The Proper Way...

... to ease back into Real Life after a blissy Craft Retreat would be to go off to teach tap-dance, as planned, to the Monday Night students - of whom there are many - and rock some of the new choreography accomplished at said Retreat.

But the way I did it was to drive in the cold and rain and dark to the Royal Children's Hospital with the brave Cherub, all the time wondering if he would need an emergency operation to sort out his painful and dangerous urological emergency, whilst simultaneously trying to call/text as many students as possible, in between updates to Fixit, at home with the Climber.

The Cherub is fine now, and no operation required. They gave him happy gas, and although his body contorted and his face went red as they put him to rights he has absolutely no memory of it. They took the gas mask off his face and he sat up straight away, cheery as pie, and ate with relish the lemonade icypole they gave him, then asked if he could go play on the play equipment in the waiting room. (Of course I let him.) He then chattered happily all the way home, chiefly about how much fun it was to sit in the front of the car with the booster seat - such was his pain beforehand that he'd not really noticed this on our drive in.

And I was fine through most of it, buoyed, I think, by residual serenity from my weekend, the Cherub's braveness and the lovely staff at the RCH who saw him instantly (once we made it past the Swine Flu Security Guard). There was a moment though, when he was chatting to the nurse and the gas took effect: suddenly he had no idea who she was and then his worried eyes scanned the room until they found me ... and then he relaxed. It felt like one of those moments in parenthood, when they needed you and you were there.