My three footed son and a little helper after a hellish weekend
IT was to be a weekend of industry. A weekend of time with The Good Woman, a leisurely candle-lit meal in a restaurant, a gig afterwards in a cool pub. It was to be a weekend of getting a whole list of chores done.
None of the above happened.
The omens were there on Friday when I got a call from The Good Woman that she was running late at work. Factoring in her usual departure time I knew Friday night was going to be a write off. To make things better the Whirlwind Princess came down with a fever on Saturday morning putting paid to our plans of getting out and about ahead of the predicted deluge on Sunday. The babysitter was booked and a restaurant which we had recently booked and had to cancel was booked. As the day wore on it became clear that we couldn't leave our daughter with a high, and potentially contagious fever, with our babysitter, as brilliant as she is, and coupled with the fact that The Good Woman was feeling the worse for wear from the previous days 14 hour shift, I had to call the restaurant again and cancel. I did manage to get a shop in and the fridge was filled.
The Good Woman, nerves frayed at this stage, opened the fridge door to makie us a cuppa and the milk shelf collapsed, causing two three litre bottles to explode all over the kitchen.
At least we would get an early night Saturday enabling us to make the most out of Sunday, ahead of the arrival of guests the following two weekends.
Of course this didn't happen. The Princess was up during the night. The Little Fella was awoken. The crack of light through the window spelled doom as the day begun at 6 a.m. I allowed The Good Woman a lie in and having fed the little 'uns and dressed them, I managed to get some shape on the house. The Whirlwind Princess was getting better and I even managed a few moments rest.
The Good woman somehow managed to do three sets of batch cooking and a roast and a dessert, as it was a day for it. She managed to get some of her chores done but not half what we needed to. On Sunday afternoon I noticed the Little Fella was looked a bit piqued and combined with two leaky ears, red cheeks and a runny nose, it was clear that he was the next casualty in the house. The Good Woman was complaining of feeling under the weather and with the rain lashing down, the whole world was going to pot.
I did my usual and took the children for a spin and they both nodded off. I didn't care where I was driving, I just drove and drove.
Sunday night was an insomnia endurance test as, having settled down around midnight, we were awoken on the hour, every hour throughout the night. I took one for the team and looked after The Little Fella. At one point in the dead of the night to comfort him I leaned in to kiss him on the cheek in the dark and got a mouthful of ear wax. He hogged the pillow in the top floor single bed so I had to curl into the foetal position and try to get a few winks.
In the morning The Whirlwind Princess, sensing my distress, offered to help me as I dressed him. She brought all his clothes in and as I asked her for his sock, she smiled the biggest knowing smile and said, 'Daddy, Dáithí doesn't have three feet'.