To say it's been an eventful week would be a gross understatement. As I try to recall the events which I know will make me giggle one day, I struggle not to rub my eyelids with the palms of my hands as it's all been a little exhausting.
Disastrous birthday dinner
A choking episode involving an octopus
Strangely coloured mucous
Searching for the "right" part at multiple Bunnings stores right before closing time
One chest infection
Exploding kitchen plumbing
Eye-shooting tomato sauce packets
Many soggy towels, tea towels and one swollen roll of paper towels
Feuding stuffed toys
Lots of tissues and coughing
Not exactly in that order, but it paints a nice little picture of the saga of the last six days. I feel like I've been running around like some over-booked lunatic from one debacle to another with barely a breath in between.
And I can't even say that I've done anything fun or memorable. Actually that's a lie. The kid shooting himself in the eye with tomato sauce, squealing like a little piggy in acidic pain, then choking on a piece of calamari in a restaurant where we were celebrating my beloved's birthday, after the one we really wanted to eat at we found out was closed - was definitely memorable. But not the right kind of memorable. Shame.
If there's one thing I've come to realise this past week it's that if you can't see the humour in a time of crisis, then you've really got nothing else left to keep you from pulling the pin, falling in a fit of hysterical rambling on the soaking wet floor and potentially causing some concern for your loved ones.
That and looking at that precious little mug which pulls the cheekiest darn faces and makes you laugh when you think you're about to lose your sh*t. He really is priceless that monkey of mine.