Tears before Bedtime

By yesterday morning it looked as though a vomitfest wasn't in the offing and I really thought we'd Got Away With It. In your dreams, pal...
Viz no 3 woke up, tearful and complaining of stomach ache. As no2 pulls this one on me regularly my modus operandi on these occasions is to send 'em in and see what happens. Cream generally rising to the top and all that. Or in this case, vomit. But we probably don't want to go there...
Anyway, I hardened my heart, and shoved her into school - though not before enduring the wrath of the Obergruppenfuhrer standing guard on the school gates. The rules constantly change as to how the little ones get taken into school and under the current system we drop them at the gate and leave. As no3 was weeping I thought it best to take her right the way into school. I passed two teachers en route who said nothing. But on the way out I was accosted and told that in future I should go via the school office if I was taking her into school, as they don't want strangers wandering the school. Now while I appreciate the desire to keep my children safe and secure, a) I didn't actually enter the school building b) the teacher in the school saw me and c) I have been taking my children to this school for five years. I'm sorry but where has common sense GONE????
No3 thus cruelly despatched, it was off to the hospital for a physio appointment (tendons in my right hand if you're interested), followed by a run home. So Sproglet was probably better off where she was. Besides, most hospitals have enough horrible bugs without me bringing in anymore.
Physio (tendons weak but on the mend) and run (slow but steady - despite completing the marathon earlier this year, my running style is definitely tortoiselike) duly done with, I emerged from the shower to a phone call from school. No 3 was ill, surprise, surprise. So it was back to school to pick her up, and then off to nursery to pick up no4. Sometimes it feels like I never sit down. I wish I could say it had an effect on my waistline, but sadly it doesn't...
Luckily Spouse then pitched up as he had the afternoon off, so he whisked off to get the big ones from school, while the little ones watched TV and I attempted to catch up on some work. As I work from home I generally find that home tends to take over somewhat. So for the last three weeks, with halfterm, inset days, German visitors and general sickness, you could say I have got a bit behind. Factor in a fractious computer which has had to go to the Hospital for Terminally Sick Terminals and you can see I have my work cut out to get back to any semblance of normality. So that being the case, I also ended up taking some stuff with me to the big ones'swimming lessons, leaving Spouse in charge of the little ones, while he attempted to make order out of the chaos that is his filing system. This hasn't been touched for eight months needless to say, and is only being touched now as he needs to sort his stuff out for the tax man. Ostrich? My husband? Never!
All was going swimmingly till the end of the lesson, when no 2 stole the best towel and no 1 burst into tears. I then had a wailing and gnashing of teeth because their teacher had cruelly insisted they practise their crawl (mind you as one who can swim length after length of breastroke but a mere wussy 2 lengths of crawl I can sympathise), and wouldn't be pacified by the notion that practice makes perfect...
Back home it was time for tea, and I was in a hurry as I was out for the evening - excitingly to no4's parent's evening - (yes, I know what can you say about a three year old? But hey, soon they'll be having their own curriculum. The words rats and run spring to mind...) followed by one of those cookery evenings where you end up coming away with all sorts of pricey gizmos you would never normally buy and will certainly never use. It's sort of a posh and expensive form of tupperware parties and so not me. I was only going out of guilt, as I'm always saying no to stuff. Spouse was under strict instructions to be back by 7.30 as the previous night he came in ten minutes after I was due at the grown ups' version of Holy Joe classes (The argument for married priests has never been more compelling - if THEY had children they would never insist!)
So when they sat down I read them the riot act about getting through tea nicely. To which they all surprisingly concurred except no 1, who though normally not of a sensitive disposition has recently taking to having Hormonal Moments (remind me when puberty is again?). Tonight hearing no2 boast about how she could do handstands, sent no1 into paroxysms of grief. "But I ca--an't," she wailed. "And my little sister can. It's sooo embarrassing." I can relate to her grief. Aged 9 I was gawky and awkward in a similar way, and though I eventually got the hang of handstands it was much later. I tried to tell her this to no avail. "But Ihaven't been able to do them forever," she sobbed - forever, representing, well forever to a nine year old. "And everyone else can do them." What everyone? "I can't," chipped in no3. "Yes, but you're only five,"was the scathing reply.
Failing dismally to pacify my oldest I tried the you-may-feel-like-an-ugly-duckling-but-will-grow-into-a-beautiful-swan routine, to even less effect. At a loss I told her that her father was fat and useless till he was about 14 and that at least produced a watery smile. Great, I thought,as I reheated my tea, now Mummy gets to eat...
No chance. The full force of no1's evident misery about all things sporting burst forth in a veritable sea of grief. "AND I can't play tennis. AND I hate the crawl. AND everyone else is better then me..." I abandoned my dinner again and tried to point out that she was good at reading and writing and maths - and she can do sudoku much better then I can. But what's the good of any of that if you can't do handstands? Her siblings by this stage had abandoned the dinner table and were playing some complicated and violent game beneath it. What it is to have parental control...
Eventually I opted for the brisk approach. "It will all be ok in two years time" - in two years time her head will doubtless be full of boys not handstands, but she's not to know that. This seemed to work and I managed to finally eat my tea. (It is a mystery why I'm no thinner), by which time of course I was running incredibly late. So I scooted the littlies off to bed. No 3 had by now gone into a decline and I tucked her up with calpol, a hot water bottle, and a feeling of foreboding.
I dashed downstairs to make some order out of the mayhem the offspring manage go create in the lounge in about two minutes of being in the house, before realising it was twenty to eight and Spouse wasn't back. Fortunately for him, he was spared the meat cleaver as he chose that minute to walk through the door. "But I thought you were going out at 8," he said.
After an exciting evening consisting of five minutes discussing my youngest's achievements so far at nursery - she can hang her coat up and is rather quiet apparently. Both of which sound most unlikely to me - I had the further thrill of attending the cookery class. The people were all very nice but it simply isn't me, and I couldn't wait to escape.
As I came through the door, I could hear the dulcet wailing of no 3.Oh joy. I went upstairs in time to get her to the toilet before she puked everywhere. Result. Normally my children end up chucking up all over their toys. However I had spoken too soon. "I'm not going to be sick," she said turning to face the wall. Want a bet? The next minute the wall and carpet were liberally decorated, with a token effort ending up in the toilet bowl. I can cope with most aspects of motherhood, but vomit isn't one of them. Hold your breath, said Spouse when he came up to help. Yeah, right.
Her next offering at least made it onto the towel I had placed on her pillow. But the pillow and part of the sheet were soaked, so at midnight I was changing beds. And at 6 this morning I was woken to the news that the vicious little bug inhabiting her stomach had made it to the other end. So I changed her and the bed once again, and crawled back into bed with the vain aim of getting a little more shuteye. No chance. Another accident, followed by another puking incident ensured two more changes of clothing/bedding, and Mummy having to call it quits. I went to call the others. Apart from no4 who having recovered from the superbug is now horribly bouncy, the other two got up looking dreadful. They were both complaining of stomach aches and feeling sick. I know when I'm defeated, so told them they could stay in bed.
So apart from no4 who went to nursery this morning, the other three have all been at home, lying limply on the sofa watching videos. The washing machine is doing overtime and I'm wondering who's going to be sick next...
Welcome to my world. Fun isn't it?