Saturday, 12 November 2011

Recovery

It has been a difficult week. Somewhere in it, I bin sick. Proper exploding eyeballs, shiveryshakery, drop down dead bed at 5pm sick.

It must have been bad. I am told that Daddy Dig came in, took a look, then went off to cook dinner.

Lying there, wound in my sheets of sorrow, alone, listening for the knocking of the reaper, I wrote out my last will and testament in my buzzabout head. All was archangel poetic in there until it dawned on me I don't have nuffink to give away except 15 pairs of Tesco value knickers and a twelve-year cycle of depression.

So I went for the long shot instead, and took a good long sleep and 2 litres of honey-lemon water.

The next day I saw that I did not die.

Did anyone notice that? I did. I feel it is one big medalworthy achievement.

Even more of an achievement (or maybe the self-sacrificing to-the-slaughter triumph of motherhood) was that, within 24 hours of not nearly dying, somewhere in this same week I raised myself up from my death-bed and took Shark, Squirrel and Tiger to a Chemistry workshop that involved balloons.



Discovering that I was not yet dead a second time, I then bought Tiger a pair of trousers and cooked pasta pie.*

That final act, I have to say, wiped me back to square one, so off to bed I went.

But I do not know whether to congratulate myself for this week dragging myself from a death bed to fulfill a promise, or whether I should be beaten severely, since I have surely infected half of Hong Kong with my malicious virus, even now joyfully wriggling its way up the escalator handrail in the IFC.

In either case, damn me or applaud me, for the next day or two, I'm taking it easy.

*Pasta pie is this family's recipe concoction. Not recommended. It looks like vomit.

7 comments:

sharon said...

Hope you are completely recovered very soon.

I am resting after a 4-day weekend which saw our little household of 2 expand by an extra 3 'mature-age' adults and 10 twenty-somethings. I am knackered and the cupboards are bare. Tomorrow I might summon up enough energy to buy food, tonight we will manage with the odd scraps of leftovers or just go to bed!

Gweipo said...

sometimes it really bugs me that I'm so darn healthy and never get ill, i'd love for an excuse to stay in bed, avoid all my committments real and imagined and just sleep ....

Nora said...

I want to get really sick too, but I want someone to fuss over me now and then and take the dog for a walk. I want to take full advantage of my illness, but I never get sick. Bah humbug!

MadameSmokinGun said...

I'd go back to bed while you have the chance missus!

We've got it the other way round here today - I have a sick Cheetah Boy and they way we've dealt with that is: dropped big sis at nearest town's bus station with half a ton of handmade paper for the hall meeting; don't tell the smaller two monkeys what they're missing (including Little Rock Godling's beloved drama thing); allow big sis to come home again on the bus after HER beloved drama thingie despite that being at 8.00 at night - eek!!!; clock-watch all afternoon and get nothing done in the house at all except empty sick bowls; cuddle the phone until I get the text that she's 'on the bus' - which I just did and can now breathe again.... a bit. Now just worrying that someone on the bus will try to nick the phone she's just texted me with and..... oh gods I've got this feeling for how many years to come now? Need a sick bowl myself....!!!!

Sam said...

Hope you get better soon - but in the meanwhile, stay in bed and insist on being pampered!

Rachel M. said...

My goodness it's a nasty bit going around! Do stay in bed until you are better. The girls (and Dig) are well equipped to feed themselves for a few days!!!

Grit said...

thank you for your comments people! i am much recovered. i love how the family dynamics completely change when the mother humanoid is taken out of the mix. i observe the first moments of headless chicken running while everyone panics about dinner and the laundry, which shows the true worth of me, anyhow.