7.30pm last night, I get a call from my husband. He’d popped out to the car during his break and now it won’t start. It’s not chugging, or clicking, or anything. Key turns and there’s an abundance of sweet fuck all.
Even though I knew I’d have to wake him again at 9.45pm, I sent S to bed anyway. He’s eleven, and whilst he might think he’s totally grown up and able to stay up until 10pm without issue, I’m his mother and I know damned well that he turns into the antichrist if he chips so much as even an hour off his ten-hours-a-night sleep schedule. So I wake him, bundle him up in his onesie and a slanket – just for good measure – and we make the fifteen minute journey to M’s place of work.
I am so glad he doesn’t work forty-five minutes away any more.
Get there, with my brother tailing behind as he has jump cables and a tow rope, and wouldn’t you know it, car works fine. It’s positively grinning at him. TROLLED.
Unsurprisingly, M’s taken my car to work today. And before bed last night, we signed him up with the RAC.
The whole thing blew my own schedule, though. Not knowing I needed to be awake and focussed, I took my anti-migraine meds at my usual time of 6pm, and by 9.30pm I was struggling to stay awake. Driving down to M’s work, my eyes were burning with fatigue. We got back and before long I collapsed into bed, passing out for a full eleven hours. I don’t even really remember M leaving to take S to school; there’s a vague memory of a kiss on my cheek, and something about M not doing S’s hair correctly (BEHOLD, I AM THE MASTER OF PRE-TEEN HAIRSTYLES), and that’s it. Next thing I know, it’s 11.15am and M’s sitting next to me, tempting me from my slumber with a mug of Yorkshire Tea. (Which worked, incidentally).
Best of all, I missed a blood test I was scheduled to go to this morning. My doctor’s surgery welcome missed appointments like most of us welcome shit on our shoes, so no doubt my rescheduled appointment will be organised for some time in 2056.
Anyway. Hoping it’s just twenty-four hours of vague unwellness and I’ll be okay from tomorrow.
Incidentally, yesterday’s study schedule trial worked fine, and it was lovely sitting with S, talking about his day and helping him with his homework. It was especially good because he realised that he was missing a handout from his Geography, and now we have time for him to go see his teacher and pick up the sheet rather than leaving it until the night before then belatedly realise he didn’t have it and get detention for not completing his work. Heh. Anyway: I hope it’s something I can commit just as eagerly to when I’m back in work.
Right. Going to quickly throw some laundry into the washing machine and throw the duster around before my mother-in-law arrives with S. I’ll do my best not to fall sleep, but make no promises.