The challenges of being professional

Robyn is in Wellington. Her daughter has left home. We have asked about a squillion favours of our friends in the last ten days and surely the meeting won't last long, nor will the chiropractor's appointment.

So the girl comes with me to my work meeting and the boy goes to work with his dad after school and then with him to the chiropractor's. During the early afternoon the girl seems not entirely herself but nothing to start calling the medics in for. Wednesday is supposed to be my day of not doing paid work but this year there seem to be a number of vital meetings on a Wednesday. I balance not turning up due to no childcare vs turning up with a three year old who needs the toilet at very very short notice and I decide that turning up is the better idea.

Except that she turns out not to be entirely well. At one point, I ask her if she thinks she will be sick. Yes. Ever the multi-tasker, I get up (carrying her at the same time) and pull the large black plastic rubbish bin right up beside me. I soothe her brow and listen to the meeting. I even manage to say some relevant things when asked. I say much less than usual, but there are points in favour of such an approach. Then she wees on me. I leap up (carrying her at the same time) to reduce the damage to the carpet (too late). Everyone else assumes she is about to vomit and encourages me to go home. I have completed the essential part of the meeting.

It is difficult to look professional when someone is weeing on your lap.

In other child things developments, I did not get to meet Sharon who may be a wodnerful childminder today because her seven year old daughter is home with a vomiting bug. Neither of Sharon's two children, aged 5 & 7, have ever vomited before. I nearly gag at the amazingness of this myself. When no one has sick kids and we finally get to meet in persons, I am rather desperate to know what she feeds her children. I bet her house is really clean.

Clean house? I tried that the other day. It was several days before C was due to work miracles on our dusty abode and I thought I would get a little mature and sweep the wooden hall floors myself. Responsible use of my precious time at home, you could say. So I swept the hall floors and even washed one of the walls which had yucky things on it, the origins of which I didn't pause once to speculate on. Not long later, Brighid had an accident. An accident is a euphemism for a bacterial explosion of the kind which keeps Fisher & Paykel in business. I cleaned up what I could see and noticed later on that some unfortunate and inconsiderate person had walked mud into the hallway. Me, most likely.

Except not.

Not mud. Cue more spot cleaning and then the entire nuclear unit despatched and detained in the lounge while I washed the hall floor with hot water and janola. No, I cannot remember what ethically appropriate product would have been kinder to the environment than janola. Poo in the hallway is not kind to anyone's environment.

At least the hall looks quite nice now.


Gillybean said…
Wow. U ROCK.
I'm totally feelin it!!
Johanna Knox said…
Jeez, yes, you are supermum!!!

As far as children who vomit a lot and children who never do, I have one of each, so I suspect it is genetic. (I won't tell you which of the genes came from my side!!)
It didn't feel like supermum. It felt like not doing either job properly. But we got through I guess. Life isn't perfect and sometimes workplaces have to wear that as well as homeplaces.

Thank you both for your kind words. I treasure them.

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