Day 12: Sunday 10th March

So - it is Sunday. I am 12 days down the line from the first operation and 5 days down the line from the unexpected 2nd operation!

I now have control of what I consume, and a lovely man from ASDA has just delivered some essential shopping ready for the arrival of C1 and C2. All is well.

There was even an overflow to the garage, meaning that when C1 and C2 realise the wealth of stocks the frenzy will be barely manageable. 

I, however, having had a brief tussle yesterday with too-gloopy protein drink, have resorted to cups of tea, water and a little warm Vimto again. Blood sugars really low, so feeling headachey, floppy and not very sociable. This will pass. My good friend Banksy (who is a long-time diabetic) recommended a cup of sweet tea with sugar in. Miracle cure.

C1 and C2 have arrived, excited, full of love and gentle hugs, and have only had 1 fight so far. I know they are pleased to be home. The pressure of being in somebody else's home, away from me, away from each other, for 2 whole weeks, is enough to make anyone want to scrunch up a home-made mothers day card and a packet of chocolate splats and throw it at your sibling. All fixed thanks to sensitive chat from Auntie K.

My little chef (aka C1) has made the secret family recipe fish pie for C1 and C2 to enjoy for their supper. It has all gone. It looked good. I am sorry that I didn't get to try it.

I did not even lick it. 

A spot of sofa-cuddles, some Night At The Museum, and 2 reluctant children marched off to bed. This is going to take some strict rule-making. The cries of 'I'm bored', 'I can't go to sleep', 'I hate Forest School', 'I feel ill' and such cut no ice. I need to be in bed too. 

It takes an hour for C2 to settle down to sleep.  Good boy.

C1, however, sneaks into my bedroom, armed already with her superior pillow, stating that she is too ill to go to school, she hates school, it is ruining her life, and she is not tired. 

3 hours of chat, putting the world to rights, giggling about teachers wearing tight sports trousers that you can see their pants through, and detentions, and she is at last asleep. 

Now, I need to inform you that I have to get up to visit the loo at least 4 times a night at the moment. Every time I crept out there was a little voice saying 'I'm still not asleep you know' and by 4am I am tired of hearing it. I set the alarm for 15 minutes earlier than a normal school day, get up, run a warm bath, plonk her in it (always works, ever since she was a fractious toddler), washed her hair with apple and raspberry shampoo, combed the hair, dried it, cuddled her, and hey presto, we have a complete melt-down before 7:30am. 

School will happen.

School is good.

School is bloody hard work for a stressed-out Year 6 about to embark on the pointless task of SAT testing. But I must play the game. 

She cannot walk to school on her own in tears. What would the neighbours say?

C2 has already been extracted from the home by my friend Mr Fisherman, and taken to the dreaded Forest School in too-tight wellies, silly waterproof trousers and tears running down his face.

C1 is now waiting for Mrs Fisherman (wifey to Mr Fisherman) to come and extract her and take her to school. 

Hoping when they both return they will be tired, happier, and proud of themselves that they rose to the challenge and did their day, and did not continue with the blackmail and guilt that they are so good at, in trying to persuade a poorly parent to let them skive off. 
I am proud of them. 
I will tell them so when they get home.

It is Shepherd's Pie tonight, thanks to my little chef. She planned ahead, and made double mashed potato, so it is a simple case of doing the meat and carrot filling, assembling, preparing cabbage and gravy, and enjoying.

I will be having yogurt, as my lovely mummy turned up today armed with 2kg* of the good white stuff that she makes so well. 

*I will not be consuming 2kg in one sitting, dear reader. I will be managing 2 tbsp.