Tag Archives: sick

End of term and a pep talk

Easter is nearly upon us, how the hell did that come round so quickly?

Today is the last day of term which means a 2pm pick up. Now I have never actually forgotten to pick him up. Although I’ve had a couple of oh christ – I nearly forgot – quick!  out the door and run moments. For some reason these memories make me jumpy and I keep checking my watch and skipping from task to task making more muddles.

This morning we watched the screening of the Bollywood film Zeph and his year group have been working on all term. All their teachers had dressed up, they had chairs set out like a cinema and cups of popcorn. At the end they gave out Oscars. It was not without technical hitches but loud, exciting and joyful. Exactly how I think school should be. I came away hugely cheered and Ida hopped and jigged all the way home.

She can’t wait to go to school and I have to retrieve her from the going in line in the mornings. Very different to my school experience and long may it last.

Unsurprisingly the morning back here has been a bit flat – especially since I’ve tried to impose a little order. Not something you would glean from a quick glance. I’ve been reading a friends flylady progress and feeling the need to return to some of those structures. I’ve talked about my attitude to chores and tidying many times before and without being picky I can see the need for a bit of decluttering and imposing some system scaffolds in my jumbled corners.

I need to stop procrastinating and start a bit of doing. I managed to pull my arm out of its socket recently so am waiting for a bit of healing and keep telling myself that after that I’m going to GET DOWN TO IT!

Steve’s got some time off over easter so you’d think it’d be the perfect time but it’s so tempting to play hooky. We’re going to see a friend as well and do some big city stuff and that’s all MUCH more appealing. Although I know some DIYing and order solutions would have a much bigger day-to-day impact on my life.

It’s too easy to let the small inner voice tell you you’re lazy. Often I feel like an observer in my life instead of actually inhabiting my body. In these gray leaden days I anchor myself with the children. Playing, reading to them, cuddling in bed – singing songs and idly spinning stories. Everything else loses focus and importance.

As I feel less miserable and more hopeful I think I’m too quick to write all that stuff off. It seems like time-wasting when I could have done work that left a physical mark. Finally feeling clear-sighted enough to look around at what needs doing – it’s far too easy to slip back into the habit of castigating myself for doing nothing.

Bolstered my Rachel (my therapist and she has a certificate so is surely worth listening to?) I decide to be a bit kinder to myself.

Getting through the days is hard work. Remaining emotionally connected is hard work. Well done Laura, bloody well done to all of us who get to school, cook tea, do bathtime and bedtime or even leave the house whilst wrapped in a soul numbing blanket of misery. Fecking brilliant people who manage everyday fighting a rushing tide of physical pain. Two fingers up to anyone who thinks you haven’t accomplished much in your day. You’re still breathing at the end of the day aren’t you? Then it’s a SUCCESS. Whoop whoop and maracas, flash of gold and a big flourish. Well done all of us broken vessels.

Just the easy stuff to do now.

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Mixed bag. Sick bag.

I think I’d have to sum half term up as mixed.

All the omens were good as Steve had booked some time off and we’d planned a couple of days in Bristol doing things that pleased everyone. Zoo, an art exhibition, a kids theatre show at the Tobacco Factory.

Valentines day was my usual dichotomy of glee at the opportunity to celebrate and decorate and dislike of the whole hallmarkedyness and idea that I’m being bidden to declare love. It’s a regular cardfest here as everyone makes cards for everyone – Ida refusing to be left out of any paint and glitter opportunities. My best card this year was from Zeph. A carefully rendered picture of a shark savaging a swimmer. I’m particularly moved by the entrails gracefully drifting down to the seafloor.

A biting indictment and perceptive summing up of love I’m sure you’ll agree. Especially from someone so young. *sigh*

These and the chocolate ladybirds Steve threw into the mix made for a cheerful morning piled into the bed which was probably the highlight of the day where I made an effort to de-mould the bathroom.

Our time away was lovely. I like that we’ve established some family rituals about train travel – like taking bagels for breakfast which we can’t eat ’til Cam and Dursley. Watching out for the llama farm and the field where there’s often deer watching the train pass with the seriousness of spotter anoraks.

The zoo was also its usual pleasure with everyone absorbed in their favourite routines. I’m pleased to see how the new stumpery, adorned with a lovely range of ferns, is blossoming and Ida spent the usual ludicrous chunk of time inspecting the ants. The sun shone as well, casting hopeful thoughts of spring and more garden time.

Although the camellia walk showed a sad array of frost burnt flowers there are plenty of new buds pressing through.

I may have attempted some kind of heavy life metaphor  if I hadn’t been shoved out-of-the-way and trampled by other people eager to get to the fruit bats. Nevermind – I always have you guys for weighty introspection eh?

There was the usual riotous joy at booking into the travelodge and then a really delicious meal out at a fantastic tapas place in the docks. Followed by a happy wander home through neon landscapes.

We went for breakfast the next morning at Bordeaux Quay on the waterfront. Gorgeous food, upmarket place – Zeph is desperate to do one of their kids cookery days. Well – he was.

Ida was explosively, spectacularly, slow-motion-horror sick right… in…the… middle of the restaurant… and then into my hair and down my back as I ran with her to the toilets. She was then sick in an art gallery, on a boat, by a boat, in Boots, at the bus stop, on the bus, in the train station, in a lift, and several times on the train home.

We arrived home – pale and wan. Everyone had sick in their hair. There was elbowing around the shower door. Never have clean clothes and the soapy scent of shampoo been more welcome.

Inevitably the rest of half-term was spent being ill.

*sigh again*

Zeph was incensed by recovering just in time to go back to school.

Still we fitted in lots of happy stuff. I finished an order that means the mortgage is achievable this month. We ‘ve had a lot of happy domestic stuff with Steve. PJ days with the papers and lazy afternoons playing board games that usually end badly, (show me one that doesn’t when there’s a three-year old involved.) Lots of story sharing and book mooching and some secretive present preparation for Steve’s birthday on Wednesday.

Also, actually a lot of strangers were very kind during what I have mentally christened; the grand vomit tour of Bristol. Thank you universe and thank you anyone who drops a pebble of kindness in the pool.

Healing power of Bagpuss

Ida is fed up with us all.

You see, she was ill at the weekend and was the centre of attention as she was pathetically sick. Sometime in the early hours today the V fairy waved her wand over the rest of us and the rest of the night was a whirl of sheet-changing, washing piling, dettol swilling, and elbowing each other out-of-the-way at the bathroom door. She slept serenely through it. When she did deign to awake she spent the first hour saying “Ida not sick” in a self-satisfied way by the head of whoever was indisposed.

That soon got old I can tell you. For her too when she realised all we planned to do today was lie around and whimper a little. Three viewings of the Aristocats later I finally gave in to the silent struggle of wills with Steve about who was going to get to lie in bed feeling like death and who was going to go downstairs and prop themselves between the sofa and the coffee table and pretend to be interested in puzzles, felt tipping and tea parties.

It’s been a long old day – I’m writing this while anticipating a change in shift. There is no sound from upstairs. Zeph has just arrived looking less like a zombie. He hasn’t been sick for about five hours. Should I try him with some dry toast? Where is his father? When will I get to lie down? I read him [Steve] the riot act about two hours ago which lost its impact when I had to take a hurried toilet break halfway through. When I returned, still enraged he looked at me all pathetically and said “but I’m sick…” Which he is, poor honey. I know it’s a cliché but really – why am I the one multi tasking? I have NEVER claimed to be good at it.

Well now I’ve equally repelled you by over sharing and annoyed you with whining I will find at least three BT’s. Actually I think today it’ll have to be silver linings.

Today I am thankful for;

We had a free day as we were supposed to be at the hospital with Zeph so at least S didn’t have to stress about work although he absolutely has to go tomorrow (another reason he should stay in bed I guess.) While I’m here, thank all gods I don’t have to juggle work and childcare. This is an enormous blessing.

Ida kissing me better, she is a very loving baggage, full of pats and strokes.

Actually there’s some nice stuff on cbeebies. We like Tinga Tinga, Third & Bird and Mr Maker. Ida is rendered hysterically excited by Rastamouse but I’m not keen. After a bit we put Bagpuss on which pleased us both. God I love Bagpuss.

When I let Mittens out the sky was black with rain. By the time she was meowing at the window in her Mog impression big fat drops were splashing down. When I put my face up they felt like warm kisses. The hammering on the conservatory roof and against the windows make it seem surprisingly cosy indoors.

At one point we were all in our bed with everybody wants to be a cat on in the background. I’m so pleased we got that big bed.

bleurgh

Oh Goddess save me – it’s been a long day.

Last night was one of those memorable ones with children where you run out of bedclothes and blankets. Bleary eyed at 4.30 am you survey the pile of washing waiting for the morning and start making the cot up with towels and old winter coats. She woke up this morning on top of an old beach towel that is destined for the rag-bag and under an old parka that is waiting to be grown into by Zeph.

It was a long night.

She seemed full of beans, bouncing around, asking for breakfast. Luckily it was Steve’s day off so we tagged teamed getting dressed, getting the first (of bloody many) washes on and getting breakfast together.

In hindsight maybe I should have curtailed her hearty tucking in but my kids often do mysterious six-hour bugs so I wasn’t too concerned until she put her arms up for a cuddle five minutes after we’d cleared the table and was violently sick down my back.

Nice.

To add insult to injury when I crouched to put her down she took a step back and wrinkled up her nose fastidiously “youse got sick in your hair Mumma” Hmmmm. Thanks for that heads up darling. Thanks.

I will never become accustomed to this stuff but luckily I have a Steve who gags at nothing. I left him on damage control as I headed for a shower.

We had a good day lolling around reading endless picture books. Ida is ridiculously affectionate when she’s poorly, bestowing lots of pats and kisses. She seemed to perk up an hour before bed as a squabble broke out over Z’s remote control rattlesnake that she is equally drawn to and terrified of. I’m keeping my fingers crossed for a less eventful night.

I still have two loads of washing. The place looks like a chinese laundry with sheets draped everywhere. It would be the worst drying day all month….

Dry toast or no dry toast?

Oh I’m sick, I’m sick. Basically my body has decided my stomach lining is a foreign object and is swelling to get rid of it. I’ve given my internal organs a severe talking to but it doesn’t seem to make any difference so am reduced to feebly dozing in bed, surfing waves of pain, cursing H.A.E and listening to the chaos ensuing downstairs.

The silver I struggle for today are; thank god it doesn’t happen very often and Steve is on holiday so I don’t have to let the kids fend for themselves in the general chaos of downstairs like feral dogs.

Although when I staggered down just now it does rather look like that’s what has happened. “They’re quite hard work all day aren’t they?” Hmmm. Indeed.

Anyway – Bless him and his efforts… and the glasses of fruit juice he kept bringing unprompted. Of course I don’t want to drink them as I’ll be instantly sick and so they have stacked up by the bed. I am sustained and comforted by the thought. That’s more than enough.