For the past few days I have been unwell. Decidedly unwell, peaking yesterday with 24 hours of some weird feverishness, aching, coughing, splitting headache from coughing, a bit of LBL from the coughing too if you really want the details, zero energy, and zero desire to even keep my eyes open.
After taking the kids to school I came straight home and slept for most of the day, until I had to collect them.
When we got home I made it quite clear that I was not available for my usual duties, and wished my children a pleasant and safe afternoon of excessive screen time.
I heard crackers and hommus being prepared, and the buzz of cooperative and sympathetic children, so everything was great.
For an hour or so.
There I was, clearly incapable of contributing anything to anybody. Laid out in bed, half dozing, half groaning, when a cheery voice filled my ears:
“So … what’s for dinner tonight, mum?”
This question usually pisses me off anyway, even on a regular day, because I could announce I was serving a 10 course buffet from 50 nations of the world, and somehow there would still be someone who says “Just cook a bit of pasta for me, thanks.”
But that particular night I didn’t even have the strength to get angry. Roast chicken and bread rolls were available, and people could do whatever the hell they liked with them as long as it didn’t involve me getting out of bed or the emergency services being summoned.
Now, in theory I guess they managed to feed themselves successfully. What I didn’t realise was that any spillage, drip, etc, would be left smeared on the kitchen bench, alongside a selection of additional food that had been removed from the fridge to fester at room temperature for a while.
OK, maybe I don’t fly around in a cape all day saving the world, but surely I can doze for a few hours every three or four years without my station turning into absolute chaos.
My husband came home (just in time to witness said chaos, of course) bearing gifts for me in my state of unwellness. Not knowing what stage of convalescence I might have reached in his absence during the day, he had purchased orange juice, ice cream, canned chicken soup, and a packet of Tim Tams. I chose the orange juice, filled a glass, and went straight to bed.
Tonight I am feeling much better. Still sick, but better. So we are having a simple pasta meal.
Oh, hang on, a simple pasta meal with two f#*king different types of pasta sauce.
The ice cream and the Tim Tams are still technically mine, right?