I was in the middle of painting a cupboard “eggshell” white, a wall green, making cheesy omelets X6 people, with our own Margo eggs, nursing a daughter with burns (rope burn, she came down the swing too fast…), a daughter with puss oozing out of her ear, waiting for Alex to get back so I could go to hospital. Typical peaceful Sunday then. I bend down to pick something up, and SMACK! Crack my head on the stairs. Physical injuries galore, Alex gets in so I bellow some finishing off the bread baking instructions in my absence, and head off to hospital with the 3 girls, Monty wanted to stay with his dad. I explain to the nurse on reception at A and E (she has obviously had her mouth sewn together to prevent her from cracking the merest hint of a smile ever again in her entire life….), that Mitzi has not slept a wink all night, agony with ear, puss streaming out with gloggy bits and everything, when she looks at me and says quite curtly “Oh, so not an emergency then?” I am scolded. Wrist slapped well and truly, why didn’t I just slap her back and have over with it?!
In the waiting room in A&E, I am surrounded by vomiting children, A&E with a tummy bug…have you ever heard of such a thing? And the nurse was funny with me bringing Mitzi in? But the “Gastro” in France is a major OMG! Panic! And get yourself airlifted into hospital. I often hear mothers going on about the fact that little Olivier/Remi/Mathilde etc have the “Gastro”, almost whispering as they say it, frowning and other mums responding with overly concerned faces and arm rubs like it’s some kind of Taboo disease that no-one has ever had before or since…….A common old garden tummy bug. I shrink down into my jumper and pull the girls close, putting my hands over their mouths, in an attempt to block the airborne germs from these kids. As I suffocate my 3, a mother gets out a pot of baby food, a spoon, a bib, and starts trying to feed her child (who was puking on entry) a pot of fluorescent vegetables….. forcing a spoonful in, as the kid is writhing around avoiding eating it, it finally swallows (it doesn’t really have a choice to be fair), goes crossed eyed and then projectile vomits across the waiting room, all down her mum and dad and herself. “Eeeewwww! That’s rank”, I say, I can’t help myself, it really was. And the parents busy themselves clearing up the puke overhearing “bleughs” and people shuffling well away in their seats. Mitzi will have to see an ear specialist, as this is the 4th time in as many weeks she has had this infection. Bless her. Mitzi (the 3rd child of 4) is always the one getting into scrapes/ear infections/allergic reactions to anything/bumps/burns, you name it, she’s done it. If there is any illness ever in the family, it is usually Mitzi who has it! I don’t know why, I guess these things happen no matter how much you try and be careful/avoid things/wrap them literally in cotton wool (it didn’t work btw).
I reverse out of the drive (trying not to kill the dog, as he runs around frantically barking, desperate for us not to go out and leave him (although we will be back in less than an hour, it visibly hurts the dog every time we leave without him!)) maybe he is saying “Please don’t leave, you don’t know what they’re like, the cats and the chickens when you’re out, they can actually talk, and they hate me…..” Or maybe he’s not…….! Last week we had several eggs from Margo, most of them found in the car, in Esmie’s car seat. One was in the well of the driver’s seat in Alex’s car. He said he was off, to which I told him he might want to remove the egg from beneath the brakes before he goes, and let the chicken out of the car at the same time……Alex is extremely squeamish about chickens, so the chickens are my remit. He is actually, and I quote; “Proper freaked out by them”! So I physically have to force him to get the egg. It’s good for him to confront his phobias, especially as we will be getting 4 more chicks in the spring (he doesn’t know this yet, he will probably read about it in my blog!). He pulls his scarf up over his mouth, turns his back to the egg, pulls his sleeve over his hand, and reaches in squeezing his eyes shut. This is a grown man, a father of 4. This could be his finest moment, and look at him………! (O.k, I know I am mocking you, honey, but you know you are my hero really!) He grabs the egg and hands it straight to me, “Oooh, it’s still warm, look” and he says he knows and can’t help himself borking a bit. He’s better with hippos, he tells me. So, hippo land here we come, or maybe we should open one in our back garden?......Hmmmmm I think I might be on to something!