With my ears blocked and ringing, my throat rasping, my head throbbing I struggle to remember my euphoria of this morning when I bounced out of bed to find Kayley packing up her school lunch. She'd pealed the Nashi all by herself, cut out the core and sliced it into wedges; she'd packed up some sultanas, got herself a muesli bar and was about to make a sandwich. What joy it was to see her so happy to be independent and what a joy it was to know that, when she got home that afternoon, she couldn't blame me for any part of her lunch.
This afternoon I hid myself away in the conservatory where the winter sun was streaming in the windows warming me to the very core and got started on my "Art" project. You may recall that I was going to do nine little boxes for my house. I still intend to do something along those lines, but as I trawled through thousands of vintage doilie patterns last night I realised that they are, in their own right, an art from. While I'd probably never have one on my dressing table, if they're displayed on the wall in just the right way they will certainly be a tribute to two hundred years of imitation lace, two hundred years of fabulous designs and imaginations, two hundred years of painstaking hours creating tiny stitches to display on favourite pieces of furniture.
Alas, but half an hour prior to picking up the children I started to realise that my father's man flu has mutated and I've got it . . . or the beginnings of it (as you may have guess from the opening statements). My main concern is that my left ear is ringing - this is never a good sign for me. So, it may be a trip to the doctor for me tomorrow, but we'll see how things progress over night. This will be my first big test as a mother. I've never been sick and had to raise three children before, so we'll just have to see who breaks first. (I have a sneaking suspicion that it won't be the children.)