My 52nd birthday started pretty well. DD took me to Avalon headland for coffee and a bean burrito, while we gazed at the most gorgeous view.
Then I drove home to be with the sick youngest, who appears to have tonsilitis (coupled with a fear of going back to school).
My ex informed me the eldest was also sick in bed at his place with a cold.
NB: None of us have a fever or a cough.
I worked from home for the day and treated myself to some hot chips for my birthday lunch. As I ate them, I added to my anxiety levels by reading the latest on the coronavirus, including one story that suggested America was about to become the “home of the grave” rather than the home of the brave.
In the early arvo, the dogs started going absolutely nuts out the back. I went outside to discover the possum trap the eldest had placed on the corrogated plastic roof had scored itself a furry prisoner.
I climbed the ladder to retrieve the trap, but I’m not as tall as the eldest by about a foot and was worried the rat might bite me while I was trying to get a grip on the cage. At one point, as clung to precariously to the drainpipe, I almost lost my footing and fell.
But I made it down alive and without the Bubonic Plague.
Uncertain about what to do with a wild rat in a possum cage, I put it outside the eldest’s room with some cucumber for hydration.
When I told a friend about my misadventure in a Facebook message, she asked: “Assume it was alive?”
I replied: “Yep, alive and terrified. As was I when I slipped on the ladder.”
The rat is currently residing in a budgie cage in my bathtub as we try to decide to do with it. The eldest is fervently opposed to killing it, being a rat fancier and all.
Hmmmmm …. tricky …
About mid-afternoon, I asked my work if I should return to the office today and they said I couldn’t until my entire household was tested for Coronavirus. They sent me some lovely birthday flowers though.
Anyways, it turns out getting tested for coronavirus is virtually impossible unless you’ve been overseas and are showing symptoms or have been in direct contact with someone who has been diagnosed with it.
The medical system is overwhelmed and is running out of testing kits.
So I’ll be working from home for the foreseeable future.
After work, I drove over to my ex’s to collect the sick eldest, via an obscure butcher in the hope he would have mince to make nachos tonight. The youngest has been campaigning for days for nachos and I’ve been scouring my local area with no success. The obscure butcher had a massive mound of it … at $18.99 a kilo … freaking hell!
The eldest was feeling a bit too peaky to go out for my birthday dinner last night, so we got some delicious, heartburn-inducing Malaysian takeaway and stayed home.
I toasted myself with some dregs of rose I found in the fridge.
And that was my birthday.
Not my favourite, but not terrible. Kinda surreal.
Song of the day: Howard Jones “Things can only get better”