Vive les vacances

Get me to the end of term! It’s just one week, but I feel like a thirst-crazed woman crawling through the desert. Every morning the gods conspire to throw something new into the mix of exhaustion and general all round had-enoughness that is the end of the summer term. On Sunday daughter three and I went to hospital as she has had a bad headache for days and thinks she may have hit her head, although she can’t remember. In certain lights it looked like there might be a bruise on her head. Daughter three was asked to describe the pain on a chart of 1-10. She opted for 9 despite having spent the day organising a Hawaiian tropic event for her grandmother who is 70 this week. Was she trying to get a bit of attention? Does any pain feel like a 9 to a small child? Who can tell? The hospital diagnosed migraine.

Daughter three reluctantly went to school on Monday, but the school has rung every day since even though she has been fine in the morning. Meanwhile daughter one awoke with a migraine on Tuesday and had to go back to bed. Fortunately, daughter three didn’t see me texting the school bus company that her sister would not be on the bus. The school bus company has introduced new terms and conditions so if you are late or off sick and don’t tell them you can be thrown off the bus after a couple of warnings. I am not sure how much idea they have of the total chaos that goes on in our house in the morning and just how difficult texting might be. 1) daughter three never wants to get up 2) only son has been wetting the bed every night and then falls into a heavy sleep around 6am and it is nigh on impossible to wake him up 3) we live on the edge of a forest and to text often means running to the bottom of the garden 4) daughter two is marching around in high umbrage because she thinks we are going to be late for choir 5) I am sometimes rung by media people in the middle of all this seeking to know what the implications of the latest celebrity utterance on motherhood are for all women.

Anyway, back to the last week of term. I hid the fact daughter one was off school from daughter three, fearing off school-ness contagion. It was only son’s graduation from nursery day so we had to take sausage rolls. Daughter two has a whole panoply of leaving events this week for which paperwork – and cash – is required. The washing machine was on full spin as only son had wet the bed twice in the night due to his sudden addiction to Hawaiian tropical punch [with complementary umbrella stick]. His Barbie scooter was in the middle of the living room covered in blue paint. He has been trying to convert it into a ‘monster’ scooter [blue, green, brown, definitely NOT pink] with poster paints. I think the fleas have come back so I was trying to check the cat, but it wouldn’t stay still. My partner has developed a form of whiplash from slipping on the stairs and needs deep heat.

You get the picture. I have been reliably informed that the vomit virus is circulating in the lower school. Daughter three saw at least two people puke yesterday. This does not bode well for the holiday. I am getting a distinct feeling of deja vu. Last year we got as far as a service station outside Tours before only son was sick around 10 times in a row all down my front as we queued for a lolly. Vive les vacances.

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