what's wrong with 5?

I'm amazed I'm still able to function. I'm working all hours god sends - till 10 or 11 at night and weekends too. And in between it's commuting, kids, and inconveniently enough, petitions (more planning applications to object to yadda yadda). The residual guilt that I'm deserting my children is rising ever closer to the surface. So, when yesterday the inevitable happened yesterday and I was called to take not one, but two sick kids home from nursery, I was strangely looking forward to being able to spend some time with them.

How wrong I was.

Looking after two sick kids - bub yelping, toddler moaning - is like being in a war zone, it's just so full on. The only upside is that it gave my arms a full work out from having to carry one or t'other (or both) of them pretty much continuously. And it's not like either of them is properly sick either (Jasmine's wonder drug seemingly performing miracles as it keeps the breathing difficulties at bay.)

Right now, Felix is banging the radiator and Jambeans is singing with her daddy, only the number 5 seems to have fallen out of favour: '1,2,3,4,6 once I caught a fish alive.'