It’s already July. There’s about 20 something weekends left until Christmas. Crap.
This weekend is almost over which is bummer because I’m really not ready for Monday. The week has flown by in a blur of sick kids, sleepless nights, school holiday fun, snotty noses and a stuffed neck. The fun never stops here.
Hayden’s been riddled with his usual winter chest problems, ear infections and tonsillitis. Jack’s had one of those annoying random coughs and they both decided to finally listen to my rule about sharing, and gave me their germs. It’s their weekend with their dad so I’ve been able to sit on my ass and do nothing but eat rubbish and feel sorry for myself as I binge watch tv shows on Netflix.
On Friday, I misheard Jack and as I turned and lifted my arm to prop up on a cushion and tell him off for saying “pile of shit”, I pinched a nerve or pulled a hammy or something in my neck. Turns out he was having a conversation about a “pirate ship” with his brother. Damn blocked ears.
By Saturday I couldn’t move and while my robot impersonation was impressive, I was struggling. I ended up getting someone over to give me a massage (more about that experience tomorrow) which helped a lot but it’s still not fixed. As long as nobody asked me to look up, or swallow, I’m good.
I also relived a horrific childhood experience yesterday. A long time ago I hid in the kitchen and snuck teaspoons of Milo. A big no-no but clearly, I was a rebel. Mum came round the corner and busted me and I quickly inhaled a mouthful. It was a near death experience. If you’ve ever quickly inhaled a massive mouthful of Milo you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about.
Yesterday I took advantage of the child free-ness and in a moment of rebellion I shoved some spoon loads of the glorious chocolatey powder in my face. I must have been really enjoying it and looked up to the heavens. Then realised I can’t look up without feeling like I’m being stabbed in the neck and in pain, quickly inhaled again. Bad move. I thought I was a goner. As I choked and spluttered my way aimlessly around the kitchen I pictured the shame of having “death my Milo” typed on a certificate. I’m an idiot. And clearly need adult supervision at all times.
Thanks to all the excitement at home, I was a little quiet on the blog this week. Here’s what did make it:
Repeat: the joys of feeling like I’m going insane after having to repeat myself a bajillion times
The denim edition: super cool denim bits for the misters
I’m off to go an open some windows. Between the eucalyptus for the stuffy noses and the Deep Heat for my buggered neck, my house smells like a retirement village held a rave for koalas.