When you’re a parent you gradually learn to relinquish all semblance of control you may have ever had over your life and its twists and turns. Starting from your pregnancy and birth experience you pretty much have to offer yourself up to the laws of luck, serendipity, chance and sod.
School brings with it much joy, friendship and education. And lurgy. Having just got over a bout of family headlice which I was wholly unprepared for emotionally (shudder), I thought we could just skip into the summer holidays kicking up our heels with the wind in our newly deloused hair. It’s always been a fear of mine that travel plans get scuppered by a bout of chicken pox. Not based on anything but irrational fear, it’s never happened to anyone I know, but this year I was so deeply worried about it that even at the end of class chat with my pilates class the week we were due to fly, my lovely pilates cliehts were wishing me a fab holiday and I said “well that’s if Maurice doesn’t get chicken pox and can’t fly”… Admittedly, a classmate of Maurice’s had gone down with the pox a week before, so it was already on my radar. But I didn’t actually think it would happen.
But here we are. Our flight to Canada is leaving about now. And we are at home with the pox. I’m going to post this now as I have to tend to some boys quarantined at home chaos, but I will follow this with a “how to stay sane when pox ruins your summer plans” post 😭👏😘💔👍🎪