week of vom

It's the end of the week, so here I am with my salt and vinegar crisps and a glass of rose in front of the telly. Classy, that's me. I know I should be lighting my Jo Malone scented candle, slipping into my White Company cashmere socks and sipping a large riocha, but I think I'm clearly a sub-standard officer's wife (or at least, that's how I feel after my lunch in the mess the other day...).
Anyway,  a small celebration is in order as it's the end of the week of vomiting. Twins decided to support the teachers' strike by keeping off school ever since, bless 'em. I've been probably the most unsympathetic mother, however, as they were both dumped in front of the telly with a sick bowl whilst I got on with writing. By yesterday afternoon Twin 1 was begging me to take her to school, so she went in, but Twin 1 had yet another day today of lying on the sofa watching kids' TV and shouting for me periodically to re-heat her hot mouse thing (it's a cloth mouse filled with grape pips that you heat up in the microwave) and bring snacks. This evening everyone seemed to be better though, so I might even get a night's sleep without having to share my bed with an ill girl tonight. I can't wait - I might even crack open another one of my teeny tiny bottles of wine and see if I can hunt down that old cornetto that I know is lurking somewhere in the back of the freezer.
Right, so other than vomit and rat poo, there's not much been going on this week, so I'm going to go and glug back some more booze and hop into my empty bed.
Night x