The walk to ballet was alleviated from trudgery by Girl1 practising the Olympic torch relay; running up the hill, arm aloft.
I added a bag of turf to the wood order this time (Did I ever mention getting a stove?) and Girl2 wants to upend the bag and build a stack in the garden, pretending and planning to be on Donegal on holiday.
I’ve been up at a reasonable hour every day this week. Washed, dressed and face on. I’m exhausted. Every so often the world reminds me that I have ME/CFS and that my ‘normality’ is not what it was.
A former work colleague lives a few streets away. We kept each other sane (ish) for years. I ran into him (almost literally) this week. I’m looking forward to spending time with him next week. He, also, has a new normality.
I’m sure that this time last year I was wearing more layers than I am now. I bought yaktraks, we have bags of salt. I’m now half expecting a milder winter than we’ve been promised. (Though I’m trying not to jinx it!)
There may be a sponsored sing in Girl2’s class today. Not necessarily songs, you understand. They have to sing instead of talking. “Here is my homework, MrC” in tune. It could be chaos. It should be great fun.
Girl1 had a day at home yesterday. Sofa, calpol, hugs, a fizzy drink and rubbish TV work wonders for a sore throat. There was no mention of transfer tests or homework or trumpet practice. That probably helped more than anything.
My fogged brain is struggling to cope with all the excitement round here.