Sunday was meant to be spent on a morning picnic before I toddled off to one of Retromummy's sewing classes. Instead it was spent with my heart in my mouth as our baby girl was rushed to hospital in an ambulance after going grey, then blue and losing consciousness for about 7 minutes even though it felt like 70. At the hospital all manner of tests were conducted and they found no apparent cause. We have to take her back for an EEG.
Tinker was impressed, she is never that still when I sing. It isn't humanly possible to be still when I sing, I'm so bad that even my dogs get agitated when I belt out a few rounds of Miss Polly.
Who is that hottie on the left cutting a striking pose in the navy and white trench complete with hands on hips? Why that is me of course. What you can't see is that under my trench I wore animal print flannelette pj pants, bed socks and tan loafers. My hair was clipped back with one of Tinker's polka dot ribbon clips and I had no bra, nor had I brushed my teeth.
Oh yes I totally rocked hobo sloth chic this morning. Even I didn't dare ask the ambulance to wait a minute while I changed out of my PJs. What kind of shamefully vain mother even stops and considers such a request? Ok so maybe I did think about it but only for a super quick split second... or two.
For anyone who follows me on Twitter, you'd know I have been on a cooking strike much to my husband's dismay. It came about after a string of failed projects. I thought I might break the strike with some corned beef in the slow cooker. Ok that worked. And a batch of cupcakes. The neverfail variety. You know Nigella's recipe for the food processor? I added 3 punnets of strawberries and some pricey but yummy vanilla beans.
Failed again. The first 12 didn't rise and remained gooey, the last 12 were like rock cakes. So I think I'm going back over the picket line. The strike has resumed people, the strike has resumed.
So tell me, how bad was your weekend? I'm not up for cheesy smiley stories. Give me some ratty grumpy ones so I'm not the only whinger here. Come on, you know you want to...