While he's been "sick" this last week he's become heavily addicted to a game on my phone. Yes he's moved on from Angry Birds. This one is called Where's My Perry? and he would happily play it in a locked room with no food all day. In the meantime, I've unfortunately become heavily addicted to the background music from this game. It's like some cool 60s TV show theme song. Although it's totally stuck in my head now and I'm kind of over it. Anyway, I'm not sure what to do about the phone addiction. He had a mild meltdown when I drove off and left my phone at someone's house the other day. And even worse, the other day he told me he would rather stay home all day and play on the phone than go to kindy. And he LOVES kindy. I've created a nerd. I want my boy back NOW.
Meanwhile HM has had minor surgery. I was so wrapped up in my own work deadlines and loads of washing that I totally forgot he was having it. When he returned home, I didn't even ask how it went. Instead I asked if he had booked a doctor's appointment for Hammerhead. It wasn't until several hours later when HM had severely carked it on the couch, and was demanding the strongest painkillers EVER, that I realised something was up. WIFE OF THE YEAR AWARD GOES TO ME.
Poor HM. He puts up with so much. Apparently if it's not in an email or a text then I don't know about it. Anyway, once I remembered the surgery and the stitches I was VERY sympathetic and waited on him hand and foot. I'm still waiting on him hand and foot. I'm thinking now he's going to milk it in payback. Apparently the stitches don't come out till next Monday so it's another week of servant behaviour. All the things he normally does cannot be done. The wound is right in that crucial spot of the torso that makes any kind of twisting and lifting excruciating. He can't laugh, he can't get up and retrieve the remote, he can't surf and he can't put the dishes away. He can't even use the coffee machine which means we've had to drink my mediocre offerings. I swear the coffee machine hates me and deliberately stuffs up my attempts.
The Surfer has done exceptionally well of late. SO well that he too has come down sick with some kind of bug. Aside from winning all the local comps, he's representing the school in the State Schools comp. Which means he's better than all the Year 10s, 11s and 12s at the school. Boasting moi, much?
Barnstormer--my little tough nut tomboy girl --has become a ballerina. She's been inspired by the rhythmic gymnasts in London. She's off doing ballet now with a ballet company that has some strict rules. NO parents watching the girls through the window of the studio. NO buying the cheap versions of the uniform from Target instead of the posh and expensive ballet boutique. NO being late. NO ladders in stockings. Hair MUST be in a bun, with non-descript clips if necessary. If I buy the full uniform from the posh shop, I'm looking at $200 plus. Target is going to be a quarter of that. I'm going with Target. I mean what's the worst that can happen? Will the lovely teacher go ballistic? (sorry, that pun is bad I know.).
|This sign is tutu cute for words!