Tuesday, 7 February 2012

I blame the snow

The snow comes and things always get a bit worse. Along with the feverish little flakes of hell came a gastric flu that ravaged my body and caused me to spend more time close to a toilet than I have done since a vicious bout of gastroenteritis when I was 15. That also includes a trip to India. Grim didn't even cover it. I have a feeling I picked the bug up from a kid infested place that we visited on Saturday morning. It had a drop slide, bumpy slides, dodgem cars and more soft play areas that you could see. On the plus side it had comfy sink-into chairs and great coffee. If you have to be anywhere kid related on a Saturday morning at 10:30 then there are far worse places to be.

That night a friend kindly picked me up - driving an hour to get me, an hour back to his house and then the same trip the next day. I had refused to drive in snow as we all remember the great car write off in Feb '09 (shortly followed by the almost marriage write off...). I drank too much wine, ate too much and felt mighty queasy when I went to bed. But the next day I felt AWFUL. After vomiting several times, I kept thinking that 'boy, I'm getting old the hangovers are KILLING me' but when every muscle in my body ached and even my eyeballs hurt - well maybe not my eyeballs but you get the picture - I curled up in a bath and then bed. Husband was understanding. Kind of. 'You just had a night away... your turn to do bath time.'

Next day he got up with the kids - which was great as I felt worse. Head like cotton wool. Body aching. Stomach heaving. Husband left, Sproglet went to school and I took Sproglette to her first happy clappy class. It will be her last. Only three other Mothers made it through the snow - so I couldn't hide away from singing letting all others drown me out. No in the chilly hall every voice counted so I had to growl my way through songs and clap and cheer and run around with floaty scarves and catch bubbles, the whole time thinking 'I am going to shit my pants.' Not with joy. But literally.

Sproglette was a bit 'meh' about the whole thing. She wanted to eat the drumsticks rather than bang them. She wanted run around rather than sit nicely in a circle as we patted our knees and most of all she clapped at every inappropriate time. Good on her. We made it home by walking on the street - pavements impossible with all the sludge snow - and then I became best friends with the toilet. I'll spare you the details - but I think I 'detoxed' for sure.

Sproglette, not to be outdone on the toilet front produced three horrific nappies that suggested she too was sharing my bug. She slept for 2 and a half hours whilst I lay on the sofa realising that every TV movie on in an afternoon contains Steve Carell - often being not that funny. Only by about 6pm did my stomach cease it's purging. We had long gone past the 'purge even when there is nothing left there to purge' stage. I had a bath with Sproglette. Sproglet meanwhile was so engrossed in the Simpsons that he weed his pants. I was livid as he knows where the bathroom is. I threatened to write a note in his school diary to his teacher about such pant wetting - maybe he needs nappies? (as we have been here before - the kid waits until his bladder is about to explode to move his skinny ass towards porcelain). He went nuts. He said he would rip out the page so the teacher would never know and hide it. Then he declared, 'I am going to run away!' O.M.G. I remember doing exactly the same but I think I was about 8 or 9. The kid is 5 and 3/4 and he is thinking of doing a bunk.

So I did what my Mother did to me. I offered to pack his bag. I set about putting toys in his back pack and he strode downstairs and put his wellies on. Demaded his coat, swung backpack over his shoulder and marched out the front door hell bent on escape and running to... god knows where.

I let him get as far as the gate which is basically about five steps. Then I made him come back. He announced next time he would run away "in real life!" Then I snuggled him and told him I loved him and that of course we didn't want him to run away. Then I put him to bed and kissed him goodnight.

Today I awoke to the sound of the bathroom bin being shut. I immediately knew what had happened. I opened it to reveal a ripped out page of his diary. I was so angry I didn't even realise that I hadn't had to visit the bathroom all night - and therefore must be on the mend. I didn't know what to do - so I made Husband deal with it. I hadn't written to the teacher at all - he had ripped out a note I had written about wanting to see his schoolwork as I missed the child shows parent day. Bless him, full marks for calculated planning. He must have sat on his wee mission all night. I realised he was just frightened about his buddies discovering his pant wetting event so his punishment will be fair but not as harsh as initially I had suggested. His suggestion to solve this all 'build a toilet in the hall.' Our hall is an arm length wide and about 7 foot long. Not big at all. Tiny in fact.

In the midst of all this toilet trauma I have been having email discussions with a friend who is getting back with her idiot ex-boyfriend. I did a lot of home truth telling and maybe that wasn't the way to go... It is just crap to watch friends make the same mistake over and over again - should you always support them in all that they do, even though you know that what they are doing, is downright wrong???

The snow came and with it more drama than I have had in months. Thank god those icy little particles are melting away into nothingness. Soon it will be like it never happened at all.

UPDATE: Now my daughter has managed to lose a shoe - from her only pair of shoes (on Dad's watch I add) and the boiler has packed in. Can't be fixed until Friday. No heating - JOY!!!!

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