My friend and her two boys have been with us for four full days.
It is time for her to go home, which I worry about, but also know she’ll be ok. Her progress and ability to manoeuvre herself around and about has been phenomenal. She is amazing, and I have the utmost confidence she will be okay. Physically, at least.
Also, she needs to get home.
It has, in a way, been a bit of a ‘holiday’ – all we needed was a beach house or rented apartment in some holiday locale and it would have been exactly like a holiday; the boys all got along marvellously and kept each other entertained, occupied and having loads of crazy fun.
Our only oversight was the sleeping arrangements; as we had my friend in one of the kids bedrooms and beds for a comfy sleep and quiet so she may recover.
Thus, we ended up with three kids on the sofa bed in the living room, seriously thwarting our opportunities to lie about and watch movies once they went to bed. Damnit! Such a perfect opportunity missed.
Packed and ready to go in the afternoon, I drove her and her boys home, via a medical place to have one of her feet scanned, and a supermarket so she could stock up on a few essentials. She bought me a cherry ripe because I’d been behaving myself and had been good.
I stay for a bit, making sure there is nothing that needs doing before I go. She sits on the couch and it only takes her twenty seconds to get up, unlike the hour and a half it took only a few days ago (and depriving me of a moment of mirthfulness). I am reassured, although I know there is still a way to go.
I check and check and check she is ok, have a chat to her kids and I head home, where I discover I have her wallet in my handbag.
I think she’s going to need that ….