Rain, rain go away

It has been an utterly miserable week weather wise. The first week of the school holidays, and it’s rained so much the parents of school age children are tearing their hair out, and judging by my Facebook feed, they are.

Our wee man is still not well, so we’re not going anywhere or doing much either, but when you’re desperately trying to get washing dry after various bodily fluid eruptions, it’s a nightmare. I hung a load out on Monday night, brought it in on Wednesday, not much drier than when it went out. The airer has been dragged inside, in the man cave the heating vent is on the wall, rather than in the floor (don’t ask, house heating in Australia drives me crazy) so the airer has been positioned over it. The heating is on, and eventually the clothes have dried. I am tumbling everything I can; I hate tumbling things I’m not supposed to, even on a low heat as it ruins your clothes. But needs must.

At 4:30am this morning I had to carry Peanut downstairs to rummage around in tumble dryer from the load I’d set off as we went to bed, to get a clean and dry pair of PJs out for the poor boy. Hubs told me off for not asking for help, but at that point in time I either walked down the stairs breathing heavily through my nose, or went into wailing banshee mode with frustration.

I saw a cartoon on Facebook this week:

Never a truer word spoken in jest. I asked Hubs if I could book into a hotel, on my own, so I could catch up on some sleep. He gave me an odd look. But the thought of crisp white bed linen, no alarm, no toddler, no snoring husband and an unlimited supply of hot water for a bath that is so deep and long I could read War and Peace in it, is just heaven. I know it is hard work looking after a sick toddler, but I am willing to lay money that Nemo’s Reef is flourishing.

I sound ungrateful, I’m truly not, I’m just a bit ratty and worried about Peanut. He’s back at the doctors for the third time this week, and compared to other friends who have really poorly children to contend with in the past couple of weeks, I shouldn’t be complaining at all. But I had to leave him asleep on the couch, cheeks rosy with a temperature to head back to work, when my heart is telling me to stay home and look after him.

The trials and tribulations of a working parent. Any working parent. I’m about as useful as a chocolate teapot today, I keep looking out the window to see if I see our car come past, keep looking at my phone wondering why I’ve not heard anything about his appointment. I also can’t settle to listening to any particular music this afternoon, I’m very fidgety and distracted. A sure sign I’m stressing.

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