Miss Mog is now halfway through a course of flucloxacillin, following on immediately from a week of amoxycillin, which follows swiftly on from a batch of co-amoxiclav, all of which is being washed down by her regular azithromycin. I think she may be sterile. Certainly, there's no hint of green anywhere near her copious secretions, the large pink throbbing circle surrounding her gastrostomy has shrunk significantly and is showing signs of returning to normal. Her bowels are possibly the sprightliest they've been in a good long while, and any vaguely hormonal spots appear to have packed up and headed south for the winter.
Two days dairy free have done a lot to improve her antibiotic discomfort though; so it was a shock to discover her silently screaming under her mask this morning. A scream which became significantly less silent when we removed the mask, but resolved itself fairly soon. She wasn't interested in explaining, so I settled for being happy that it wasn't an issue any more.
Meanwhile the Little Princess woke up in an "I"m not going to church so you can't either, HAH" mood. Resisting the urge to retort with "Well I'm going and you're too young to stay home alone so you have to come with me HAH DOUBLE HAH" (although I'll admit the temptation was almost overwhelming), I settled for a reasonably rational "Never mind, I'm sure you'll enjoy it when we get there." I do occasionally get to play the adult. It's rare enough that I feel I should record it when it happens.
Not the most auspicious starts to the day though. I did however manage a very nice warm shower all by myself and reasonably early on, meaning that I was for once fully dressed and very nearly polished (or as polished as I get) before our carer turned up. Shame about the kitchen, but then the cats had had great fun with the two-years-out-of-date coley fillets I'd found and ejected from the back of the freezer last night. At least they weren't totally wasted; the cats really had had quite a lot of fun punting them around the floor most of the night.
Still, clean clothes, clean hair, straight parting; it doesn't come much better than that around here. A shame then, that an explosive bowel incident (not my own!) coated not just three walls of the bathroom but also hit rather closer to home.
OK, cleaned up, two girls somehow dressed and polished, neither coughing or showing any signs of illness - bowels being more disability related than anything new and interesting. One ham sandwich cut into heart shapes (how did this get started), one tasty home-made-almond-milk* based smoothie smushed rather more hastily than usual, one carer harried out of the house, and we were in fact off to church in decent time. Albeit with a reasonably large trail of devastation ranging throughout the house.
To church then, and Miss Mog opted to stay with the adults rather than heading for the
Little Miss Innocent all through coffee; "Who me? I wouldn't make a sound", and then home where a nicely bland and dairy free chicken casserole was waiting to be blended for Mog and flavoured up a little for the rest of us. An equally bland and kind on the stomach fish pie also blended, music CDs burnt for staff who can't work an iPod, a bag packed, (and if it takes me three hours per bag for Florida then I should have started last week, oops) and equipment gathered together for a trip to respite, and we were just about out of the door after a reasonably hurried lunch.
Into the bus, and once again Mog demonstrated why exactly we really need our new bus with her spot up at the front next to me. It's never good to be driving down the dual carriage way, to hear large cough and silence, and to have a small child say "Mummy, Mog's upside down in her chair." Coughing her way off the seat and down the side of the chair is really not a great new talent. And a three point harness doesn't stop it - roll on new chair as well as new bus. Now please.
Back to Mog's second home - we missed a few nights for various reasons, so she's had extra respite this month; I miss her but two lie-ins a week has been really rather lovely. A quick run-through all her new meds and protocols (you wouldn't believe what's changed just since Thursday), a check of email address to email a copy of her talking book, as our very nice printed one seems to have gone AWOL - rewards may be offered for its swift return - a discussion about feeding and everything else under the sun and finally tLP and I were back in the bus and ready for home.
Detouring past various petrol stations in the vain hope one of them might have diesel at a cost not requiring a second mortgage (for my US readers; the cheapest I can find is $10.40/gallon), successfully avoiding McDonalds, tLP and I arrived home with only a camping saucepan full of wee (she's developing an obsession with self cathing in the car; I'm all for independence but I think she's taking it a little far) to commemorate our trip.
A request was made for chocolate Brownies. Not wishing to sabotage my last ditch plans for a week of healthy eating before we hit Florida (with all its Funnel Cakes and Blueberry Bagels and other yummy stuffs), I was rather pleased to find a recipe for just two Brownies. Found one which claims to make just one 95calorie Brownie too, but oh dear, I had no yoghurt, and so had to go for the double version instead. We mixed, we poured, we licked the bowl and baked the Brownie. We actually had a whole five minutes without any kind of frustration on either side. It was good. Chocolate is good.
And then we returned to the battle of wills over drinking, over how we don't throw things on the floor because then we run over them and they break, how we don't ever EVER pour water over iPads and computer keyboards, and how STOP means cease and desist immediately, not just when it happens to suit you, and how spitting is Never Allowed, and how bedtime really is going to be very soon and how tiredness is Not An Excuse, and on and on until I was tired of the sound of my own voice and certainly tired of the sound of "well I'm sorry, but...", and thankfully the Brownie was baked, or nearly, and so we split it in two and poured it out onto plates, and nibbled together. Food, the great healer. And we had switched the cocoa with drinking chocolate, since cocoa had we none, and tLP the gourmet tasted hers and declared it officially too sweet to be a proper Brownie (and she was right). I have great hopes for her cooking ability.
Our evening carer appeared and persuaded tLP into a bath. And tLP shouted long and loud about the wrong way to wash her hair, and the wrong way to wash her bowel and spoon, and the wrong way to be hoisted, and the wrong order to get into bed, and I considered trying on her ear muffs but settled for a baked potato and some pumpkin and cashew nut soup, and decided I'm unlikely to lose 2 stone in the next three days, so I may as well enjoy eating all the good things we have around us. And there are many such good things all around us at the moment.
And still she shouted on, and meanwhile I attempted to email respite a copy of Mog's talking book. And one hour after I first began the attempt, I think the sixth version of the email address has finally gone through without, so far, being rejected. A missing r, a missing ., a rogue k, a missing r and a rogue btconnect; a frozen mail server, a forced computer shutdown, and finally I think I have just about managed to send three attachments to the same place, where I hope they will be able to assemble them in something vaguely approaching the correct order, and Mog will have a voice again. And then of course the pink file will turn up again. Or at least it had better.
Meanwhile, tLP, wrestled into bed, suddenly morphed into the most charming and caring child on the planet. And begged please for a nice Bible Story and now won't you ask me questions about it to help me understand it and now I just want to check these little bits and HEY NO I'm not tired at all (but oh boy, I am!). And so we Snuggledy-Buggeldy-Ruggedly'd her up tight with Tummy Pig and Special Blanket, and she asked me very politely to close the bedroom door, and I did, and there was silence.
Until suddenly there wasn't, because Stealth Cat had decided to disguise herself as a pair of school trousers and so had been left behind in the bedroom, ready to leap at the first sign of a sleeping child.
Cat extracted, we said goodnight again as Mummy and daughter, and as friends, and if not letting the sun go down on your anger isn't quite as good as not letting yourself get that angry in the first place, it does I think come a close second.
And now she's asleep and the cats are asleep, and the kitchen no longer reeks of fish, but I've just remembered the load of ashing which has now been in the machine for 36 hours, so I had better go and extract it on the way to my own superbly comfy bed.