Or as normal as it gets. Had a bit of a hiccup after that treatment. Usually, my ‘psycho-mommy-moments’ are rare. For a short while that became my norm. Moving swiftly on, I note Chase Farm Hospital is on special measures for failing to meet standards on super bugs. Great. That’s where I was treated and where I await a return visit for some other internal interference. I wonder is not breathing whilst in hospital buildings an appropriate course for infection control?
Supersis has abandoned me again for warmer climes. Me thinks she nearly gets the hint to not leave the country without me. The dreaded vomit bug delayed her departure. But only for 24 hours - apparently you can't do bowl-patrol on a plane. Something to do with all that extra security. While she swans about in a sarong I am left holding her hairy beast: the blonde dog, who thinks it beneath her to go in the rain to do her dos.
And, as if the day isn’t long enough, He-who-must-be-adored additionally agrees to a 10 mile round trip to the beginning and end of our day to do a Dr Dolittle: caring for 11 goats, chickens, ducks, geese and rabbits. He-who-must-be-adored forgot he’ll be off saving London, as per … Leaving me, with all my spare capacity to deal with dustbin lids and other animals. I shall, as they say, be watching my back: George the Grumpy Goat is a force to be reckoned with.
I used to have a pathological fear of all things furry. But I got over it when I had the dustbins. Then we started the dog holiday scheme. Two weeks involves just enough poop scooping to get the doggy thang out of their systems. Am hoping the biggest upside to living in a country pile for a week, apart from the fact we'll be living in a country pile, will be getting the ‘let’s move out’ thang from He-who-must-be-adored’s system. Every cloud…
To the Tweenager’s school last week where it seems Me and He-who-must-be-adored could not be seen in close proximity to her. At any time. Except of course for the ride home. T’was as if we had some kind of superbug.
Thankfully, Gorgeous boy grows ever more gorgeous. He made me detour to chase some rainbows the other night. And some fab weird weather stuff we saw too. Pity he’s not so enthusiastic about school. Think it might be too female an environment for his liking: he is already eying up an all-boys senior school. Without wanting to appear like the pushy parent, I was saddened by his report – the teacher assessment gave zero literary progress over last year. The boy maintains he works hard. So to school I go. Again. A call today says there’s been some sort of oversight in updating his grade. In a report bemoaning a 9 year-olds attention to detail? Is this the standard we have come to know and love?
My Little One lost her first tooth. Though not quite lost as she carries it about in a little bag, ready to show it off at a second’s notice. Whether there is interest or not. And, it didn’t so much fall out as was pulled by He-who-must-be-adored. He couldn’t be doing with all that hanging on by a thread business. The innocence of the moment almost vanished when someone said a first tooth is worth twenty quid. That’s serious inflation. If the Little-One ever gets round to giving it up we shall see. Let’s hope the tooth fairy isn’t too busy or worn out to remember to actually swap the damn thing for whatever dosh happens to be about their Elfing person.