Well, I am officially 'wife of the year'. Not. I planned a fabulous birthday surprise holiday trip to Dubai for my husband, shouted about it to anyone who would listen and then got a stomach bug on the day we were due to go and had to cancel the whole thing. Well done me.
Unfortunately during the traumatic realisation of not going and the dreadful cancellation episode, POOR STU's (and I mean it this time) feelings were slightly overshadowed by our oh-most-self-centred youngest son.
'I WANT TO GO TO DUBAI!'
Various platitudes from Daddy, Granny and Grandad, muffled puking platitudes from Mummy and instructions to 'shut up' from his big brother did absolutely nothing. Sebi-Woo wanted to go to Dubai and Sebi-Woo made sure we all fucking knew about it.
Once I removed my head from the toilet bowl at some ungodly the hour this morning; we started work on Plan B. There were various unexciting options in the UK, and some more interesting options abroad. No further Dubai options however. We have settled on a week in a smart hotel in Lanzarote where we will definitely have a lovely time, and get some sun, good food and treats, if not quite the luxurious travel options my dear husband was promised.
Zak is happy that (a) there is a plane with food on (b) there is a plane with the ipad on and (c) there is still the promise of ice cream once a day. Sebi sat and thought about it for a while, whilst we all waited with baited breath and then declared: 'Lanzarote is toes (yep really) better than Dubai anyway.' He may get some weird looks at Gatwick tomorrow with that rhetoric.
Anyway, we are are packed, unpacked, repacked and ready to go again. I'm sure my dear parents who couldn't change their flights will have a lovely time during their stopover at the most family-orientated hotel in Dubai without us. As my Dad so eloquently put as he was lending me the money pre-travel-insurance-claim to book this next trip: 'What more could he want from three days apart from children he didn't know and NYE fireworks.' :-/
These things happen. Time to count our blessings and realise really what a win-win situation we do eventually find ourselves in. We are luckier than most.
Now then, to google if they take United Arab Dirhams anywhere on the island of Lanzarote! x
Saturday, 27 December 2014
Friday, 5 December 2014
An Epitaph for the Living
My 100 year old Nana was given two weeks to live two weeks ago as she was diagnosed with pneumonia and is currently getting decidedly better day by day. Incredible. She is now saying that this is probably the last year that she will bother writing Christmas cards. Oh the optimism. We had a few hairy conversations over the last couple of weeks as the doctor decided to speak to Nana about her predicament but as she didn't feel well enough to have her hearing aids in then she couldn't really hear what he was saying. 'It is only a matter of time...' was taken the wrong way and she thought that it was only a matter of time until she got better, whereas that was not what he was insinuating to her at all. Although, having said all that, she is the one who is now decidedly on the mend so maybe it was us that got the wrong end of the stick after all.
It boggles my mind that she was born in 1914. That when you talk to her about the war she says, 'which one?' That she could have been a child in Downton Abbey, (which is basically a historical documentary as far as I'm concerned... ;-)). but now, we are more convinced than ever that she will outlive us all.
I very gently broached the subject with my boys last week when she was pretty unwell. There is no skirting around the subject when you have two small boys however. All my pussy-footing around was a little pointless when Zak summarised it with: 'so she might die then'. Yep. That's pretty much it my love. I know Sebi is one of a kind (to put it diplomatically) but even I was surprised with his response of: 'Lucky Nana'. I enquired why, in particular, he thought that potentially dying of pneumonia made one lucky and he shot me a scathing glance and said: 'Because then Nana can play with Toby...' (dead cat - whole other story - see blog post from about a year ago) '...and WE still don't have another cat'. There is no arguing with that logic and I skulked off into another room trying to congratulate myself that I had passed on the news without upsetting anybody but actually rather grateful that no other members of my family had been around to hear it.
So Nana lives to fight another day/week/month/year/decade. Good for her. Living under this critical cloud on a daily basis does have then tendency to make even the most sunny of us rather morbid. I convinced myself I definitely had incurable bowel cancer in the middle of the other night. In the cold light of day I realised the actual diagnosis was piles which I had contracted via karma for laughing at my dear friend, (who absolutely on the pain of death I apparently cannot name), for the same complaint the week previously. Oh happy haemorrhoid! I sent my silly husband off to his 48 hour long Christmas party yesterday with the cheerful cheerio of, 'Have a lovely time and don't die', which he objected to slightly, but I thought was pretty sound advice. I am soon going to open a bottle of champagne to celebrate (a) all of us being healthy and living, (b) it being Friday and (c) Stuart being somewhere with a free bar and therefore not trying to drink any of my bubbles. Happy weekend lovely people and cheers to looking on the bright side of life!
It boggles my mind that she was born in 1914. That when you talk to her about the war she says, 'which one?' That she could have been a child in Downton Abbey, (which is basically a historical documentary as far as I'm concerned... ;-)). but now, we are more convinced than ever that she will outlive us all.
I very gently broached the subject with my boys last week when she was pretty unwell. There is no skirting around the subject when you have two small boys however. All my pussy-footing around was a little pointless when Zak summarised it with: 'so she might die then'. Yep. That's pretty much it my love. I know Sebi is one of a kind (to put it diplomatically) but even I was surprised with his response of: 'Lucky Nana'. I enquired why, in particular, he thought that potentially dying of pneumonia made one lucky and he shot me a scathing glance and said: 'Because then Nana can play with Toby...' (dead cat - whole other story - see blog post from about a year ago) '...and WE still don't have another cat'. There is no arguing with that logic and I skulked off into another room trying to congratulate myself that I had passed on the news without upsetting anybody but actually rather grateful that no other members of my family had been around to hear it.
So Nana lives to fight another day/week/month/year/decade. Good for her. Living under this critical cloud on a daily basis does have then tendency to make even the most sunny of us rather morbid. I convinced myself I definitely had incurable bowel cancer in the middle of the other night. In the cold light of day I realised the actual diagnosis was piles which I had contracted via karma for laughing at my dear friend, (who absolutely on the pain of death I apparently cannot name), for the same complaint the week previously. Oh happy haemorrhoid! I sent my silly husband off to his 48 hour long Christmas party yesterday with the cheerful cheerio of, 'Have a lovely time and don't die', which he objected to slightly, but I thought was pretty sound advice. I am soon going to open a bottle of champagne to celebrate (a) all of us being healthy and living, (b) it being Friday and (c) Stuart being somewhere with a free bar and therefore not trying to drink any of my bubbles. Happy weekend lovely people and cheers to looking on the bright side of life!
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