I wouldn’t call myself the most organised person in the world.
But then I wouldn’t say I’m unorganized either.
I am, to a degree. With certain things. Usually the important things.
Or the things I classify as important.
Anyway, the start of this week saw me super organised. I had draft posts written just needing final touches, for the entire week.
I had organised and reorganised a fourth birthday party for Bailey, after it turned out no one could come to the first one.
I had planned a list of jobs necessary before the inlaws arrival on Wednesday, and some fun, yet educational school holiday activities for the kids.
In short, I planned that this week I would be some kind of super Jess, with super blogging powers, super cleaning powers, and most importantly, supper mummy powers.
I did not take into account the one thing sure to bring me down; my kryptonite.
Otherwise known as Gastro.
Four days of that and the house is not clean, the drafts are not complete, and the kids are running around bashing each other over the heads with giant plastic hands from Coles.
In a rather comedic of events, this is how the week planned out:
I spent much time on the couch alternating between playing ‘Where’s My Water’ on my iPhone, watching reruns on the tv, and reading the hunger games.
In a mind somewhat muddled by lack of sleep and Gastro infused fogginess, this led to one event of me bawling into my pillow during an episode of Private Practice, and multiple dreams where I was Katniss Everdeen, trying to avoid the Hunger Games whilst simultaneously filling up many ditches with water to catch my rubber ducks.
Not a good place to be I assure you.
Upon waking from one of these crazy dreams, (or perhaps trying to escape into one, I’m not entirely sure), Boatman and I discovered that the rats that have been galavanting in our roof, have also managed to infiltrate out bed room air-conditioner and nest in it.
Let me tell you, the scuffling and squeaking of baby rats, and the appearance of several long tales through gaps in the wall does not inspire the kind of peace one looks for in going to sleep for the night.
I’d rather take my chances with the Hunger Games.
Instead of sending off draft posts to companies to pre-approve my wonderfully composed sponsored posts, I spent much time thinking of foods I might possible like to eat.
I’m a little unconventional when sick, and don’t tend to stick with the average vegemite on toast. Instead I would rather have garlic bread.
Or a battered Sav.
Or possibly a chicken Kebab.
In other words, pretty much anything we don’t have at home and that Boatman must run out and buy for me.
No, I’m not high maintenance at all.
In a final crazy twist, I seemed to have caved in to the generosity spirit and decided to pass the lovely bug on to my youngest two offspring, and so it is entirely possible that the birthday celebrations shall once again have to be changed.
But regardless of whether they are or not, we shall have teddy bear racing cars, boxes of Cheezels and Cake.