So after the last entry I promised myself I would write every day to knock the rust off and post a couple times a week, and then I promptly got sick and since then it’s been a merry-go-round of sinusitus and kidney infections and antibiotics and another dose of the flu etc etc etc. Sometimes B joined me for a spin, sometime it was Dave (and obviously the merry-go-round spun so much faster then), but for a solid month it was mostly me and I am fucking over it.
Then once I finally managed to get off it was B’s turn; she’s missed days of school for the last three weeks with unspecified illness. When I asked her what hurt she said her stomach, her head, her knees and elbows… at this point she got a lecture about believable exaggerations… The doctor thinks it may have been a low-grade gastro flu and prescribed probiotics. It seemed to get better but now she has a cold.
I’m really hoping this is the last of it because I’m starting to get worried about her. Before we went to the doctor I was thinking maybe it was a psychological reaction to something happening at school (she doesn’t get on with one of the girls), and I’m still worried it might be food sensitivities. That would really suck. She is the ultimate picky eater already, so eliminating things from her diet will not be fun. She also seems to have inherited my ability to deal with pain, which is to say she has none at all. She treats her body like it’s made of delicate glass: every scratch, every bruise, every almost-injury is announced in the most serious of tones. I think some of this comes with the age, she’s not damaged herself much yet so she doesn’t realise what will heal.
So that’s what’s been happening over here.
Acouple of weekends ago was the school’s Dads’ Camp, and Bianca miraculously managed to be well enough to go to it. At Dads’ Camp the dads take the kids to St John’s Island just off Singapore and (you’ll never guess) camp out. Bianca had been looking forward to it for ages, since she’d heard you could toast marshmallows over a fire. (Why you need a campfire in Singapore was never explained.) There is no potable water, cold showers only, and you have to take your own toilet paper. The morning she was leaving she told me she wished it was also mums’ camp, and I laughed in her face. In her face.
The camp is only for 25 hours, which doesn’t seem long enough and yet at the same time I found myself at a loose end. What to do with myself with all this time? I hadn’t organised anything with friends, and there were no chick flicks on at the movies. In the end I took myself out for katsu curry for dinner, then did my mandarin homework without anyone laughing at me and stayed up far too late watching iZombie. Don’t tell me I don’t know how to party.
Then it was Sunday, and time to collect them from the ferry. David hadn’t slept because it was too hot, said “never again,” and fell into bed for the afternoon as soon as he’d showered all the old sweat off. B said, “it shouldn’t count as camping because we were in a building not tents, but it was awesome and I want to go every year!” She looked like she’d been living rough for a month, and when I’d finished washing her there was a black ring around the bath. I think she knows how to party too.