This week has been loooooonnngggg and my patience isn’t just worn thin but actually run ragged at the seams. Oh goody, I can hear you cry, this is bound to be a cheery post!
I am battle worn. Endless phone calls to medical peeps, countless trips to Boots (*other pharmacies are available) and poorly kids do not a happy mummy make.
Monday morning rolled around and let’s be honest, it’s no one’s favorite day right? But being woken to the dulcit tones of “Muuuummm, I feel really sick…..” was never going to put me in the best frame of mind. I tried gentle nurturing: “perhaps you need some breakfast inside you, I am sure you will feel MUCH better then!” When that was greeted with woeful face and eyes that could melt the heart of the Ice Queen herself, I tried cajoling…”just get in to your school uniform and take it from there…” “Muuuuuum, I’m gonna puke on the floor had me giving Mo Farrah a run for his money in locating the trusty orange sick bucket that has saved our bacon on more than one occasion (please tell me you all have one of these too?! It actually has its very own place of honour in a specific cupboard for these salubrious occasions) Anyway I digress. Child number 2 was dispatched back to bed with bucket, glass of water and strict instructions to avoid the carpet – Florence Nightingale I am not….
After children 1, 3 and 4 were safely delivered to appropriate schools, I embarked on a reasonable and riveting discussion (read into that much rolling of eyes, muttering of oaths under breath and repeated “I know this isn’t your fault personally BUT…..) with the pharmacy about Minx’s cocktail of medications that once AGAIN were incomplete//not prepared correctly or on the right day of the month and then ran the gauntlet of Doctor’s receptionists to explain much the same. The pharmacy washed their hand of it all telling me it was the Surgery’s fault, the surgery told me it was all the fault of the pharmacy. Frankly, I don’t care – I just don’t want to spend my weekly fuel allowance driving back and forwards between the 2 when I have so many better ways to spend my time, like doing the washing/ironing/preparing dinner…..
Returning home, wondering if it was too early for wine (it was, 10am can hardly be described as sun over the yard-arm, and even making the coffee Irish at that time of day would be highly risqué) I found child number 2 in the land of nod, clearly sleeping off whatever was afflicting him so I settled down to deal with correspondence and admin – yey GO ME.
Numerous phone calls which involved hideous hold music – who chooses that stuff anyway?! Do they deliberately pick music (?!) that either makes me want to stick a fork in my ear drums and pull it out through the other side or alternatively, saw at my wrists with a rusty tea-spoon – and I was feeling that my day was less than satisfactory. If I had to give it a rating out of 10, it would have scored a very lowly 2..and that’s being highly generous.
My day improved marginally with the addition of coffee from the prized machine and a sliver of Terry’s chocolate orange. However, that was obliterated when I made the mistake of sitting at the computer and having a nosey for 5 mins. Always lovely to open an e-mail from Great Ormond Street Hospital that informs you it’s necessary to collect a sample of fecal matter from your smallest child. What in the who now?!
Letters had apparently been faxed to the GP so *all* I needed to do was collect the pot with the little scoop. This however presented its own issues – how to get a “clean” sample? So I disappeared into the garage to locate the long forgotten potty. Lashings of disinfectant later and much shrieking as I de-spidered it, potty was ready for action.
I don’t know when the last time you had this delightful experience was but I’m pretty sure the pots and scoops are a lot smaller now than they used to be….when you contemplate what has to go into the pot and the size of the opening/scoop ratio, well it doesn’t take Einstein to work out it’s not going to pretty….or fun. The experience is further improved when after pale and sweating and smelling of a combination of Dettol, hand soap and as I like to call it “aroma de caca” you deliver your prized specimen to the GP receptionist, who promptly telephones you half an hour later, after you have disposed of potty contents and dispatched it back to the garage, to tell you that they need yet another sample and can you pick up another pot to repeat the exercise.
If you want to in some way replicate my experience (and who wouldn’t?!) I am reliably informed that there is actually a new game out, just in time for Christmas you know, called “Scoop That Poop” – it involves a plastic dog and joyous game players having to waggle its tail and then scooping up the delightful nuggets the dog poops out. Frankly it sounds much more fun than the version I played….
Picking up the smallest from school, I was greeted by a worried looking teacher propping her upright and telling me she wasn’t herself….I think that was an understatement. Wobbly of leg like a new-born foal and grey/green round the gills, I knew she was sickening for something. Number 2 having miraculously rallied by the time I left for after school pick up, I knew it was nothing he was responsible for bringing home, since he clearly had a mere case of “Monday-morning-itis.”
Running through the Mother’s Mental Checklist and listening to the other Mum’s chatter of who had what in the play ground, I attempted to decipher what new ailment was presenting. Please not the dreaded D&V (with 4 kids, you just know it’s going to hit everyone and send us crashing down like skittles in a bowling alley). Could it be a common or garden cold, not too much hassle in most kids but one that sends the Minx downhill faster than a bob sled or something spotty/rash like? We’ve done chicken pox, although 2 of mine did it in style and had it twice so that was always a possibility. The rest of the nasties, they have been inoculated against so I thought these were unlikely.
Fast forward through demented night-time ramblings about spiders/mice in beds and copious amounts of calpol and ibuprofen after temperatures of 39, I decided a Doctor’s visit was in order, especially as the Minx is facing surgery at the end of October. It turned out to be tonsillitis so I’m very glad I did take her!
4 days on from very strong antibiotics, the Minx has turned a corner but is still decidedly whiney, somewhat floppy and generally rather miserable and naturally, other than a small, forlorn looking rabbit, I am her comforter of choice. Much of this week has found her attached limpet like to my leg. When I have dared leave her side to try and go for a wee in peace, the wailing is more than my nerves can stand.
She needs loads of sleep at the best of time but when poorly even more so. However, trying to persuade her of that, well I’m on a hiding to nothing. When did a day time nap become a punishment?? I just know that any parents who are reading this right now are nodding vigorously – oh for the love of a siesta! I can just about persuade her if we snuggle on the sofa with a blanket and dull tv but I think I get more out of it than her…apart from the crook in my neck which I am less of a fan of.
So now we’ve reached the weekend and a much-anticipated visit from my parents, I am hoping that it will be as tranquil and peaceful as it can be with my lovely hubby, 4 kids and a loony cat. I am looking forward to a catch up, some Mum & Dad cuddles (yes even at 30-ahem-something I do still need them), some good conversation and lot of eating – it’s something we are all very good at!
I do not need eye watering excitement or frivolity in my life. I will quite happily trade super fun and frolics for calm and serenity, ably of course washed down by something lightly sparkling, In fact, you know your preferences have rubbed off well on your children when your 8-year-old can be heard 4 aisles away in M&S shouting “Have you found the prossecco yet Mummy?” Perhaps if the ‘rents can stand the excitement, I may even just nip out to Argos and pick up a game….Scoop that Poop anyone?