Friday 17 August 2007


I found out why my 6 year old was carried by her helper in the 1st August parade. It’s because “I was a butterfly and Mardy (the helper) said butterflies don’t walk, they fly”.

But this week my beautiful butterfly got sick. She started throwing up every 20/30 minutes on Wednesday night and on Thursday morning managed to croak dramatically “something has happened to my bottom, it’s exploded”. I took a step back in horror, my God! Fortunately (or unfortunately for me, who had to clear up the mess) the “explosion” only turned out to be diarrhoea.

Is there anything on this earth more gut wrenchingly tragic than a sick child? I think not. She has watched me for two days from behind her beautiful big dark eyes and asked “make me get well again nanny”. If only. Her little sister tried to cuddle her well again, but that didn’t work either.

The doctor was wonderful. He is one of these old fashioned doctors that listens, cares, (with a light touch on the arm “are you alright Madam? Looking after a sick great grandchild is a big responsibility for you, is it not?”), examines, re-assures. You know, the sort of doctor we used to have in England last century.

I felt OK when he was near me, things didn’t seem so bad, but as soon as I had her home again she seemed to take a turn for the worse. Until it is time for medicine, then the poor little wilting flower becomes a she-devil and I become a maniac. “If you can fight with me like this you are well enough to take this fucking medicine”.

This child is a good candidate for drama school. In fact “drama” should be her middle name. When the doctor pricked her finger you would think she had been killed. She screamed that it was agony. He said incredulously “so - this is the worse agony you have ever had? Surely not!” She had to admit she had had worse pain, “but it really, really hurts” with big eyes filled with tears.

So, you see where I’m coming from. How much is real, how much is her managing her adoring public? I have to ere on the side of caution and summon up my non-existent caring side. When I’m sure she is really well I’ll batter hell out of her for putting me through this.

And to think, the biggest tragedy of the week before she got sick was that I accidentally deleted my blog! In the grand scale of things it turned out to be the least important occurrence of the week, but at the time I was inconsolable. I got the blog back and then my child got ill. No contest in degrees of importance. It puts things back into perspective again, but it’s another painful lesson in life.

When my IT guru discovered my gross negligence with the blog he wrote:-

Well Little Boss you have truly exceeded all my expectations today!

I can't believe you managed to totally delete the whole blog but alas
you have.

I logged in to and checked this out and the blog is gone, completely erased. So I looked around the support pages and found that some other people have recently done the same and in some instances were able to recover the blog. Therefore I have contacted blogger support on your behalf requesting help with the issue. Now we just need to wait and see if they can help.

As a final back up it is possible to recover some of your posts from the google cache and tecnorati cache. Although on some of the longer posts will be truncated as they provide links to the full article and only show the first part...

Lets hope they can get it all back for you

So, dear bloggers, the moral of the story is. Keep your children close to your heart and your blog away from idiots like me.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Ah the joys of being a grandparent! One day you'll be able to laugh at your Broken Butterfly,then she'll really hate you.