It's been particularly difficult because the children are off school for the long summer holiday. Luckily thanks to the trampoline, a selection of blankets and cushions hereby known as "the Den" and a variety of electronic devices they don't seem too bothered about poorly mummy - possibly because it's been a free for all in the kitchen and I suspect they have been subsisting on crisps and fried egg sandwiches.
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| This is not my church or my vicar. She's much taller and less likely to bite. |
She had planned an afternoon filled with exciting activities. The children were going to build dens out of tree branches, make insect hotels, paint stones, prepare jacket potatoes and fillings...and loads more. The event finale was to be a big picnic.
I had volunteered earlier in the week to help set up and generally help through the afternoon. I planned to make my usual offering of home-made garlic dough balls for the picnic. And then I fell ill.
Yesterday morning after admitting to myself that I was not going to "do a Lazarus"and rise from the (near) dead I emailed the Rev and told her I would not be able to make it.
I emailed round some close friends who happily agreed to take along a selection of children each and after my young had left with their designated carers I relaxed feeling less guilty about them missing out on holiday fun because my illness.
You know what they say about the best laid plans? I heard the doorbell. I got downstairs to find a very apologetic friend accompanying DS#4 who was holding an icepack to his head. Yes, he had suffered a parachute-game related injury and wanted to come home.
Except he didn't really want to come home. My friend had barely made it to the end of my drive and my boy was sobbing that he didn't want to miss the picnic and especially didn't want to miss out on eating the jacket potato he was so looking forward to. I called my friend back. We both stood in front of him and realised he wanted to go back - but he wanted Mum.
So I hobbled up to the churchyard with him (luckily it's a very short walk!) and plonked myself on a bench a good distance from everyone else. This and a plague warning didn't deter many of the picnickers coming to say hello and I enjoyed the fresh air, the company and the sunshine.
It was only when I got home that I realised that not one of the people there mentioned the fact that I was in my pyjamas.
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| The actual PJs I wore to the church picnic. |
But I have never before ventured to a church event in broad daylight where along with my tolerant friends there were people I'd class more as aquaintances plus some complete strangers! None of whom said a thing about the slightly dishevelled, clammy woman in her PJs.
Well. Not to my face anyway.
Well they already think I'm a bit bonkers I suppose, what with the herd of kids and all and maybe the sight of me in my flannels just confirmed what they thought all along.
I am a Madmumof7!
