Since the youngest became permanently bedridden from nasal surgery, my lunch breaks have taken a rather hectic turn.
I would normally pop to the gym on Mondays and Thursdays for a pump class and spend my other lunch hours at my desk eating leftovers.
Not this week.
Here’s how yesterday’s lunch break went down:
Drive home. Let the dogs in. Microwave lunch for the youngest. Fix the latest rat cage carnage. Throw a ball to the dog 50 times while the youngest’s lunch goes down before commencing nasal washing. Heat up water for nasal washing. Chop fruit for nasal washing. Suffer through agonisingly slow nasal washing. Throw a couple of gingivitis-correcting bones into the backyard and lock dogs outside again. Drive to the high school to pick up all the permission notes the youngest has missed while she’s been poorly. Drive back to work.
The youngest also informed me that she might not feel up to going to her dad’s place this weekend.
Nooooooooo! Sigh. OK.
I’m hoping she rallies, otherwise I’ll be hounding my ex to do a few shifts at my place while I try and have a life.
The youngest has agreed to me having a life as long as it doesn’t interfere with being present for all her nasal washing sessions.
I really hate nasal washing and it’s not even my nose being rinsed.
I was also hating the high school for being the opposite of empathetic about the youngest’s condition. They were so businesslike with their “we will need a medical certificate” and “she must keep up with homework” … not a single “hope she feels better soon”.
Mind you, they have form: the “wellbeing” teacher’s speech at Year 7 orientation was mainly about the importance of sock height. FFS.
But I spoke to the year 8 head teacher yesterday and discovered she has pneumonia, so I’ve decided to go easy on her. I was pleasant during our phone call, which was a relief to the youngest, as the head teacher is also her science teacher and she was scared there would be repercussions from her mother’s peri-menopausal rage.
In happier news, I got a big laugh from reading this Facebook post:
You’ve probably had it up to here with all the Folau carry on, but I have to put in my oar.
What shites me about his damn Instagram post is that all the “sins” he mentions – other than being gay – involve choice. People choose to be adulterers and liars and thieves. They don’t choose to be gay, it’s who they are and it breaks my heart that he’s telling vulnerable kids they must repent or go to hell for it.
The rise of right wing and religious extremism in Australia truly disturbs me. We are going the way of Trump’s America and that’s a nightmare come true.
Not to mention the fact there’s nothing Christian about funding a rich footballer’s legal battle when there are so many genuinely needy people out there.
Gotta go … another hectic day ahead. Today’s lunch break includes taking delivery of a new rat cage and the gas man trying to fix my cactus ducted heating. Fingers crossed there’s a quick and cheap solution, cause I’m cold and broke.
Song of the day: Kate Bush “Running up that hill”