ET, the Kardashians and Fate

Home, sweet home is not quite the serene bliss I had hoped. Small boy aged 6 has shingles due to the stress of my being in hospital and spent most of last week at home being brave and at school crying his eyes out. Can my heart break anymore? I had my many staples removed this morning and brought them home for Small boy aged 8 to gross out his friends at school tomorrow. All of this I can cope with. Finally I told husband to stop moaning about his sore tummy and go to the doctor and now he has been booked in more emergency surgery at the Morningside Clinic. This may be rash, but I have to ask, “Why, Goddess, why?”


Throughout all of this chaos one woman has remained a calm anchor in the storm. Without her I would flounder. My mother has brought me homemade venison stew, is cooking eggy peggys as I type (basically savoury French toast cut into strips), has ferried me to and from hospital and my ailing spouse too hospital. I can honestly say I do not know how I would cope without her here.


My sons have risen to the occasion in ways I never expected. They have done the washing up, put laundry in the machine, packed their school bags and brought me their GI Joe walkie talkie so I can call for help when I need it. My cats have been banished. They keep kneading my poor scarred belly and making me scream like a banshee with PMT. And oh, but things take so long do to. Morning ablutions and exercises can take up to an hour and I do not end up looking like a Kardashian after all that time either. And forget shoes, my feet are too far away.


I feel like Jane Eyre’s hero who kept his crazy wife locked in the attic – trapped! And while I’m mixing metaphors can I just mention that my staple free belly looks revolting. I feel like Signourney Weaver in Alien ready to burst with a million little alien offspring. And I have run out of groceries and hospitalized husband has the credit card. The upshot is that while I haven’t had a smoke for a week I just might call Carlos at the Spar and have him bring me a box. Perhaps friendly extra-terrestrials will see my smoke rings and beam me up.

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