Who you callin’ calm?

I am not a screamer, nor am I the type of woman who gets over-emotional.

Except when I've had seven nights of no sleep.

Today, I turned into a screamer. Happily, it wasn't at the post-tonsillectomy terrible twosome, but unhappily, it was at The Republican, who, I believe, is sunning himself in Florida while I have been unable to work for two weeks, and am up to my eyes in medicine, sleepless nights, and crying Smalls.

This is when being a single mother aint so much fun.

Point being, after my mini nervous-breakdown, The Chef and The Volunteer turned up, unannounced, at ten O'clock this morning, and shooed me out the door.

'Where am I going to go?' I said.

'Anywhere. Go get a manicure,' they advised.

I went to get a pedicure. I looked such a fright I didn't go to the usual place that is filled with all the smartest ladies in town, but some hole in the wall place that was empty. When I got back, The Chef had made me a cauldron of chicken soup (In actual fact I first typed children's soup, which will give you an idea of my frame of mind...), and The Volunteer volunteered to pick up sushi.

This evening The Chef turned up and took all four of my children out to dinner, and The Sherpa is now upstairs reading to them, while I sneak out to The Sherpa's house for a night, so I can get a decent night's sleep.

You think your family live on the other side of the Atlantic, then you find out they are surrounding you.

Thank you to all of you. I couldn't do this without you. You have my unending gratitude and love.

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