It started out nice.
Mr M gave me a huge bunch of gorgeous flowers,
I needn't have bothered. My wonderful children, the light of my life, decided to be simoutanously ill through the night. All night. Two of them. All night, did I say that? Vomit/change the bed/pooh/wash them/change of pijamas/vomit/change the bed/pooh and vomit/change the pijamas and the bed... and so on and so forth.
Needless to say I didn't sleep more than a second or two. And I had to abandon my plans and not meet up with Ali and Caroline. And spent the days doing the washing instead. And felt very sorry for myself.
And knit. Yes because if my destiny for that day was to spend it inside the playroom (when not in the laundry room) watching some mind numbing children television surrounded by foul germs then I was at least to be allowed to do something.
My first hand warmer with thumb. A small silver lining in a very dark cloud.