Sleep is for the weak

Mog is tired. Mog wants to sleep. But every time Mog slips into a deep sleep, Mog relaxes. And every time Mog relaxes, her airway collapses. Mog falls into a deep sleep every sixty to ninety minutes throughout the night. And I have to wake her up. Mog is tired. So am I. Which is possibly why this reads like a Peter and Jane book.

In the meantime my tired mind is running on random thoughts.

How is it that yesterday, despite the fact that the carer we were expecting did not turn up or let us know she wouldn't be turning up, we managed to be all three dressed and actually early for church? And yet today, with Little Fish getting up an hour earlier than planned, and Mog's carer turning up despite me not expecting her, we were running late for school?

I wouldn't say we were especially presentable for church yesterday - having scoured the house for cleanish clothes for the girls, I threw my own on at the last minute before walking out of the door into the beautiful Spring sunshine. A gentle breeze blowing the cobwebs away as we walked to church, enough of a chill to give the girls rosy cheeks but enough warmth to dispense with coats and make do in my case with a nice long cardigan I hadn't worn for a month or so.

Still, hair brushed (and then whipped out of shape by the wind), clean faces, fresh teeth, happy girls. We walked into church and stood by a radiator for a while waiting for Godzone to be ready for us. The radiator smelled a bit stale, a bit like something rather unpleasant had been spilled inside it.

But, doors opened, the girls wheeled in, and I went to sit down in church. The stale radiator smell followed me through and I wondered if all the heating had been somehow polluted. Something in the air perhaps? Friends arrived and sat next to us, and assumed there was an unfortunate incident with an incontinence pad. And then I realised the smell was following me around. And that lovingly cherished cardigan which had been out of sight under Little Fish's bed stowed away for the last month was actually covered in stale cat piss. "They'd make a good rug, wouldn't they?" said my neighbour as we stood to sing the opening hymn. People gave us a wide berth as we waited for coffee; I'm not entirely sure why...

And on a totally unrelated note, I'd like to know the answer to this:

Why is it that if a group of businessmen and women decide to adjourn to a restaurant it's called a working lunch, but when a group of stay at home mothers meet up for lunch or coffee, bringing their children and therefore their work with them, we are called "ladies of leisure" ?

Tia