Humour Saves The Day

Apparently humour helps relieve stress, anxiety and depression. I certainly found this to be true today. Just another day in the life of Anna :-)

Monday morning, first hurdle a power cut. Therefore,  no water....that's ok I can work around. No tea, no toast, find spare water for teeth and faces. Dishes and washing can wait.

Kids dragging their heels, ignoring my requests to get moving, it's a busy day today with jujitsu , guitar lessons and hockey after school, we need to be ready. The middle difficult child, claiming a sore tummy, flat out refuses to get dressed It's only when I raise my voice and issue threats of docking pay and no more play dates on weekends, that they listen and look alive.

Our long driveway is being concreted today, we have to walk 500m to get to the car so I need to make sure we have all the gear we need, as I won't be running up and down our hill.

I'm rushing around like a headless chicken. I race into the laundry. For some reason, and I can't remember why,  I had my elbows up out in front of me and I smash straight into the fridge handle......F*%K!!! S*&T!! THAT HURTS!!! 

I experience pain so blinding i immediately vomit then start flaking out,  I end up on the concrete floor, enjoying its coolness.

“Got... To ....keep..... Going ....ignore the pain....ignore it”.

Get kids bags, hockey sticks, guitar etc out the door, start the hike to the car.

Traversing through the ditch beside the concrete is like navigating a precipitous mountain, one by one the kids fall over leaving fresh handprints in the still wet concrete. It proves to be a treacherous journey having to duck out of the way of the enormous concrete trucks backing up the drive. The youngest throws an almighty tantrum thinking the concrete will set on her hands forever.

It's when I see the concrete lads have blocked my car in, that my blood pressure reaches boiling point. Self talk.....’You can do this, get kids and bags in car”. Whilst nursing my sore arm, I move the workers cars myself, then we get on the road.

'What's for dinner mum?',  asks someone innocently... I see red and take a deep breath ready to scream, when our youngest pipes up 'Vagina's for dinner'...........silence, then hysterical laughter.

It turns out she has trouble pronouncing 'lasagna'.

The laughter is all the encouragement she needs, then she's away,  chanting 'Vagina's for dinner', 'vagina's for dinner'. One of the kids informs her of her mistake.....so she announces with glee “noodles and balls for dinner, penises too!!!

We laugh all the way to school. Middle child forgets her sore stomach, and although my arm is painful my mood has lifted!

I drive myself to A&E....Note to future self, never sit near the toy section if you are child free.

Doctor calls me through, I can't help noticing that he's cross eyed. Then i'm sent for an X-ray,  the radiographer asks me, 'who was your doctor?' It turns out the only thing I noticed about him was his cross eyes, not even his name. I withhold from saying 'the cross eyed dude', and pretend my arm is to sore to talk.

One X-ray and $83 later I'm given the all clear. Drs diagnosis 'a bloody good bang', (hopefully he could see the xray properly).

Full credit to my husband, a bloody good bang feels better than a smashed elbow!