Friday, 9 March 2012

Our week

Monday: back to hospital for another wound review: satisfactory progress and discharged for a fortnight. All signed off as fit for school. Much celebration. Training tentatively planned for school on Tuesday.

Tuesday: a long day respite. Coincidentally, a friend in town accompanying her daughter to a university interview. How can her daughter be old enough to be a mature student? She was 14 just yesterday, or last time we met. Lunch at the Nosebag (upstairs with no lift; an important ritual when I'm without girls). Memories of two daughters no longer with us, and of the day Goldie nearly got us thrown off a caravan site.* Training rearranged for Wednesday. Wound dressing changed; looking good and visibly smaller.

Wednesday: a very excited little girl all dressed up in school uniform and itching to get back to her friends. We are about to leave when the phone rings; training postponed until Monday, don't come in. Small one not consoled by going to Rainbows later on. Miss Mog meanwhile kidnaps a member of school staff to escort her to respite, as expected escort not present. All good fun. Wound dressing changed; looking even smaller. tLP decides she can't sleep because Mog is in respite and she should be in her own bed at home.

Thursday: The Little Princess and I decide a trip to IKEA is in order. We load up and go. She points out we don't have the bins. I go back and collect bins. We arrive, take a ticket and wait for Customer returns. tLP gives man at the counter a long and detailed explanation of my bin lid related idiocy. He swaps bins for IKEA card and looks amused. As does everyone else in the queue. We go upstairs to spend balance on card. Find a couple of things, grab a bin and matching lid (checking lid very carefully and realising that there must, at some point, have been a third sized bin since no lids match our flour bins). I resist a £159 rug. We eat lunch. We get to the checkouts, queue, and pay. It is at this point I notice a large hole in the new bin I am about to buy. We leave the bin and decide against replacing it. I am clearly not meant to own a nice cream bin with matching lid. Or not an IKEA one, anyway. Wound dressing changed; measurably smaller. Mog comes home, and laughs constantly from getting off the bus until getting into bed. At which point she screams and sobs for the next two hours, giving in to sedation and pain relief only extremely reluctantly. tLP decides she can't sleep because Mog should have two nights in respite. I am inclined to agree, but wonder if I could leave the girls here and book myself in instead.

Friday: Mog goes to school. tLP and I decide to do some baking in honour of expected weekend guests. We go to buy butter and eggs, and somehow end up with Smarties and Crisps. A good healthy lunch it is, then. We bake. tLP does the majority of the work; I do the majority of the cleaning up, which includes hoovering the ceiling. The hoover gets stuck to the wall. I consider the many situations I'd never considered finding myself in, and decide this is one of them. Wound dressing changed; wound is 1cm larger and 1cm wider than it was yesterday. Rats. Mog comes home from school giggling. Nurse attempts to smuggle kitten home with her. Grannie visits. tLP throws a wobbly over the utter outrageousness of being expected to eat a piece of fruit. Grolly decides to attack Benjamin. I decide I must shower brownie batter out of tLP's hair, and miss watching my friend talk about adopting her beautiful son from South Africa on BBC1 news. Early night for tLP who is exhausted. Miss Mog still smiling, so later night for her; I am hopeful this might help her to settle better. Sadly her later night still began 90 minutes ago, and she is still grizzling in bed, despite much conversation and cuddles, pain relief and repositioning, changing over the music and rearrangement of the lights, and despite enough medication to fell a small horse. Now Grolly is out, Benjamin is gleeful, the grizzles are still coming, and there's a bowl of sourdough starter bubbling over and ripe for baking.

Another week in the life of us.

Comment at some point during one of the many dressing changes from tLP. "Oh Goddy, Goddy, Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh God, Oh GOD". A look from me, reminding her We Don't Say That Here and Sometimes Some Grownups Say Things Children Mustn't Say (It's a sort of Paddington Hard Stare but if you ask tLP, she'll tell you what it means. "Sorry Mummy, but I HAVE to say it, every part of my being cries out Oh God".

I think I can get behind that.

*a group of us met up for my God-daughter's dedication. One friend newly returned from South Africa still without her precious son. Another introducing her newly adopted baby. Wobbly walkers, twitchy talkers; at one point 27 of us were squeezed into our caravan. Goldie being obnoxiously loud full of the joys of spring, we banished her outside where she sang her songs of glee to the sun and the wind in the trees, and where we tossed her slices of cake which she crumbled and scattered for the squirrels (and smeared across her face and hair and wheelchair). All good fun. Until the manager of the site paid us a visit, to inform us that holiday makers in a neighbouring caravan had complained that we were mistreating a child who was screaming having been abandoned outside our 'van. To his credit, he told us to ignore them; he could see that she was having fun. But we thought discretion was possibly better than being reported to social services/having fireworks pushed through our windows later that night and stopped her party. Killjoys.


Sandy said...

:) a lovely memory of Goldie .. we think of her often and never eat Pizza without thinking of her , never ever forgotten in this house , she will always be loved xx Sandy

Sandra Fisher said...

What a lovely weekend that was! I also remember Mog standing on a talking toy in church - happy days and lovely memories of Goldie xx


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