We’re so not. Smiley happy people that is. But I’m tired of depressing titles. I’ve had lovely comments today, on Twitter and here on the blog (and from random shop assistants, including one who suggested I put a cut onion by my bed.) I don’t want to be morbid and talk about our paltry cold: it’s just I have nothing else to say and, well, a daily blog is a daily blog, headaches and sneezing and all!
You see, it turns out the Martin girls were just a day behind the boys. Having soothed Aaron all night, applying milk, drugs and hugs, his fever broke at 5am. I was hopeful that meant a nursery day for them and a day’s rest for me. Then Amber walked in all flushed and her temperature measured 38.8C (101.8F). I could just about bring myself to send a child who no longer had a fever, but not one still burning up. No nursery for them then.
I struggled through until 11am, determined not to succumb, especially after being mean about hubbie yesterday. But boy oh boy, my throat’s on fire and no drugs are touching the headache. Sorry hubbie, I should know by now to be more sympathetic. I always get a cold bad if I’ve been dismissive of his pain. I managed to steal an hour in bed while hubbie cooked lunch (well, put a pizza in the oven!) and then slept in Amber’s toddler bed with her in the afternoon. Must buy her a big-girl bed.
Thank goodness Daddy was home today and able to pitch in. We all managed to muddle through, although I had to pull a few tricks out of my ‘how to survive to bedtime with preschoolers’ box. Out came the emergency sticker books and watercolour paints. On went the Sleeping Bunnies song on You Tube. Favourite dinner of mash and gravy was cooked.
I nearly broke when they refused to watch TV mid-afternoon (my attempt to get them to sleep as neither will admit to needing a daytime nap) but Daddy stepped into the yawning hole of pain. Walking the dog nearly finished me off, but here I am at half past nine, tucked up in bed with only my Claire post between me and sleep. Needless to say it might be a short and random one today! Night Night.
Below is the next installment in my novel Two-Hundred Steps Home: written in daily posts since 1st January as part of my 2013 365 Challenge. Read about the challenge here.You can catch up by downloading the free ebook volumes on the right hand side of the blog:
Claire sat watching the moody green fairly flit across the screen with a growing sense of unease. Her face was dark with doubt as she looked down at the hot bundle snuggled against her on the sofa, hoping to see the girl’s eyes closed. They weren’t. Sky’s feverish gaze was fixed to the small television, watching as Tinkerbell threw a jealous tantrum at Peter Pan’s flirtatious behaviour.
I don’t remember this movie being so misogynistic. Look at those stupid mermaids vying for Peter’s attention. They can swim under water for heaven’s sake, what do they need to fight over a man for? I wish I knew how much a girl of six understands? This is meant to be kids’ entertainment but it’s no better than putting Eastenders on – all jealously and revenge and evil bastards.
She went through the other movie choices and mentally reviewed their suitability as bedtime material. Bambi? No, now is not the time to discuss mothers dying. Claire shivered. Little Mermaid: about a girl who gives up her voice to be with the one she loves. Not a great role model. Sleeping Beauty, Snow White: Both wait to be rescued by a handsome prince. Silly girls. Aladdin? Man uses lies and trickery to win the girl. I think not.
She sighed, feeling as if some childhood dream had been wrenched away. What did I watch? The Rescuers? That was about mice, no sappy princesses there. Watership Down? I suppose that was a bit dark and spooky. Better than these though: These movies are not helping little girls grow up to fend for themselves.
She spotted one she hadn’t seen before. Tangled. Ah Rapunzel. I wonder if this is the one with the frying pan. Claire waved the box where Sky could see it and the girl perked up.
“Yes, that one, put that one on.” She threw a scornful glance at the television, where Peter Pan and the Lost Boys were pretending to be Red Indians while Wendy stood grumpily by.
“This movie is stupid. That silly fairy needs to grow up and Wendy needs to smile more.”
Claire looked down, shocked, at her niece’s sharp invective. Maybe I don’t need to worry about her after all.