It's always when life is really busy and you have tons of things to do, prepare, plan for and organise, that you suddenly start falling to pieces physically.
I was a physical wreck last week, but still had to deal with trips to the orthoptist, ophtalmologist, violin lessons, birthday parties and Intermarche for new glasses. Yesterday I was part of the local flea market, a left-over from last autumn when it was rained off.
NG and I sat on our stand from 8.15 to 1pm having spent the previous day sorting out stuff, and doing the violin ensemble/birthday party run at the same time. I hate doing flea markets, but I did get rid of some dross, and some bulky stuff that will no longer take up room in the garage. Surprisingly, the tacky 'Las Vegas' gambling clock that had been brought back for me by a work colleague, and which I was selling for 0.01€ didn't go...
Today I was back at the doc's - no surprise there - with inflamed ear drums. Ooh, said she, they're really bad, don't they hurt? No, said I, upon which she made a comment about me not being a softy, which I'm not. I was brought up in the days when you did NOT make a fuss, unless you were dying in which case you were allowed to look a little pale and have meals in bed.
Actually, I don't think it does any harm to be expected to just get on with it, unless it's really bad. I had a no-nonsense mother, and then an even worse no-nonsense husband who, being a doctor told me if I was ill I'd get a maximum of three day's sympathy after which I'd be expected to get on with it without fuss.
The result is I have very little time for wimps or softies, and anyone who looks like they're trying to use the poorly card to get out of doing something gets short shrift from me.
There's a boy over the road who is the most wormlike little brat in the neighbourhood. He's a total coward, and of course is thus very badly-behaved in my eldest's class. When he is told to do something, if he thinks he can't do it, or hasn't really worked for it, he starts whimpering and trying to elicit pity. This incenses the teacher who is a dedicated, enthusiastic lady. To have this self-pitying little worm in her class of otherwise nice children must be a daily blot.
I know my eldest gets irritated by him. He is not the world's best doer of homework, either, but he does what he has to do, even if he moans and groans whilst doing it. Afterwards, of course, he's always delighted that he's achieved the end of the painful exercise and can dash off and do something more interesting with a clear conscience. Over-the-road-worm never has that sense of achievement. One wonders what'll become of him.
In the meantime, I just hope he isn't in my son's class next year when he goes into sixième!