Indigestible mixture of kvell and kvetch.

Item – I’m so tired. Sorry. I am really, really tired, and I’m not even drugged up to the eyeballs and poked full of holes yet.

Item – H had a Great Big Amazing Wonderful Thing to do, so amazing and wonderful some of his family came up to watch, so there was much socialising and seeing of peeps over the weekend. Which was lovely. And then on Monday H did his Great Big Amazing Wonderful Thing (he’s so talented) and we all died of pride and then went to the pub. I got four hours sleep last night. I am so pleased for H I think I may grin myself into a spasm. I cornered a random colleague at work and God help me I boasted. And I am so tired I can barely type. Hurrah for H! wbifaq4 bv4auiniurhguvx [faceplant in keyboard].

Item – We scrubbed the damn flat top to bottom as well. I still have a floor to mop. Did I mention my mother was planning on staying the night once she and H have scooped me up from the hospital?

Item – Reasons why H is pleased my mother is staying:

  1. We don’t have a car. My mother does. Cars are useful for transporting The Recently Quarried home again.
  2. H is also exhausted, post Amazing Wonderful, and came home early today with a fever (oh, the timing), so if he’s going to be feeling like a boiled turnip, another Useful Adult about the place would be Of Use.
  3. Also, if I decide to go all Medical Emergency (fingers crossed, eh?) there will be a spare Useful Adult With Car available.
  4. If nothing else, my mother and H can play Boggle all evening while I languish.

Item – Reasons why I feel twitchy about my mother staying:

  1. I have to mop the bathroom floor. I know I should anyway, as it’s not a great surface for lying on in emergencies right now, unless one cares to be covered in lint and hair-balls, but I am mostly mopping it because my mother will look at it.
  2. The dirty laundry in the bedroom does not live in a hamper. We do not own a hamper large enough. It lives in a Matterhorn. And my mother will look at it, and there’s eff-all I can do about this, because I don’t have time now to do ALL the laundry AND mop the bathroom floor, and I’m more likely to lie on the floor than in the laundry.
  3. When I am feeling grim, I don’t want anyone to talk to me or even look at me much. I want people to rub my feet in total, reverential silence. My mother, bless her, talks, and doesn’t do feet.
  4. She will offer to clean the bathroom or do laundry or something, and I will have a nervous breakdown.

Item – I’m taking H out for dinner tomorrow, as a birthday treat. So I may well not have time to update you, Gentle Readers, before I go to hospital. Umm. Will you fret? If you think you might fret, I can emotionally blackmail H into updating you. If my mother lets him. My mother doesn’t know about this blog and I don’t want her to. Oy. Anyway. Or H can lend me his iPhone and I can say ‘im fine ‘Kthnxbai’.

Item – It’s H’s birthday tomorrow! Happy birthday, H! Have a punctured semi-conscious wife!

Item – And then there’s work. Work is being A Total Bastard. People keep putting tasks in my in-tray. I thought I’d told these People that I’m off for a week. Well, I’d told my boss, and a couple of other key colleagues, and they’ve dealt with it by adopting Extreme Stealth mode, so no one else knows and I am having about three Conversations of Awkward a day. And I am, apparently, officially covering for two other sick colleagues. Yes. I know. I, woman going into surgery, a thing I informed work about in AUGUST, have been asked to cover for two colleagues who fell sick last week. Because I’ve been at current place of employment long enough to know how to do their jobs as well as my own, you see, despite not actually being trained. The person who asked me to cover had the nerve to look surprised when I said I wasn’t available, and asked me if I couldn’t have the surgery next week instead. Um, honey, that’s not how the NHS works.

Item – Anyway, H is a God Amongst Men and I’m so very clever because I married him and get to bask in reflected glory.


14 responses to “Indigestible mixture of kvell and kvetch.

  • Betty M

    Happy Birthday to H and congratulations on his brilliant thing which went so splendidly!
    Have a lovely dinner and fingers crossed for a calm, problem free procedure if you are not back here until after its done.
    At this point I reckon you should just let your mother at the Matterhorn of washing well your stuff anyway. Sorry H but there is something weird about a mil doing a son in law’s washing.

  • QoB

    personally speaking, an update along the lines of “hello, I am conscious!” would be nice, but not if it becomes another Item of stress for you and H. I can be patient.

    I say, clean nothing, let your mother do it if she wants, it’ll have the bonus effect of keeping her busy! But then I’m a bit cheeky like that.

    Best of luck with the surgery.

  • Kylie

    Happy Birthday to H, and congrats on the wonderful thing.

    Best of luck with the hospital, may everything go according to expectations (as long as the expectations are that they fix any problems and find no other issues).

  • a

    Happy Birthday H! We all know that you are wonderful, but I’m glad to hear the rest of your corner of the world knows too! Enjoy your birthday dinner!

    Best of luck on the surgery. You know, the best way to keep your mother from talking is to give her tasks. Say…mopping and laundry? Because otherwise, she will be directionless and bored…

    Does your colleague not understand your medical care system? Reschedule surgery? Really?

  • Blanche

    Best of all possible outcomes for the procedure, and best of luck with the visit/assistance from your Mum.

    Those who do not understand or ask what would be helpful when attending to the convalescing are oftentimes more annoying than the reason for their visit.

  • Womb For Improvement

    Happy Birthday H!

    Best of Luck May (with the Mother’s visit and the surgery – I am not sure which requires more crossed digits…)

  • Valery Valentina

    Yay for Amazing Wonderful H.
    And I think mothers like to be able to do something helpful, if that is doing the Matterhorn it should keep her helpful for a while.
    And if mopping is to much work you could maybe just catch the bathroom hair with the vacuum? (I hate mopping) at least the lack of mopping will be less obviously swirling about your ankles….

    Hope you will feel much better much sooner than expected.
    Hugs till then.

  • Lilian

    Hope all goes well with the surgery.

    Glad everyone knows H is amazing and happy birthday to him!

  • Korechronicles

    Glad H’s Amazing-ness has been on public display and suitably recognised. Sending nothing but enormous amounts of good luck, vibes, etc for a successful procedure and a slightly dented cricket bat for immediate application to the head of the dill who suggested you reschedule surgery. Double Concentrated Stupid mutation on a chromosome somewhere, I suspect.

    Thinking of you and sympathising with your dread about the next few days of May Patient and Mother Florence Nightingale with added Issues Complications. Such as laundry. Or mice.

    Love and hugs. See you on the other side. xx

  • Dr Spouse

    Good grief, even in a world where you pay the surgeons to be at your beck and call, surgeons don’t reschedule because your colleague feels like having you at work. And this colleague does, I assume, live in the UK, and doesn’t have a private physician.
    The public amazingness sounds amazing!

  • katyboo1

    Hooray for H. Happy Birthday to H too. If all else fails chuck matterhorn out of the window until she is gone and pretend it is a world of the strange clothes blizzard and you know nothing. Nothing at all.

    I hope it all goes brilliantly for you tomorrow and everything is wonderful and all that and all the stuff and I will be thinking about you truly, madly, deeply so please, please if H can do it, just get him to type YAY on something or something.

    I must go. xx

  • Hairy Farmer Family

    We all applaud H!

    ‘The person who asked me to cover had the nerve to look surprised when I said I wasn’t available, and asked me if I couldn’t have the surgery next week instead’ – I have no words to describe to you just HOW FAR my eyes boggled out at this point. And speaking of eyes, I think they needed a sharp, stiff two fingers rammed hard into theirs. Moron.

    I, too, have learnt the hard way about bathroom floors. Eyelevel is a Whole New World to me vis a vis where I apply the cleaning products. Yeuch. And EVERY TIME we have bleated to Doctors Next Door for emergency medical prodding, they have had to mountaineer over a pile of filthy washing to get to the bed. Blushes. So much so that on my most recent plea for neighbourly assistance, I crawled – crawled – down the stairs to be seen in the relatively sanitary living room. They decided an ambulance would take too long to find us, so lucky John got the job, and really, I do think Mother With Car would be a much nicer safety net (VERY crossed fingers!) than the ambulance service. The Matterhorn is a bit of a cringer, but perhaps she’ll be too busy plumping your pillows to notice…? I will hope very hard for Not Noticing.

    As well as hoping that All Goes Terrifically Well, of course. HUGS. Many, many thoughts of you being thunk.

  • manapan

    Hoping the birthday and the surgery went well.

  • Bionic Baby Mama

    since i failed to read this in a timely manner (happy belated, h!), and therefore know you’ve survived, i can say: we store our laundry in a matterhorn, too! i’m a little afraid it will bury the bean, but we can’t make rent without the tourism dollar.

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