Categories: uncategorized
Date: 01 March 2005 19:55:12
Not mine, I hasten to add. Theirs.
Half way through this morning's lessons I was called from my tables tests to go on a mercy mission to Tiddles' school. There I was greeted by a pale and listless waif clutching a bucket. He was so poorly that he could barely walk to the car and simply shrugged when he was told that, as he sat there quietly vomitting in the medical room, the school were applauding his success in winning first prize for his number collection. (First prize. First Prize!!!! Spot the delighted mother simply glowing with pride!)
I somehow get the impression that I am doomed not to succeed in my massage course. That's the third Tuesday afternoon lesson in a row I have missed to tend a sickening member of the family, or to sort out a problem at work that couldn't be left, and it's really scuppering my chances of becoming totally familiar with the routine. Still, I think I did OK with the Health and Safety exam... if it's not tempting fate to say so. In fact, it was a bit insulting. A one hour paper consisting of 25 multiple choice questions for which the pass mark was 15. Stunningly difficult questions along the lines of (and yes, this actually was one of the questions): Why is it important to give the client written information about their treatment and aftercare? a) to encourage them out of the salon more quickly, b) to get rid of surplus paper which may clutter up the salon, c) to ensure they are well informed about their treatment. I felt a bit embarrassed walking out after five minutes.. especially as it'd look a bit bad if I've got more than ten questions wrong!.. so I sat and looked as though I was studying the paper intently until I could bear it no longer.
Anyway, here I sat with my vomitty and migrainey son. It was his own fault really - I had finally had to threaten him and TBF with GBH last night when they were still talking at 11.30pm!!! He really can't cope with late nights at the best of times. Combine that with a stinking cough and cold and it's no wonder he was feeling like death warmed up this afternoon. Of course, I was appropriately sympathetic! But, just as I tucked him up in bed, the phone rings and it's Smudgelet's school. I'm to go and collect him immediately because he's developed conjunctivitis. I dash up to the school to be greeted by an extremely red-eyed King Arthur - quite a contrast to his pale and insipid-looking big brother! So it looks like the two of them off school tomorrow. Still, it does have the beneficial side-effect that Smudgelet is currently really keen to wash his hands properly. The liquid soap bottle is nearly empty... and it has stayed surprisingly full for the last six months or so ;)
He's now crying inconsolably in bed because he wants to go to school! (He's not getting any sympathy because the sympathy was making him worse rather than better). Rather nice, I must say, to know he's so keen. Or is it just that he doesn't fancy a day in the company of me and his wet-lettuce-leaf of a brother?