Wall Paint

I have suffered one of the most traumatic weeks of my life. I have been robbed of my beauty, scarred for life.

Don’t get me wrong I have not physically hurt myself - much worse. I lost my make up bag.

Anyone that knows me knows I will never be seen without my slap. I remember feeling the trauma walking to theatre preparing for the birth of my son…. The c section was not the cause of this distress but being told to remove all make up for the procedure. So shallow I know. But so true.

Now although I could not live without my paint I am not a women with excessive amounts of make up. No, all my essentials fit neatly into my patent make up bag that I carry at all times. For emergency’s.

Foundation mascara, powder and lip gloss are the bare minimal that will be my dress, ensuring ultimate yummy ness is achieved.

So please imagine.. I am off for a little drink with the Man. Arriving a touch early gives me time to fix face after leaving flat in rush. Shuffling though things I discover to my horror that patient pal is missing. I trace back my steps.. On the bus I had pulled it out shuffling though my bag to find some gum, I must have left in on the seat. Idiot.

Not much good having nice breath if my face looks like poop.

Consider tracking down bus, then reject thought of making fool of self running down road like a banshee.

Returning to my table I am solemn. The man thinks that I must be ill, maybe in the head, at being distressed at the loss of ’brushes and stuff’ I think to self how little he knows. They are my magic set of tools, lovingly purchased to perform near miracles on my face. I back my drink to take the edge off my loss.

As we leave I consider putting on sunglasses to cover unmade up face. What the heck, I am going to embrace this moment.. Typical I bump into three different people on route to car, to make matters worse they all question if I am ill!

I make it home in one piece without any small children screaming at me on sight. This has to be progress.

If nothing else I have benefited from this experience in more ways than one.

Note to self : from now on do not attempt to remove make up stuff from handbag in transit, and hay, there is nothing better than a brand new bag of paint!

Snot

We are being quite the model Yummy family this week. Not.

I keep finding tissue everywhere. If it was not bad enough that toddler son keeps sharing his snot, it seems the man has felt encouraged to do the same.

I still do not understand why men have such difficulty with the common cold.

From looking at the stash of medicine you would not be blamed for thinking there is an army living here with full blown flu.

On way back from work (short of death would a sick day be taken ) The man collected half of the cold and flu stock from Boots to set up mini hospital for himself at home. He assures me that it is better to be safe than sorry, shame how this motto has not yet reached him replacing the loo roll though.

Daughter decides that assistant Nurse job has her name on it readily taking temp of the wounded.

The whole house reeks of illness, and am feeling ill just with the association. Thankfully toddler son seems to be coping much better and has got smearing his bogey on the front room wall down to a fine art. I spend the next two nights wondering if they are deliberately competing in snoring competition. Just as the corner to recovery is turned by the boys, Nurse daughter starts sneezing. I wake to discover new trails of toilet tissue leading to her bed. Great, another one bites the dust.

Leaving just me, the only snot free human in the house. While daughter enjoys new found role as patient.

I allocate another toilet roll, noting to self that we are on our last. Before I reach the bathroom my nose feels a tingle.

"Bless you mummy" the patient calls.

My turn to sit with two pieces of tissue up my nose.

Yummy.