Potted version

I haven't written in a week. It's been absolutely manic. Since last Wednesday there's been this:

M's fourth birthday - the garden was full of giggling pink clad people about ten mins after I took this

Corribdale Duathlon with my Dad 
And a drive across the country and back, so I could borrow my Mam's car in order to be able to drive across the country again at 4am yesterday for this:

Adenoidectomy that we've been waiting over two years for
Wicked night's sleep on squeaky hospital pillows last night (although very grateful they at least gave me a bed) and then drove back this morning. In between there's been work, home, juggling all the logistics for the above and trying to finalise my two presentations for next week. I'm shattered. Icing on the cake? We discovered as D was going to bed this evening that I left Samba (his favourite teddy, had him since he was two, goes everywhere) in the hospital. In Mullingar. A good two hours away. I cannot believe I managed to do something so stupid. I'm probably more upset than I should be, but the combination of all of the last week, and the prospect of the coming week is feeling a little overwhelming, so to be fair it wasn't going to take a whole lot to make me cry.

So there you have it. There's a lot I've wanted to write about the last few days, a lot I've needed to write about, but this is as close as I can get for now. Huge, huge thanks to everyone who kept me (virtually) company in the hospital yesterday, I can't tell you how much it helped. Now I mostly need sleep.