We’re in the middle of half term, in a place I didn’t expect. At home. We were supposed to be in York for a few days; we made the long drive yesterday. A drive littered with the usual questions; “Are we there yet?” “Are we on the A66 now?” “How long are we on the A66?” “Have we turned off the A66 yet?” and so on and so forth for over two hours. The only relief to the constant questioning being when chocolate was shovelled towards them; due to my low tolerance levels, this was probably more often than responsible parenting would allow.
We finally made it to York, to see grandparents, and a lovely afternoon was had, lovely cuddles were given and lovely plans were made for the coming days. The kids woke early as ever this morning and were shushed into our room, for us to discover the girl was host to what looked like chicken pox. This wouldn’t normally be too much of an issue, we’ve been itching (pardon the pun) for the kids to get it and have it done with as, as a grown up who never had chicken pox when little, I know the pain of getting lots of weird and wonderful kids’ diseases as an adult. Unfortunately, the girl’s timing couldn’t have been much worse; grandma had a double kidney transplant three years ago, as a result of which she takes immunosuppressant drugs – meaning that contact with a chicken pox laden child isn’t a good idea. And, if the boy comes down with it too, contact with two of the spotty little blighters would be even worse.
Pharmacists and doctors were visited to confirm our fears, bags were packed and we were homeward bound a few days earlier than planned. The boy was distraught and kept telling his sister to go away as he didn’t want the pox, the girl was (and remains) surprisingly bright and cheery about the whole spotty ordeal. Though she is equally grumpy about heading home so early. I am grumpy about the thought of being stuck at home with one, and potentially two, spotty children waiting for the lurgy to pass, and hoping I don’t come down with dengue fever or whatever weird and wonderful ailments are floating about at the moment. I’ve already come down with a rather bumpy flaky face and neck rash which made the pharmacist, indelicately, recoil from me yesterday, so am wondering if this is my early chicken pox warning system. I’m even grumpier, as I’d decided to treat myself to a shopping trip, a new pair of jeans and an hour away from the kids when in York – but the germs have foiled my plans.
Sobriety made it to half way through half term, as I’m about to pour myself a red wine (kindly provided by grandma) to drown my germ ridden sorrows. It’s supposed to rain all day tomorrow as well. Happy flippin’ holidays.