I farewell any entertaining of the possibility that I might fit a walk in.
Instead, I’ve woken early (all the text messages Grumpy sent me yesterday that didn’t come through, came through at 4.00a.m. Nice) and set about fixing up another few pages on my site, reviewing a script and finalising the document for my meeting at 11.00 this morning.
I distribute children to their various childcare/educational facilities that will be responsible for them today. Grumpy rings to ask me to bring in some books, because he is bored. Also, he has no idea when he’ll be coming home, but was moved to a ward at 4.00 a.m.
Another isolation room. Although they now think he has just has a bad reaction to some anti-biotics.
Again, I have limited time. As in, enough to shower, print out documents (allowing bare seconds to swear at printer and kick it, as we all know how printers misbehave when It Is Urgent!) get dressed and leave.
Organise to pack a bag and see him after my meeting.
Arrive home to find meeting has been cancelled.
Shower anyway (I think it’s been two days) and figure I’ll go in and leave all the stuff that needs doing till later.
I sit, just for a second mind … and two hours later, I’ve completely edited and sent off a script for review, structured a production timeline, blogged, sent off questions relating to complex legal document, and list of what’s left to do on my site.
Consider nominating self for Wife Of The Year, but choose to actually take clean undies and a toothbrush to my poxy husband instead.
Am forced to wear mask, before entering room to see him. They let me off donning the gown as well.
Meet a friend for lunch. Haven’t eaten in a long time.
Have just enough time to race home and grab guitars for concert practice immediately after school, head to grade 6 graduation committee meeting, round children up and herd them off to guitar lessons.
Take this moment to do something that is not sitting on arse in car, and walk to childcare to collect Chippie.
He is busting for toilet by the time we get to guitar lesson venue, manages to wee all over his pants (quite by accident, just a wild hosing by penis).
He, however, got the better end of the deal. I managed to get shit all over my hands.
I … inexplicably … do not cry.
He is required to walk around corner to where I have parked the now completely devoid of petrol car, which I am to use to transport children to see their father.
They think their father is at work, and want to know what he is cooking them for dinner.
Am accused of not telling them anything, but I swear I did. Am also pretty sure it was between the repeated bouts of “Do the frigging dishwasher” and “Have you brushed your teeth yet?” So it is entirely possible that they just tuned out.
Take wrong turn to get to petrol station and when finally arrive, half the bowsers are blocked off. This is coupled with the advent of twice as many vehicles requiring petrol at that time. Spend another hour in the car on way to hospital (no, not the one we could walk to from our house!) as I have take another wrong turn, into traffic.
Chippie refuses to wear a mask into Grumpy’s room. Godzilla is bored within 13 second of entry and wants to play Angry Birds. Grumpy says he feels like he is on an episode of House , where they are unable to diagnose him with anything and Monkey Boy discovers the controls for the bed.
By the time we leave, am pretty sure Grumpy will do what he can to remain in hospital for as long as possible.
And it’s entirely possible that he suffered some form of bed-crushing injury at the hands of his own offspring. Monkey Boy would also like it if he has some weird disease that has ever been discovered before, because that would be “so cool!”
Leave. Stop at restaurant on way home for dinner. Waiter takes one look at me and says “Looks like someone needs a glass of wine” and takes our orders.
Utilise the pre-9.00p.m. hour to purchase birthday presents for a party that is happening tomorrow; yes the tomorrow I just remembered has all three of my children at three different locations at exactly the same time.
If I may be serious for a moment; in all of this, and knowing what my Sunday is also going to be like (three diary entries scheduled from one end of the day to the other, including a leap out of a plane