On to Tuesday. I can't remember what happened on Tuesday so let's move on.
On Wednesday, I got a call from the school at 2pm to say Savannah wasn't feeling well and could I pick her up. My kids are never ill. They both had certificates for 100% attendance last year - I credit myself for this by building their immune systems with constant exposure to germs. (Not that the house is dirty, just that I have a lot of pets. That's my scientific theory, and I'm sticking to it.) Anyway, I zoomed home from Watford (where I work - not just hanging out there for fun) to collect her. She refused dinner. She's not a child who ever refuses food. Uh-oh. This didn't bode well.
Sure enough, I was woken at 6am next morning by the child vomiting. I then went downstairs to discover one of the dogs had had explosive diarrhoea in her crate. And up the wall behind it. And over the other dog. Let's draw a line under Thursday.
Friday wasn't much better. It's my day off, so I had loads planned - riding both ponies, the farrier, finally getting my roots done. Thinking we were probably over the worst of the tummy bug, I decided to press on with the appointments and take Savannah with me. This proved to be a mistake, as she threw up on the floor in the hairdressers. The left side of my head was, at this point, full of foils, with none on the other side, so I had the choice of rocking a two-tone hairstyle or pressing grimly on with the appointment. I chose the latter. I am a bad mummy.
I left the hairdressers sporting a 'Rachel' with an asymmetric fringe. Possibly, this was revenge for the partially digested melon Savannah had deposited on their floor, although they'd seemed absolutely lovely about it at the time. I tidied the fringe up with the kitchen scissors as soon as I got home but couldn't do much about the layers. Obviously, I left a £10 tip anyway. It was only polite, under the circumstances.
As for the farrier - although Angel may live up to her name in many respects, the mystery of why she didn't have back shoes on when I tried her was soon cleared up. She kicks. Sedation was mentioned - and my heart sank into the floor at having to pay about £200 every six weeks for getting my horses shod - but after an hour and a half of persuasion, the last shoe was finally nailed on. Hopefully she'll be better next time, once she's settled in.
By this point, though, I was an hour late getting home and had missed my Sainsburys delivery slot. Although I normally stockpile food in readiness for the zombie apocalpyse (still convinced it'll happen one day), supplies had somehow dwindled over the last week or so to the point where I had three packets of paella rice (no idea why) and very little else. My husband saved the day by going out and getting a Chinese takeaway, which was actually great. Even the little'un managed a spring roll without throwing it back up.
It's now Saturday afternoon and I can finally leave the house without a sick child in tow - hurrah! Sainsburys has delivered so we now have food, my lovely new sharer turned my horses out for me this morning, and Ian has taken the kids to their grandparents' house, so I can walk the dogs and ride - finally. The poor dogs have been reduced to a quick walk round the village in the pitch black by Ian, wearing a head torch, for the last couple of nights. These are my dogs - Spotty and Lola. As you can see, Spotty - a Jack Russell cross Beagle AKA a 'Jeagle' AKA a mutt - likes to dominate my sweet-natured labrador Lola. Lola gets humped all the time. She has a naturally sad face, but I still don't think she enjoys it much.
So we're off for a yomp round the woods, then I'll go up to the yard and do my chores and have a nice quiet ride. Bliss! Just hoping none of the rest of us go down with that sick bug now....
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