. Perish the thought.
Thursday, 30 October 2014
Friday, 26 September 2014
Outnumbered
I announced to my husband this week that if I didn't find a job by Christmas-time-ish, I wanted to have a third baby. I've never seen anyone's beard go pale before, but it was quite an interesting phenomenon. Poor Stu. The worst thing is, that for me it was quite a flippant comment. It is early days for job-hunting for September in the teaching profession and I have plenty of time as yet to get a job for next academic year. Also, surely I need to make a few important decisions first with regard to whether I want to be a full-time HOD or HOY or a part-time teacher? Stu began googling incessantly however and was grilling me as to how I should sign up to teacher recruitment agencies.
If I don't end up getting a job then the house is going to be pretty busy with both of us in it full-time. It's taken us 18 months to shake down to Stu working from home without us killing each other. He has had to conduct webinars to a background of hoovering and howling children and I have had to invent interesting school-holiday days out for kids, for free, in the pouring rain. No easy feat for either of us.
There are benefits. One of us takes the kids to school every day even though we both work. It's lucky really as Sebi would miss Breakfast Club before school as most days I'm dragging him begrudgingly from his bed by his big toe at nearly 7.45am. Zak is quite keen on the sound of Breakfast Club but only because he thinks he would have his breakfast at home and then top up with another one at club half an hour later. This is the child that isn't tending to have any time playing out at lunchtimes now that he has hit the Juniors and is allowed to go back for school-dinner-seconds...
My husband also has now learnt to use the toilet downstairs if I've just cleaned upstairs and vice-versa. The poor man does try everything in his power not to get under my feet and irritate me but unfortunately for him I seem to have the patience and the tolerance of a wasp in a jam jar. I now know on my days off that if I open the fridge at lunchtime and let out a little sigh, he tends to take me up to Molens for a sarnie. What a great chap - I definitely don't deserve him.
So, chucking a baby into the equation is probably not the best idea. Our weekday house is busy enough as it is. I was offered £100 this week to do a champagne tasting; with me doing as much 'tasting' as the potential customer. Dream. Job. I need to be very, very nice to the lady concerned in the run up to next summer as one or two of those a week could be all I need to keep me interested. Definitely what a Masters in Drama in Education should lead into I think...
If I don't end up getting a job then the house is going to be pretty busy with both of us in it full-time. It's taken us 18 months to shake down to Stu working from home without us killing each other. He has had to conduct webinars to a background of hoovering and howling children and I have had to invent interesting school-holiday days out for kids, for free, in the pouring rain. No easy feat for either of us.
There are benefits. One of us takes the kids to school every day even though we both work. It's lucky really as Sebi would miss Breakfast Club before school as most days I'm dragging him begrudgingly from his bed by his big toe at nearly 7.45am. Zak is quite keen on the sound of Breakfast Club but only because he thinks he would have his breakfast at home and then top up with another one at club half an hour later. This is the child that isn't tending to have any time playing out at lunchtimes now that he has hit the Juniors and is allowed to go back for school-dinner-seconds...
My husband also has now learnt to use the toilet downstairs if I've just cleaned upstairs and vice-versa. The poor man does try everything in his power not to get under my feet and irritate me but unfortunately for him I seem to have the patience and the tolerance of a wasp in a jam jar. I now know on my days off that if I open the fridge at lunchtime and let out a little sigh, he tends to take me up to Molens for a sarnie. What a great chap - I definitely don't deserve him.
So, chucking a baby into the equation is probably not the best idea. Our weekday house is busy enough as it is. I was offered £100 this week to do a champagne tasting; with me doing as much 'tasting' as the potential customer. Dream. Job. I need to be very, very nice to the lady concerned in the run up to next summer as one or two of those a week could be all I need to keep me interested. Definitely what a Masters in Drama in Education should lead into I think...
Thursday, 11 September 2014
On the Weekly Wagon
I've given up boozing in the week and I'm rather proud of myself. I know that for many of you this is a lifestyle change that you will have made a long, long time before the age of 37 but for me it is a new found trick so bear with me.
Let's clarify 'week' here too. Obviously I'm a massive boozer so five days off just wouldn't work for me. I do not see how you can't count either Friday or Sunday as not being the weekend as it really wouldn't be fair to either of them. So, by 'week', I actually mean four days, I don't want to sell myself short however so I must also elucidate by saying that it is four days and FOUR NIGHTS. On the trot. Over 100 consecutive hours each week, (well two so far), of no drinking. Hooray for me.
I feel pretty great. I know it's not rocket science but my brain seems more engaged at work, my body feels healthier and I am sleeping fantastically well. I've spent years telling people that I always have to get up in the middle of the night for a wee since I had the kids. Over the last fortnight I have discovered that it is actually wine in my bladder that has got me up at night rather than ancient childbirth sagging. Incredible.
I have been sitting at home all this time though, I haven't, as yet, been out anywhere during the week. I'm not completely convinced that this non-alcoholic zeal will last through a night at the theatre next week, or in fact any time that I actually talk to people other than my husband, but that's OK. I think I've probably already added about another ten years onto my life over the last couple of weeks, and so we are heading, finally, in the correct direction.
In other news, Stuart had to go on a speed awareness course this week and I was interested to see how his attitude changed on his return. I have spoken to a lot of people who have done these courses and have come back completely converted to the belief in speed limits. Surely not my husband? I don't have a problem with speed limits but he tends to be a bit of a boy racer. Probably because when all of his peers were boy racing back in the day, he was on the bus. Anyway, although it may have slowed him down slightly I'm pleased to say he is not evangelising about the danger of our roads to anyone who will listen. One newly converted smug bastard in our house is more than enough at the moment.
Let's clarify 'week' here too. Obviously I'm a massive boozer so five days off just wouldn't work for me. I do not see how you can't count either Friday or Sunday as not being the weekend as it really wouldn't be fair to either of them. So, by 'week', I actually mean four days, I don't want to sell myself short however so I must also elucidate by saying that it is four days and FOUR NIGHTS. On the trot. Over 100 consecutive hours each week, (well two so far), of no drinking. Hooray for me.
I feel pretty great. I know it's not rocket science but my brain seems more engaged at work, my body feels healthier and I am sleeping fantastically well. I've spent years telling people that I always have to get up in the middle of the night for a wee since I had the kids. Over the last fortnight I have discovered that it is actually wine in my bladder that has got me up at night rather than ancient childbirth sagging. Incredible.
I have been sitting at home all this time though, I haven't, as yet, been out anywhere during the week. I'm not completely convinced that this non-alcoholic zeal will last through a night at the theatre next week, or in fact any time that I actually talk to people other than my husband, but that's OK. I think I've probably already added about another ten years onto my life over the last couple of weeks, and so we are heading, finally, in the correct direction.
In other news, Stuart had to go on a speed awareness course this week and I was interested to see how his attitude changed on his return. I have spoken to a lot of people who have done these courses and have come back completely converted to the belief in speed limits. Surely not my husband? I don't have a problem with speed limits but he tends to be a bit of a boy racer. Probably because when all of his peers were boy racing back in the day, he was on the bus. Anyway, although it may have slowed him down slightly I'm pleased to say he is not evangelising about the danger of our roads to anyone who will listen. One newly converted smug bastard in our house is more than enough at the moment.
Friday, 22 August 2014
London Lads
Don't you think it's funny how things that drive you potty in your own children can be ignored in other children?
I have just spent a very pleasant day in Greenwich meeting an old University pal of mine, Ada. After a good run around the park (small people), the larger people rewarded themselves with Pinot and Pizza. Sebi was being his usual delightful self when he gets a cob on and watched Ada draw a beautiful picture for him on a Pizza Express postcard, then looked her in the eye whilst he scribbled all over it. All she could come up with was: "Aren't his eyelashes amazing?" Erm, yes they are, and he knows it, which is part of the reason his list of personality disorders is forever increasing. (I blame the Mother. No, I actually do, entirely.)
When she commented on the noise one of her children was making in the park earlier as being something that 'only dogs would respond to', I hadn't even noticed. If my kids were making a noise like that I would have gone ballistic but somehow in a tone that is not belonging to you, it really doesn't matter.
Don't get me wrong, I am not generally a great fan of other children. Correction, I'm not so much a fan of other parenting. I know I went into teaching for the holidays but I don't think I would have lasted this long if I actually couldn't stand the littler people. I have a few friends that are kindred spirits, one in particular springs to mind who agrees that in the public arena, well-behaved and well-mannered kids are much more important that happy kids. It amused me today that mid paddy from Sebi he stopped what he was doing to thank the waiter for his drink then continued as was...
Little boys are feral by nature but I really believe that as long as you have run them around in circles for a good hour or so first, and don't inject sugar into them, you should generally be able to get them to behave for an hour or two over lunch by this age without the help of electronic devices. We managed it. The moment they were let loose from the restaurant however they turned back into wild dogs, which is fine. We got to the river without losing any, which is always a good start.
As I walked along the South Bank on the way home and they were legging it about, I caught a small sideways glance from a lady with two little girls walking beautifully next to her, holding her hands. I felt the glance. I have given it many a time. It was a glance that told me that at this present moment in time her children were better behaved than mine. True enough but technically they weren't doing anything wrong, they were just a little 'buoyant'. I stand by the fact that it is illegal for a mother of all-females to chuck me that look however- I'm dealing with a completely different breed here.
I have just spent a very pleasant day in Greenwich meeting an old University pal of mine, Ada. After a good run around the park (small people), the larger people rewarded themselves with Pinot and Pizza. Sebi was being his usual delightful self when he gets a cob on and watched Ada draw a beautiful picture for him on a Pizza Express postcard, then looked her in the eye whilst he scribbled all over it. All she could come up with was: "Aren't his eyelashes amazing?" Erm, yes they are, and he knows it, which is part of the reason his list of personality disorders is forever increasing. (I blame the Mother. No, I actually do, entirely.)
When she commented on the noise one of her children was making in the park earlier as being something that 'only dogs would respond to', I hadn't even noticed. If my kids were making a noise like that I would have gone ballistic but somehow in a tone that is not belonging to you, it really doesn't matter.
Don't get me wrong, I am not generally a great fan of other children. Correction, I'm not so much a fan of other parenting. I know I went into teaching for the holidays but I don't think I would have lasted this long if I actually couldn't stand the littler people. I have a few friends that are kindred spirits, one in particular springs to mind who agrees that in the public arena, well-behaved and well-mannered kids are much more important that happy kids. It amused me today that mid paddy from Sebi he stopped what he was doing to thank the waiter for his drink then continued as was...
Little boys are feral by nature but I really believe that as long as you have run them around in circles for a good hour or so first, and don't inject sugar into them, you should generally be able to get them to behave for an hour or two over lunch by this age without the help of electronic devices. We managed it. The moment they were let loose from the restaurant however they turned back into wild dogs, which is fine. We got to the river without losing any, which is always a good start.
As I walked along the South Bank on the way home and they were legging it about, I caught a small sideways glance from a lady with two little girls walking beautifully next to her, holding her hands. I felt the glance. I have given it many a time. It was a glance that told me that at this present moment in time her children were better behaved than mine. True enough but technically they weren't doing anything wrong, they were just a little 'buoyant'. I stand by the fact that it is illegal for a mother of all-females to chuck me that look however- I'm dealing with a completely different breed here.
Monday, 18 August 2014
Summer Shut Down
It is the middle of the summer holidays and I'm pretty much as relaxed as I could be. I woke up at 11am this morning - amazing! Granted that is probably because the kids are spending some much needed time at their Grandparents but these days with the help of the holy Ipad, I never really rise before 9 in the holidays. Sleeping from midnight to 9.30 suits me much better than going to bed early and getting up for 7ish. Unfortunately I haven't as yet found a school that would allow me to roll into work about 10am - it doesn't really fit the job.
I've figured out I have two speeds. (1) Crazy busy and (2) Lazy cow. In the height of my busyness I achieve so much, always. I juggle jobs and studying and everyone is still fed nutritiously and the house is clean. I am currently running on Lazy Cow speed however and nothing is being achieved, at all. I just drove to the shop to buy a sandwich as I couldn't be arsed to make one myself. Seriously. It must have taken more time/effort and energy to drive to the shop and buy one but it felt like the Lazy Cow option and I took it.
So I'm revelling in my sluggishness at the moment. The only problem is that all good things come to an end and jeebus isn't it a shock to the system when they do? This time in two weeks I will be halfway through a session of inset at my new job that started at 8.30am in the morning and I will have had to have delivered my kids to Wheathampstead beforehand. From where I'm sitting at the moment you might as well ask me to climb Mount Everest, that would be easier. The sensible way to tackle this problem would be to have earlier and more sober nights in the last week before real life starts again, thus training me back into the real world. However, I know that I will be hanging onto the sloth by my fingernails and drowning the idea of actuality in buckets full of champagne. Hmmmm.
I need to rev my brain back up into gear as it is also the final year of my MA for which a cool 20000 words is expected. I wrote 12500 words this year but if you held a gun to my head at the moment and asked me for any more than about 10 of them I really don't think I would be able to help you.
I'm sure I'll get there, we all do in the end. I must be going now anyway. There's place mat on the table with crumbs on that I've been working up to wiping for a couple of hours now. I reckon I'm nearly up to it. Happy Days.
I've figured out I have two speeds. (1) Crazy busy and (2) Lazy cow. In the height of my busyness I achieve so much, always. I juggle jobs and studying and everyone is still fed nutritiously and the house is clean. I am currently running on Lazy Cow speed however and nothing is being achieved, at all. I just drove to the shop to buy a sandwich as I couldn't be arsed to make one myself. Seriously. It must have taken more time/effort and energy to drive to the shop and buy one but it felt like the Lazy Cow option and I took it.
So I'm revelling in my sluggishness at the moment. The only problem is that all good things come to an end and jeebus isn't it a shock to the system when they do? This time in two weeks I will be halfway through a session of inset at my new job that started at 8.30am in the morning and I will have had to have delivered my kids to Wheathampstead beforehand. From where I'm sitting at the moment you might as well ask me to climb Mount Everest, that would be easier. The sensible way to tackle this problem would be to have earlier and more sober nights in the last week before real life starts again, thus training me back into the real world. However, I know that I will be hanging onto the sloth by my fingernails and drowning the idea of actuality in buckets full of champagne. Hmmmm.
I need to rev my brain back up into gear as it is also the final year of my MA for which a cool 20000 words is expected. I wrote 12500 words this year but if you held a gun to my head at the moment and asked me for any more than about 10 of them I really don't think I would be able to help you.
I'm sure I'll get there, we all do in the end. I must be going now anyway. There's place mat on the table with crumbs on that I've been working up to wiping for a couple of hours now. I reckon I'm nearly up to it. Happy Days.
Monday, 11 August 2014
The Circle of Life
I have just recovered from the worst two-day hangover of my life. I thought I was going to die. Seriously. I was having heart attacks, kidney and liver failure all at the same time. It was unpleasant. This immediately followed 14 days of hardcore drinking, even by my standards, so it was well deserved.
It got me to thinking about the hideous injustice of not being able to drink forever as you could in your twenties. Why can things just not stay the same forever? Much as I am afraid to admit it, I am officially getting old.
After Zak has asked me to jump in five times with him in a row in the pool, I was bored shitless. I used to do that for 10 hours straight as a child. When did I get so boring?
Stu and I haven't partied like that on holiday since pre-kids. It was brilliant, but I am also enjoying eating vegetables and drinking water today. That would NEVER have happened before. I would've been downing a bottle of vodka and crying over the fact my holiday was over. Does this mean in ten years I will be one of 'those' women who has two white wine and sodas and that is quite enough? I don't think so. I bloody hope not. I don't want to go clubbing anymore, definitely not. What will I have lost over the next ten years? Surely I can't go off pubs? Maybe I need to make the most of them in what is left of my thirties, just in case.
I wonder sometimes about what our holidays will be like when the kids have left home. I really hope we are still able to have fun by then. I can't ever see me becoming seriously into sight-seeing or walking or anything that isn't lying in the sun and boozing but you never know.
Shell was telling me the other day about a pill that is being developed at the moment that simulates being drunk without actually drinking any alcohol. You can then take another pill that stops it immediately with no hangover. Sounds like the answer to all my problems but the problem is that is doesn't sound that fun really! The best drunken nights are the ones that sneak up on you without warning, not a pre-medicated decision. Plus, I know I would never get around to taking the second pill and would end up drunk and disorderly forever...
So, I will continue with my detox for a few days. I have some seriously alcoholic pals coming to visit on Friday night so it will be all over by then. That is followed by three child-less days so I reckon next week I will be mid-anxiety-attack-seriously-about-to-die-any-minute-now all over again.
At least I'm prepared this time. ;-)
It got me to thinking about the hideous injustice of not being able to drink forever as you could in your twenties. Why can things just not stay the same forever? Much as I am afraid to admit it, I am officially getting old.
After Zak has asked me to jump in five times with him in a row in the pool, I was bored shitless. I used to do that for 10 hours straight as a child. When did I get so boring?
Stu and I haven't partied like that on holiday since pre-kids. It was brilliant, but I am also enjoying eating vegetables and drinking water today. That would NEVER have happened before. I would've been downing a bottle of vodka and crying over the fact my holiday was over. Does this mean in ten years I will be one of 'those' women who has two white wine and sodas and that is quite enough? I don't think so. I bloody hope not. I don't want to go clubbing anymore, definitely not. What will I have lost over the next ten years? Surely I can't go off pubs? Maybe I need to make the most of them in what is left of my thirties, just in case.
I wonder sometimes about what our holidays will be like when the kids have left home. I really hope we are still able to have fun by then. I can't ever see me becoming seriously into sight-seeing or walking or anything that isn't lying in the sun and boozing but you never know.
Shell was telling me the other day about a pill that is being developed at the moment that simulates being drunk without actually drinking any alcohol. You can then take another pill that stops it immediately with no hangover. Sounds like the answer to all my problems but the problem is that is doesn't sound that fun really! The best drunken nights are the ones that sneak up on you without warning, not a pre-medicated decision. Plus, I know I would never get around to taking the second pill and would end up drunk and disorderly forever...
So, I will continue with my detox for a few days. I have some seriously alcoholic pals coming to visit on Friday night so it will be all over by then. That is followed by three child-less days so I reckon next week I will be mid-anxiety-attack-seriously-about-to-die-any-minute-now all over again.
At least I'm prepared this time. ;-)
Friday, 4 July 2014
I don't do sick...
...I don't. I really, really don't.
Before I had children I perfected the art of avoiding sick of school trips by positioning myself always next to the window on a coach and then inviting a complete keeno teacher (normally a trainee or an NQT) to sit next to me. It is quite likely that the aforementioned unfortunate seat-partner had been pretty much ignored at work by me until this point and so was pleased that I was being so friendly. Little did they know that the moment a pupil vomited, they were purely my buffer to that situation. Happy days. Worked a treat.
Unfortunately, you are then a Mother and there is no buffer. Well, no buffer that is going to efficiently enough clean puke stains from your house...
Zak started vomming at about 7pm last night. Mummy had just returned from the pub, (such lucky children), and Daddy sent me up to see Zak as he was feeling sick. It was his class assembly today and he is not a natural performer so I thought he was suffering from nerves. We were having a lovely cuddle in bed and I was giving him a pep talk about it not mattering if things went wrong, he forgot his words or he wasn't loud enough, thinking I was making it all better; when he threw up all over both of us. Not nerves then.
No more grim details, I promise, let's just say there were four hours of grimness following. This is one of our busiest weekends of the year (of course). Zak's assembly was today then I was straight up to London for a financial meeting with my Dad and a piss-up lunch. Tomorrow is Sebi's first stage school performance, which Stu's parents are down for. Then Sunday is Zak's birthday BBQ and Monday is his actual birthday and party. He couldn't really have timed it better.
Or course I was going to sacrifice a snazzy lunch in London with pretty much my favourite person on the planet today if Zak had been really ill. I was totally prepared for it at 11pm as I settled down for the night expecting not to be asleep for particularly long. However, as I woke up at 7am this morning I figured out the worst could be over and I might in fact make it. Of course, if Mummy and Grandad are out on the piss, Granny is always available. It worried me slightly that mid-retch last night Zak was gasping at me:
"You... must.. phone... Granny..."
"No darling, it's ok, Mummy's here."
"But Granny always looks after us when we're poorly..."
Yikes. At least we all know where we stand.
So I now only have 72 hours or so to watch Sebi like a hawk to see if we can get through weekend-of-the-year with no further sicky disasters. Knowing Seb, he will save it up for mid tap dance tomorrow, just in case the focus is off him for a second...
Before I had children I perfected the art of avoiding sick of school trips by positioning myself always next to the window on a coach and then inviting a complete keeno teacher (normally a trainee or an NQT) to sit next to me. It is quite likely that the aforementioned unfortunate seat-partner had been pretty much ignored at work by me until this point and so was pleased that I was being so friendly. Little did they know that the moment a pupil vomited, they were purely my buffer to that situation. Happy days. Worked a treat.
Unfortunately, you are then a Mother and there is no buffer. Well, no buffer that is going to efficiently enough clean puke stains from your house...
Zak started vomming at about 7pm last night. Mummy had just returned from the pub, (such lucky children), and Daddy sent me up to see Zak as he was feeling sick. It was his class assembly today and he is not a natural performer so I thought he was suffering from nerves. We were having a lovely cuddle in bed and I was giving him a pep talk about it not mattering if things went wrong, he forgot his words or he wasn't loud enough, thinking I was making it all better; when he threw up all over both of us. Not nerves then.
No more grim details, I promise, let's just say there were four hours of grimness following. This is one of our busiest weekends of the year (of course). Zak's assembly was today then I was straight up to London for a financial meeting with my Dad and a piss-up lunch. Tomorrow is Sebi's first stage school performance, which Stu's parents are down for. Then Sunday is Zak's birthday BBQ and Monday is his actual birthday and party. He couldn't really have timed it better.
Or course I was going to sacrifice a snazzy lunch in London with pretty much my favourite person on the planet today if Zak had been really ill. I was totally prepared for it at 11pm as I settled down for the night expecting not to be asleep for particularly long. However, as I woke up at 7am this morning I figured out the worst could be over and I might in fact make it. Of course, if Mummy and Grandad are out on the piss, Granny is always available. It worried me slightly that mid-retch last night Zak was gasping at me:
"You... must.. phone... Granny..."
"No darling, it's ok, Mummy's here."
"But Granny always looks after us when we're poorly..."
Yikes. At least we all know where we stand.
So I now only have 72 hours or so to watch Sebi like a hawk to see if we can get through weekend-of-the-year with no further sicky disasters. Knowing Seb, he will save it up for mid tap dance tomorrow, just in case the focus is off him for a second...
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