I was going to forget about the period from hell that I'm having (TMI? Sorry), I was going to forget about my sleep deprivation (my own fault I have to go to bed earlier), I was even going to forget about the guilt about not having gone to the gym since last Thursday.
I was going to tidy up the living room. I was going to deep clean the bathroom. I was going to do the dishes, including that really rank bowl that nobody is quite sure what was in.
I was going to hoover, I was going to dust, I was going to wash out the bins.
I was going to change the bed linen on all the beds, I was going to straighten the children's bedrooms.
I was going to make a start on the mess I call a bedroom so that by Christmas Day I would be proud to have pictures taken and not have to worry about what angle the pictures were taken at.
I was going to do all of this in the few hours that the children were at School and then I was going to be Mummy all evening with them, knowing that my chores were all done.
And then this morning Flyfour went into Big Boy and found that he had had diarrhea in the night. He couldn't go to school, there are rules about that sort of thing.
So Big Boy stayed at home.
And so we played with Lego, we made a monster, we read books, we watched cartoons, we ate lunch, we sang songs, we read his words, we danced, we played chase, we hugged, we went for a walk round the garden before deciding it was too cold and wet and so we drew on the windows with our special window pens instead.
The best laid plans may go to waste, but I have to treasure these unexpected days and it's much more fun this way!
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