Monday, October 19, 2009
Worst of times, Best of times
It was one of those days.
I woke up with a headache. Its just going to be a struggle when you greet the day with a thumping jackhammer in your head.
Also, my alarm didn't go off, so the kids were late to school.
They then came home from school with a note saying a pupil has come down with swine flu.
I opened the car door too quickly and bashed my head (yes, that really helped with the headache.)
The wan behind the desk told me that the kids were filed under Tuesday for their swimming lessons and the Monday was all booked up, despite the fact they've been coming to swimming on a Monday for a year. Oh yeah, and this was somehow my fault.
I was too tired to get into town tonight to see the wonderful David Mohan and Colm Keegan read at the Glór sessions.
Hubby was v late home from work (yet another crisis!)
The wine ran out.
I have given up coffee.
The baby turned on the hot tap when I wasn't looking when she was having her bath. Could have scalded herself and I'd have had no one to blame but myself.
I had no inspiration for TFE's poetry bus. I was left winded and gasping for breath as it pulled away from the stop without me.
Of course, I shouldn't be such a misery guts! I should look at it this way...
I have a head - and though it hurts sometime, its something many people would be very happy to have (For example, many victims of the French Revolution.)
I have three lovely children. They have a school to go to. (This gives me free time to go to cafes and meet lovely friends! Hi DramaQueen! Hi DublinDave! Hi Weir Cafe!)
My children (as yet) do not have swine flu.
I bashed my bonce while going to a cafe to meet lovely friends (Hi DramaQueen! Hi DublinDave! Hi WeirCafe!)
Does it really matter whether swimming lessons are on a Monday or a Tuesday? I'm still down nearly 200 quid and the land lubbers are still rubbish at it, no matter what the day.
So, I missed one Glór session - at least I didn't have have my hair fondled by an odd old bloke who I will then have to run into in the butchers the next day...
Early hubby, or late hubby - does it really matter, in the end, he came home, made me a cup of tea and put the kids to bed.
Wine is bad for me.
Coffee is bad for me.
At least the baby didn't scald herself.
I think TFE will manage just fine without my genius for just this once.
There we go. So, like a cheap chick lit novel its all worked out for everyone in the end, and I think its fair to say, we've all grown as people.
C'mon Tuesday, do your worst. Or best, I should say.