Last week I spent three days confined to the house with a “poorly” child (A). She woke on Wednesday morning with the dreaded words “I don’t feel very well”. There’s a nasty bug going round so I wasn’t taking any chances and kept her at home. (I was a bit sad to miss Pilates or at least the chance for my daily walk but I’m quite caring when I need to be – really – and sacrifices are made willingly when either of the kids are poorly.) To be fair, when you’re 11 you are generally quite happy to sloth around and watch CBBC (or even CBeebies – to make you “feel little again”) and don’t need much actual looking after. As part of the whole room revamp K stuck an old tiny TV of his nan’s in A’s room so she didn’t even have to get out of bed. The sick feeling wore off quite quickly and she spent the day pretty much laying in bed and asking for food. She announced at 5pm that she was right as rain and would be off to school in the morning. (Good, I have a Dr’s appointment.)
True to her word she went off to school after crumpets for breakfast and I thought no more of it, until my phone rang halfway to the doctors. It was the school, she was in the sick bay feeling, well, sick and asking if I could pick her up. I couldn’t miss my appointment but knew that K was going to be late leaving home so quickly called him to see if he could collect her and wait while I went to the doctors. I was supposed to be going into the office afterwards to go over some stuff with my colleague but was obviously going to be asking far too much to expect him to be at home all day. But no, he was already on the motorway and the unspoken final part of the sentence was the “and I can’t turn off and come back to help you”. Quick dash to the doctors – she was on time – miracles do happen – and then back to the school. A had still not been sick but was feeling very nauseous. I got the distinct feeling that I was not popular for sending her in as she had been off the day before and found myself protesting that she had felt right as rain and had eaten me out of house and home…! Why do I always feel I have to justify my actions? I am not one of “those” mums that sends their children to school even if they have been chucking up all night so that they can still go to work/the shops/bed. But I still felt guilty. So we gathered her things up and in a ground-hog day stylee she was back in bed and watching CBBC before you could say “Wolfblood”.
Carrying on the ground-hog theme she then proceeded to feel much better through the course of the day, more food, etc. All very odd. I don’t doubt for a minute that she was genuinely feeling unwell, but it was clearly not a full blown sickness bug, as there wasn’t any actual sick. Again, don’t get me wrong, I am NOT complaining about that. So, another day unfolded with no chance of any exercise (believe me, the fact that I found this disappointing is as much as a surprise to me as it is to you. I have clearly been enjoying my daily “constitutionals” far more than I realised) and I found myself feeling a little hemmed in and lethargic. But hey ho, a mum’s life and all that.
However, by the end of day three I was beginning to get that grey feeling. Why do we call it “feeling blue” when you are down in the dumps? I love blue. It makes me feel cheerful. Blue skies, blue seas, blue eyes. All so lovely. Surely feeling grey is far more appropriate. I was feeling grey by the end of Friday afternoon. I had tried to “spin” not having my Friday day off, day out, day of mine by getting some things done that had been on my mind, and I spent some time with A helping with ideas for sewing projects; Mrs F popped round for coffee and to drop off a book and some winegums (lovely); I watched some TV; did some knitting; read a book. But still grey, and lethargic beyond belief. And full of crumpets.
Thankfully, A was truly “right as rain” by the end of Friday so the weekend looked promising. I went for a well planned afternoon tea with Mrs F and two other lovelies at our local farm shop cafe and had a much needed gossip and giggle and a less-needed stuffing of the face. Friends for dinner in the evening (more food!) and a nice glass of vino. Lovely.
And on Sunday we had we went for it properly with a lovely walk en famille – out of the house, in the fresh air, moving my stiff old body and clearing my head – up on Sharpenhoe Clappers with G & G. I couldn’t help but feel like I had been released; like I had made some sort of great escape from a confined space. Free as a bird.
(they aren’t posing – I just snapped at the exact right moment)