This month there is a Harvest Moon and with it has come a certain type of chaos. September has so far, not been trauma free. Work has commenced onour house, so builders arrive at 8am, with jack hammers. Delicate Wee Flower has left her pre-school and is headed for P1, where the school in its infinite wisdom decided to leave her until one of the last, so she didn’t start until the 13th of the month. Dear God. So while others have been getting rid and exhaling after entertaining their off-spring for an ENTIRE SUMMER, it has still been play-date central here, picnics, farm visits, library trips, swimming and feck knows what else. I’m knackered. Anyway, in she went, grand, no issues, other than coming home a bit more tired so I bear the brunt of ensuing cheekiness etc. Father Ted has regressed to getting up in the night and coming in taking my side so I’ve been ousted, wandering to the guest room with my special Ikea pillow under my arm, like a wandering minstrel.
On Thursday, the nursery mums thought it might be nice to get all the kids together, familiar faces in this transitional phase. After lunch in a well known fast food outlet, one kind soul volunteered her house for tea, biscuits and back garden frolics in this late September sun. It was all most convivial until I rushed out to the car to get sun cream and sunglasses before we all fried the corneas off ourselves and WHAM; straight into a bastard faux lamppost out the front. I actually bounced off, hearing the clatter before I registered the blow. The reverberations shook my soul.
It’s tricky when you do yourself a mischief as the accompanying adult at a play date. Despite seeing stars I was really embarrassed and protested that I was, of course, absolutely fine and indeed another cup of tea would be just the ticket to make me feel better. It would have been sensible to apply an icepack immediately and lie down in a darkened room, but when your host is putting out crafts for five children under four it seems a bit precious to be lying with your feet up, requiring medical aid.
Four days on and I’m still feeling ropey, and am now convinced the whip lash has set in as I can barely incline my head to the right. My tendency to catastrophise is in full flow. I remember a friend of my dad’s who took a stroke following an incident involving a bumper car in which he struck his head. Apparently head injuries can cause strokes in otherwise healthy people; that was the salutary tale there. So I have LSH waking me in the night to make sure I’m neither dead nor in the throes of a stroke. The Harvest Moon is waning now, and good riddance to it.
