Yesterday, Cam and Scott would have done
well to sell me to passing traders. Or see what I’d fetch on eBay.
After a ridiculous night I spent another
early morning at the emergency rooms with Scott. Antibiotic course number three
in as many weeks. But we hold out for Thursday when Dr du Plessis will work his
magic and give us the gift of grommets.
Later, after Cam’s swimming lesson,
Scott vomited in the car. At this point I was fragile, but still vertical.
But wait, folks. That’s not all.
Cam refused to do OT with Samantha. He poured
juice all over the lounge and spat in her hair. Wow, what a proud moment for me
as a parent. A real highpoint. Samantha felt so sorry for me she went and
bought us supper.
Murray got home and had the Serious Talk
(my smacks and timeouts had proven fruitless in terms of eliciting true
repentance). The Ruling: no Milo, no TV, no bath toys for a week. A calm, mannerly
demeanour was restored. Cam recited his entire Snowstorm book and was annoyingly, unbearably cute. He even spoke
perfect Afrikaans for part of the evening and argued that humidifiers could be
considered a form of transport.
Then Scott vomited in his bed. And I found
half a Marie biscuit stuck to the inside of my pyjamas. I did not put it there.
‘Humble
yourselves before the Lord…’ – James 4:10
Ok… Got it.
No comments:
Post a Comment