Winging it!

Winging it and hoping for the best, is my general adopted position when it comes to the two thousand things that have to be done here in any one day. It largely works, kind of, with priorities being met and the less important things going on the neverending, non existing, list of “stuff to do”  tomorrow.

With a book deadline drawing ever closer, the usual deadlines to be met, a transition year musical on the horizon and upcoming both confirmation and communion, in addition to the other million and one things that go hand in hand with rearing a family we decided that we might need to give our whole winging it policy a bit of a helping hand – so my husband booked Monday off work.

Our internal walls were badly in need of a little TLC thanks to the combined artistic efforts of my 3 year old and 18 month old with a purple crayon and a red marker, so the plan was to tackle them, let me get some serious writing done and declutter some of huge amount of homeless junk that was gathering in every room of the house. We were a man and a woman on a mission. Our plan was to restore order to our gaff!

Rookie mistake. Making plans when you have children, is just tempting fate – and fate was weak.

And so it came to pass that we spent Friday night in A&E waiting for my daughter, who had been referred by our G.P. with suspected appendicitis, to be assessed. Trooper that she generally is, meant that the first attending doctor viewed us suspiciously, wondering why she didn’t just take painkillers and stay at home. She didn’t seem to be in enough pain apparently. I explained how she had been screaming in agony earlier and that it was actually the G.P. who had sent us over and that she still was in a lot of pain, it was just relative. When the surgeon came to see her, she decided to admit for surgery in the morning. The consultant the next day, had her in theatre within ten minutes of his examination.

While I waited for my daughter to come out of theatre, a message arrived in my inbox. A preparatory photo, I like to call it. My husband, the responsible adult at home taking care of our other children, had thought rugby scrumming with my eight year old in our kitchen, you know the sort of place where there are hard tiles on the floor, was a good idea. Turns out he was wrong, and the eight year old had an impressive lump on his forehead and black eye to prove it. Some culpability was directed my eight year old’s way by the responsible adult– apparently, “he hadn’t bound properly”.

Naturally enough the weekend passed with intricate negotiations necessary to allow myself and my husband to take turns spending time with my daughter at hospital, without unleashing the full force of a Hogan invasion. The boys were fretting for their sister and were keen to see how she was doing but we had to keep messages to the video kind as her stitches wouldn’t have coped with the physical impact of their concern.

 

And as Monday, the day that we were supposed to take control, drew to a close, we realised that in terms of all that had to be done, we were now in a worse position than we were before, but our daughter was home, and all was well, and the eight year old’s shiner was every colour of the rainbow.

Normality had returned to our household, there was lots to do. Winging it was best option.

When Man-Flu strikes!!!

Winter is well and truly here. Along with the usual festivities in the build up to Christmas, it has brought to this house a dose that strikes fear into the heart of any parent of boys. Man flu has arrived with a bang.

Man-flu is making its presence felt with a vengeance. Much as I love my darling sons, I’m afraid there are no warriors among them.  My daughter managed to catch, just a cold – lucky her, but the boys have been struck down so badly with this cursed dose, that any attempts to encourage movement from their slumped position on the couch brings about the sort of whines and moans that are associated with this terrible, prohibitive illness.

According to the six year old, it’s my fault that he’s sneezing because I gave him peas instead of beans yesterday.  I’m also responsible for his teacher having caught his sneezes because of my insistence that he bring a tissue to school – apparently the mere sight of it set her off “astishoo-ing”.

I’m trying not to take any of this to heart.  Confusion is one of the side effects of this illness. The three year old, also suffering – and definitely not in silence, has become confused as to how the sponge ended up down the toilet.  The ten year old has no idea why his dirty socks keep piling up on the floor of his bedroom, even though he DEFINITELY put them into the wash basket. The seven year old is confused as to how he has managed to come home in a pair of school shoes that are three sizes too big for him and have laces – which he can’t even tie! The twelve year old is confused as to why he must go to the school having sneezed twice at this stage and so obviously therefore, very much in the throes of it. The one year old is blowing snot bubbles from his gorgeous button nose at a very impressive rate.  He’s not confused at all – he knows he’s miserable and he’s letting us know all about it.

Begone man-flu– leave my poor boys alone. I’m not sure how much more of their “suffering” my female self can endure!

 

The Plague

It’s been a long week. The plague – aka a vomiting bug, hit this house and still hasn’t left yet.  I am drowning in bed sheets and towels and every time I turn around another ashen-faced child is looking at me saying “maaaaam – I don’t feel very well”.

In spite of strategically placed basins at bedtime and constant checking, not one child has so far managed to make it to the bathroom, or even the strategically placed basin. Middle of the night showers, floor scrubbing and bed changing have been a frequent occurrence this week and no amount of open windows, air freshener or scented cleaners can convince me that there’s not a smell of vomit lingering upstairs. School pick ups have been more than slightly challenging, trying to work around AVTs (anticipated vomiting times) and it has been a lonely week as a house with a vomiting bug most definitely makes us personae non gratae among basically, just about everyone.  Not saying I blame them, but, I thought the close friend of mine who did me the enormous favour of collecting my junior infant from school one day this week and basically catapulted him in the door and ran away screaming might have slightly overreacted to the risk involved….

 

I’m clinging on to the hope that having taken almost everyone down at this stage, it will be gone soon, or at the very least, those yet to get it, have a better aim than their predecessors!