The best of times, the worst of times
The saga that this weekend became began late on Friday night when I arrived home from a 5 hour train journey to find the kitchen trashed, and almost every room in the house strewn with all manner of detritus. I dumped my bags, and began clearing the decks immediatelykitchen first, then bathroom, living room, and so on. At first I was furious, but as time passed the act of re-establishing order became quite therapeutic.
Finally my other half arrived home with the younger children, festooned in cartoon tattoos from the school disco. No sooner had she walked through the front door, she left to take Miss Eight to hospital. She had fallen over on the way to school several days before, and a cut on her hand had become infected. She complained her arm hurt, and by the look of the veins leading from her wrist, she had the beginnings of blood poisoning.
Four hours laterand after I had faced a running battle with the other kidsthey returned, along with a bottle of antibiotics. Four hours in a the ER to get a bottle of antibiotics. Apparently the nurse they eventually saw didn't really look either.
Saturday was all about the local Rugby tournament, where our middle girl competed against a number of visiting teams. The day began at 9:30, and saw us joining thousands of other parents cheering on the children. We have wondered how long she would carry on playing Rugbyshe is already playing with children a year younger than her age, and is smaller and slower than them. She enjoys it though, and even though her team lost every game at the weekend, she didn't get upset, or angry, or down. Maybe we have done something right with herOn Saturday night we were invited to a house party by some friends. It's funnyI never think of myself as knowing many people, but ended up bumping into all sorts of people I vaguely know, and making new friends throughout the night. We very nearly didn't go thoughon account of a certain 13 year old girl going nuclear on us half an hour before departure. Apparently everything we do is either unfair, or ridiculous at the momentwe never know from one day to the next if we're going to get Dr Jekyll, or Miss Hyde.
Sunday morning came with a free hangover. I rarely drink more than a couple of glasses of wine at home, and (being typical parents of a young family) we very, very rarely go out any more. I did remember everything from the night before though, so I can't have drunk that much. Luckily I had booked us into the local pub for breakfast, so we all made our way down to eat them out of bacon. The thought of “not having to wash up” made my day.
Finally on Sunday night, Miss 13 went nuclear again and pressed all of my other half's buttons in just the right order to implode her. I found her sat on the doorstep outside the house in tears, and Miss 13 sat on her bed facing the wall in tears. She had been looking for her school blazer, and couldn't find itthis was somehow everybody elses fault, and caused something of a war to break out. I finally found it half an hour later stuffed down the back of the television in the playroombecause that's obviously where everybody puts their clothes away.