Nine.

Hello from the house of vomit......where three of my children, so far, have been riding the porcelain bus with a particularly messy bout of gastro.  Having spent a lot of time in the decidedly unpleasant clean up, I've been pondering why, when I've endured such high levels of exposure,  I've never managed to become immune to vomit or poo. So, as you do, I've been deliberating which is worse....with the jury  still out.

As if a sudden dose of gastro hasn't made life hectic enough, the clock is relentlessly ticking and we are now down to NINE days before we board that plane and bid 'au revoir' to Hobart and 'bonjour' to the South of France. I've also taken another trip to the dentist's chair and had my other two wisdom teeth unceremoniously pulled out.....knowing what to expect I tried every delaying tactic in the book and shamelessly used exhibition openings, children's birthdays and a trip to Brisbane to try and avoid having to go through it all......again. I was scared as had been pre warned that these teeth had curly roots. Oh, the agony. Afterwards, I sought comfort in flicking through a book about Prince Charles' garden and one of my boys dedicated his afternoon to sitting on my bed and patting my hair.....it worked and I managed to hold off on the painkillers.

Anyway, yesterday was our 14th wedding anniversary. My husband came through with flowers just when I was despairing, as only an afternoon of cleaning up poo will do, that maybe I'd made a big mistake setting myself up for domesticity on such a grand scale:

I love Irish Bells.....there's something so unexpected about a lime green flower, don't you think? This is what the five year old dressed me in to wear out to dinner down the road at our favourite haunt, Le Provencal:

The J Brand sparkly coated metallic jeans were on sale at Revolve and I've had the By Malene Birger sequinned top hanging in the cupboard for years. He initially wanted me to wear the jeans and the top without a jacket, however seeing it was 10 degrees outside and the top's a bit big, I managed to talk him into letting me workshop the look with the jacket.....yet only on the promise that I took it off once inside the restaurant where it would be warm.

It may have been warm and looked like the South Of France:

yet I flagrantly disregarded his instructions and kept the jacket on. While compiling the insurmountable list of things still to do over dinner, the thought crossed my mind that it's much easier to pretend to be in France in a French restaurant that we can see from our house......than it is to actually go to France. Too late now.

Over the last week, between loads of vomity washing, I've been hanging out in the hot room like a woman possessed, because the sad fact is that I'm going to have to let my Bikram Yoga addiction slide once I get to France. There's just no way that I'm going to be able to keep up five classes a week. Geography is not on my side.  Like the total tragic that I am, I've been using Google Maps to work out exactly how far it is from where we will be living in Uzes to the Bikram Yoga studio's in Montpellier (1.5 hours)  and Marseilles (2 hours). Here in Hobart, I drive literally from one side of town to the other to feed my addiction and it takes me.....all of 12 minutes. Rationally, I'm thinking that 1.5 - 2 hours in the car on a regular basis might not be feasible, although it makes me upset to admit it out loud. Hopefully, I'll be able to make the commute on a couple of occasions and if I can find a window of opportunity to do a class or two in Paris, then I won't have to go cold turkey.....which is some consolation.

Apart from putting Bikram Yoga classes in the bank, it has also been a great way to tame my monkey mind (for an hour and a half at least) and help with my overwhelming worries about the immediate future.....will our geriatric beagles survive the separation.....when are we going to find a tenant.....is my father in law's health going to rally.....will our property development be finished before we go.....etc etc etc ad infinitum. Most nights I wake up at about 3am and start to think and worry....and think....and then I try to engage my husband in conversation about these particular thoughts....much to his horror as he is holding out until 5.30am when he can get on his bike and go for a ride. You wouldn't want to be getting on a plane next Sunday. I might need to try and schedule two Bikram Yoga classes tomorrow.......

Rx

Unwell.

I was back in the hot room today. On Sunday, for the first time ever, I walked out of a Bikram Yoga class part way through (I got as far as the second set of Half Tortoise pose). Of course I blamed the ham and cheese crepe I'd consumed only an hour before class knowing full well that I should NEVER eat anything for at least two hours before.  But how could I say no:

I was so ill. Yet it wasn't the result of Kim's handiwork with his French, purpose built, cast iron crepe pan it was something far more sinister. When I got home (and in case you are wondering I did finish off the class, it may have felt like I was in the loo forever yet I only missed both sets of the dreaded Camel pose) I was greeted by the news that Tobes had had five vomits. Then I had three more myself. And then Mimi succumbed and then Kim and then Felix.

Oh, the washing this all generated. I had the perfect opportunity to try out my new alternative to washing powder - soap nuts - that I bought from Live Life in the village on Saturday:

Don't be sceptical because of it's appearance:

Although I must admit that I wasn't entirely convinced myself. However after eight loads of VERY MESSY washing I can not sing praises of soap nuts highly enough. All you do is put four of the nuts into a little calico bag (which conveniently comes in the packet) and add it directly to the wash:

Four nuts will see you through five loads. And best of all there is not a chemical in sight as they are picked directly off a tree that doesn't compromise rain forests.

Up until we were all struck down by gastro we had been having such a lovely weekend. It was Mimi's school fair on Friday night - the spitting rain and twelve degree temperatures were no deterrent. The boys had a fabulous time with their joke show bags. Would you accept a piece of gum from this boy:

Be it at your peril as you would have found a plastic cockroach stuck to your finger. Needless to say the boys thought it was hysterical. As well as the squirty ring and whoopee cushion. After the fair they moved on to greener pastures and even more unsuspecting adults - joking everyone at Kim's office staff drinks.  "Wanna piece of gum?!"

R