Monday, August 04, 2008

Germ Day

About 6am this morning I decided to stay home with Miss 2 instead of going to work. She had more or less gotten over the conjunctivitis in her right eye by Saturday, but on Sunday afternoon the left eye was gunking up, and she had added a cold to the mix, so I thought it best to stay home and give her a quiet day. I had no classes today, and maybe I could find a little quiet time to fight off my own monotonous sniffles.

You'd think that after three children I would have more sense than to have such ideas.

Miss 2 was indeed very sticky and coldy-smelling this morning, very slow to get going, and very clingy. We waved the other two off with daddy, made toast (possibly half a piece and two sips of milky tea), tidied ourselves, tidied the kitchen, stripped her bed and assorted anointed towels, washers and pillowcases and put the washing on, gathered our bits and went to buy new vacuum cleaner bags. We came home with free bags because I agreed to be sold an attachment that catches most of the dirt in a plastic washable container (I have been lusting after a Dyson for years but refuse to pay for a new vac while the old one still works fine), poor sad little Miss 2 went straight to bed, and I had a cuppa and hung out the washing. Miss 2 wakes up, snuffling and sad, is cleaned up, cuddled and put back to bed, I do next load of washing, get ready to tidy up, Miss 2 wakes up even more distressed, has medicine, and we grab the pram for a soothing stroll to get some milk. 20 mins later, it is noon, we're back, and Miss 2 has had two handfuls of grapes and is bright and chirpy and fine thank you very much! Obviously the antihistamine in that medicine does not knock her out. Hang out the washing, put away the shopping, make some lunch, respond attentively to a non-stop stream of "burble burble mummy mummy mummy mummy burble mummy mummy mummy daddy burble burble burble daddy burble mummy mummy mummy".
Vac floors, put Miss 2 to bed, finish floors, unpack dishwasher, chop veges, boil kettle, decide to let her sleep till 3.30, hear noise, think it is just the breeze through the open windows, sip tea, hear 'mummy mummy mummy', go to investigate, child is not in room, 'mummy mummy', child is in my room, on my pillow, using my lovely rosehip cream to do face, hands, knees, dolly, edge of pillow, side of sheet, top of bedhead, switch of lamp, corner of table, tassle of bookmark, other tube of cream, lid and sides of jar of cream, and there are no tissues left. Child is bare-bummed (the nappy is neatly rolled in between the two pillows), sticky, and completely unaware of how much she has made mummy want to buy a mega-block of Lindt 70% and scoff the lot right now.
I find new box of tissues, a plastic bag, and commence operation "Why Me, Why Here, Why Now?". Twenty-odd tissues later most of the evidence has been removed from the scene, and the child is en route to being properly clothed. We grab bits and pieces as I cast a swift, longing glance at my full mug of tea with the skin on top, and head out to fetch the other two from school.
Home, and there are bags, tv negotiations, snacks, starting of dinner, bringing in of washing, responding attentively to "mummy mummy mummy" all the while, with dashes of "I'm a human calculator on level 2!" and "he threw the rug over my head!". Bread rolls, washing up, swipe the old sticky bits off the table so that we can identify culprits of tonight's new sticky bits if/when necessary, dish up, eat, clear, fill and label 18 small containers of soup, stories, cuddles, kisses, turn on the computer sit down to have some fun.

Now I remember why I went back to work.