Look, it’s all…different.
We’ve been a house of sickness all week. It started last Saturday, when our long anticipated visit to Thomas the Tank Engine and Father Christmas went disastrously wrong. First we were in a courtesy car from the garage (more about that later): a Kia Picanto. Now, I know the garage probably wanted to make sure that we wouldn’t want to keep the courtesy car, but they could have put an engine on a can of beans and it would have been nicer. Maybe it’s a side effect of being stuck on for THREE HOURS in a tailback on the bloody M4, and being so late that we missed Thomas’s last trip, and landed on the sis-in-law’s doorstep, tired, cross and worried about the indicator lights.
Ceej was angelically quiet for most of the journey. Too quiet. I could see a snail trail of snot forming under her nose, and she had that glassy-eyed expression. Mind you, we all had that by the time we got to Junction 13. Anyway, by Monday there was fever, there was strange orange vomit, there were trips to the doctors (food poisoning?!), there were rivers of snot and Shrek-sized bogies. There was coughing, and earache and tummy ache and throat ache. And then there was the usual refusal to eat anything, not even Calpol. Then I got it. Well, just the cold and coughing, but still, it was horrible and I couldn’t afford to take any time off because I’m only working 15 days this month. Ceej and I slept in the same room to try and prevent Mr P from catching it, which meant more sleepless nights for both of us. We failed. He’s pulling lizard-style ‘cold’ faces and sneezing loudly, which can only mean one thing: we’re doomed.
BUT, we got the Christmas shopping done. The tree’s up, the laundry’s nearly all finished and the house looks quite clean for a change. Ceej had a 12 hour sleep last night, and just pattered into the room, all bright and breezy, for the first time in what seems like forever.