I'm Late, I'm Late ... Again

On Sunday I had all sorts of ideas about what this week's post might be. Can't recall a single one tonight; can't even recall why I didn't post on Sunday. What excuse did I have? Most likely I decided that watching Persuasion on ABC1 was far more important than turning on the computer. (I did try to watch it with an open mind but, really, it wasn't a patch on the Amanda Root/Ciarin Hinds version. Anne spent too much time staring into the lens of the camera and, much as I adore Rupert Penry-Jones in Spooks, he is simply too handsome to be Captain Wentworth.)

At midweek, the household is weary. Mr M appears to have 'slap face'. He did have a cold over the long weekend and this evening came home from playschool with a bright red right cheek. My internet search has found results that lurch from informing me it's terribly contagious and hangs around for months, to the more comforting announcement that by the time the red rash appears, the worst is over. This is why you shouldn't rely too much on the Internet to diagnose illness. For a little while following my diagnosis last year, I tried to research my disease and possible treatments on the web. It seemed to be the thing to do if you wanted to take control of your treatment and be what we called, in the days when I worked in consumer affairs, an 'informed consumer'. It was hellish. Invariably, I found myself hot on the trail of a possible treatment (usually of a 'natural' variety) only to discover an hour later that I was caught up in loony-land and being asked to pay not insignificant dollars for a 'cure'. In the end, I stuck to the most mainstream websites I could find and relied on the medical profession for advice. At times, this felt like a cop-out, as if I was abdicating responsibility for my own recovery. Most of the time, though, I believed that relying on the Internet was the surest way to madness. Now how did I get on to this?

It hasn't been all colds and weariness this week, though. Mr M has a new 'big boy' carseat, which he has taken to with enthusiasm. I did think he was going to cling to his old seat and refuse change but he has adapted to his new booster and H-harness willingly. I have a new mobile phone - with a camera - although I still can't work out how to email photos. A phonecall to the provider's helpline is required. Once I have that sorted, though, I'll be able to add photos more easily to 52 Sundays. And we went on a small bookshop crawl on Sunday on which I found two treasures - this one on the work of Margaret Atwood and this one which I had been thinking about buying on ebay for a much higher price than I paid in Fyshwick!

A Week in Dot Points

• Tuesday: worked.
• Wednesday: worked.
• Thursday: worked a very long day due to corporate function held at 6pm.
• Friday: worked ... with the assistance of a couple of skim cappucinos.
• Saturday: took the little one to watch his cousins play footy. On the north-western edge of Canberra. Not a house in view, just large green playing fields (despite the drought) and scrubby paddocks on the other side of the carpark. The under-8s playing footy were vigorous, enthusiastic scraps of energy - except when they were distracted by their new mouthguards or the play moved too far away from them and they were free to watch the clouds or kick tufts of grass. Made a delicious citrus delicious for dinner - why have I assumed that you can only use lemons? The combination of oranges and lemons was uplifting.
• Sunday: slept through the middle of the day, thanks to the thoughtfulness of the two boys. Even the littlest one kept his attempts at playing Superman to the non-bedroom end of the house. This meant I had the energy to stay awake and watch Emma on ABC1. Hmmm, it wasn't inspired but it was a pleasant enough reminder of why I love the book. Did Mr Knightley have to look so ghastly, though? And why was Emma lit so that she looked like she had a moustache? Obviously, I wasn't fully engaged or I wouldn't have noticed these things.
• Monday: swimming lessons. We have started again this term after having to abort last year's attempt due to my illness. This year, we are trying a company that uses the term 'tots' in its name. This has caused some problems because Mr M insists he is not a baby and doesn't need to learn to swim with babies. He has, however, almost mastered the art of floating and can't stop smiling when he is in the water with his teacher. I can't stop smiling because at this swim school I don't have to be in the water with him. Although the pool is small and other classes are going on in various parts of it, I can have a little swim of my own, on my own.