That’s pretty crazy

DD had a personal training session at 3.30am on Saturday morning.

Peak cray-cray.

His personal trainer was going overseas on holidays and leaving at 5.30am for the airport, so they decided to squeeze in one last workout.

Fruit loops, the both of them.

DD thought the same about me when I insisted on going for a swim at the beach on Saturday afternoon. The sun was out, the bluebottles were gone after scattering the shore at high tide, and I wanted to be in the water.

It was glorious. I was the only one in the Bilgola surf, which wasn’t totally frigid at 19C. Especially in my ALDI wetsuit!

DD watched from the shore, ready to rescue me if I got into difficulties.

Yesterday, he headed to the snow with his kids for a spot of skiing.

He reckons my need for the sea is like his need for the snow: both give us respite from the stress in our lives. When he’s on the slopes and I’m in the waves everything else recedes and we feel a little peace.

I will miss him while he’s seeking peace this week.

In other weekend news … I’m 90% sure the eldest has scoliosis, while the youngest’s allergic conjunctivitis is raging out of control (also, she is up to her fourth week of still feeling like she has the flu every day), so I need to take both of them to the doctor AGAIN.

That’s a few more specialist referrals I can’t afford in my life.

I’m also knackered from spending six hours in the car on Sunday.

We popped up to Newcastle for my dad’s birthday lunch at a gorgeous spot on Lake Macquarie.

 

 

It was lovely except for the part where the restaurant served a kid’s meal to the youngest that was billed as “grilled chicken and vegetables”, but made her lips tingle when she started eating it.  We called the waitress over and asked her to check there were no nuts on the chicken, as the youngest is anaphylactic. The waitress headed to the kitchen, came rushing out, saw the youngest had eaten a couple of mouthfuls, looked terrified, whipped the plate away and offered to call an ambulance if we needed one.

Luckily we didn’t need an ambulance, as I think there were just traces of the types of nuts the youngest is only mildly allergic to. The waitress returned with a fresh plate of untainted veggies, but no meat. Er thanks. So that was a tasty treat, not.

We’d left the EpiPen in Sydney, which was pretty bloody slack and complacent of us. But you don’t expecting the grilled chicken on the kids’ menu to contain secret freaking nuts. Not in 2019.

It was after 5pm when we got home. Within 10 minutes of walking in the front door, I was walking back out again for the two-hour round-trip to drop the rats over to Justice the pet sitter’s place for the week in the wild west of Sydney.

Remy the rat has developed agoraphobia and couldn’t cope with the train ride. The eldest took her out to the bins the other night to chuck their litter and she had a panic attack. She sat petrified in her Taj Mahal cage for 45 minutes afterward, shaking and looking even more bug-eyed than usual.

Just my luck to get rats with mental health issues.

Anyways, it shouldn’t have taken two hours to drop the rats off to the wild west, but after I left the eldest (and navigator) behind for a sleepover, I got lost about 50 times.

Two of the annoying ways my old age is manifesting itself are poor night vision and inability to use sat nav.

As a result, I find driving in unfamiliar places after dark quite terrifying.

The sat nav was useless – when I finally manage to make it work – because it says “turn left in 30 metres” or “turn right in 200 metres” and I have absolutely no concept of how far that is and I’m so panicked about missing the turn off that I turn too early and it all ends in tears .. quite literally by the time I accidentally got lost in Olympic Park, which was very, very dark in parts.

At one point in the back streets of the wild west, I was just about to pull over to check Google Maps when I saw flames raging high into the air. As I drew closer, I realised it was a wheelie bin on raging fire outside an apartment block.

I kid you not.

At another point, I ran out of petrol and pulled up at a service station full of cars. But none of them were at the bowsers, ad the occupants were simply there to stock up on Krispy Kreme donuts and armloads of 1.5 litre soft drink bottles.

That was a bit freaky too.

And my car kept frantically beeping at me the whole bloody time. I have no idea why. Normally it gives me endless advice on the many things that are wrong with it -“oil low” “seatbelt undone” “tyre pressure low” “water low” etc etc.

Not this time.

Just lots of beeping, usually in the middle of the sat nav giving me vital but useless directions.

That didn’t help my rising hysteria.

It was a horrible trip.

Anyways, I was in a bit of a state by the time I got home to the poorly, starving youngest, who demanded to know when their nut-free dinner would be ready.

I was hanging by a bit of a thread, so I didn’t answer. I just stalked to the kitchen to start chopping veggies.

Now, you may be bursting with helpful advice on where I went wrong in my Sunday – how it’s important to never forget an Epi-Pen, how I need to be stricter with my kids, how I should get rid of my pets, how easy it is to use a sat nav, but …

The only people I wish to hear helpful advice from are fellow single parents who work full time, struggling to pay their bills and whose children stumble from one medical crisis to another.

Except … I don’t think those people will give me helpful advice on where I went wrong. They will simply want to high five that we got ourselves and our kids through another weekend in one piece.

And now another working week begins.

Just think of the sea, just think of the sea.

Was there good and bad in your weekend too?

(Sorry about the aggressive rant.)

Song of the day: The Honeydrippers “Sea of love’