Mog kept me up til silly o'clock at night, then woke again at stupid o'clock in the morning. And again at totally insane o'clock, and finally at child-you-are-risking-your-life-can-you-really-not-cope-without-music-for-twenty-minutes o'clock. After which I gave sleep as a bad job; there are times when it just isn't going to happen.
So, child awake, dressed, hair tamed, school bags assembled, bus arrived and Mog safely shipped to school for the day. Coffee poured, washing up finished, washing in machine, and the phone rings. It's school. I have forgotten to send in Mog's sling, without which she can't be changed or moved from her wheelchair. I promise to drop it in as soon as Little Fish wakes.
And then, because the other phone somehow got left in Little Fish's bedroom last night, she is awake. And feeling much better than yesterday, although apparently not well enough to get dressed. Upsy Daisy pyjamas for the day it is then.
I strap her into her carseat and throw a blanket over her, we head off to school with a sling. I leave her in the car and throw the sling out at a somewhat startled LSA. And then since we are in the car anyway, we head over to Kidlington to collect a parcel. Again Little Fish stays in the nicely warm van as I shudder my way to the counter, pay the charge and collect my enormous roll of Zorb. Little Fish gets the giggles as I post it over the top of the driver's seat and onto her head.
We are about to drive home but I am distracted by signposts promising "Fresh local Christmas Trees". We investigate. And are directed through country roads and round corners until suddenly we find the world's smallest Christmas Tree shop. Not unnaturally, Little Fish declines to stay in the warm at this point, so I wrap her in Mog's poncho, hoping to disguise the pyjamas and bedsocks somewhat, and perch her on one hip as we make our choice. I then have the pleasure of hauling one 3foot Christmas Tree to the wrapping machine with one hand, balancing Little Fish with the other, as four members of staff stand watching me and sipping hot chocolate. We get to within 2 feet of the cash desk when one man finally sips the last of his hot chocolate and offers help. I pay, grumpily, and the tree is loaded into our van.
Home, and no bicycle outside so we are hopeful that our cleaner has been and gone. I have nothing whatsoever against our cleaner, however she much prefers it if she can have the house to herself, and does a far better job if we go away and leave her to it.
Anyway, she cleans, we camp out on the settee doing the Charlie and Lola puzzles for the umpteenth time, she leaves, and Little Fish goes into action restoring the house to its former lack of glory.
And then this. "Mummy, you love me?"
Yes, I love you.
"You love me always?"
I love you always and forever and from before we ever met.
"You love me really really?"
Yes, I love you.
"My bottom singing. La la la parp prump parp pop pop".
And now it is evening again. Mog was not coughing when the bus came, so was able to catch it home again. Where she then coughed and spluttered and drowned, and then went into spasm and cried and complained. And dropped off to sleep, and woke herself up with a seizure. And dropped off, and woke up, and dropped off, and woke up. We're now on the third option as far as safe sleeping spaces are concerned, and she may just be settling. Little Fish is snuggled up in her own bed, apparently asleep until I go to close her bedroom door (that ventilator is LOUD) when I get "You no close door Mummy, you love me". And I? I have had a bath, using the bath salts we were given at the Rosy lunch last week. Lovely. Except they were full of lavendar seeds. Which have now detached themselves from the bath and fastened themselves to my back, like small, sweetly scented tics. I wonder who designed them?
Off tomorrow to stay with friends, so updates will have to wait until Sunday (unless I run into an overdose of uber-geekery and update from their house).
Pray for T, those who do,