Well, I believe that America celebrated my birthday yesterday with its customary fireworks and flags - thank you, USA. Grandson celebrated by crawling around, standing up and smiling and giggling, which was very nice. He brought his Mum and Dad with him. Son was also here. Daughter 2, alas, was in London.
It was lovely to see them but otherwise life isn't too good.
("See, world, this is my shoe.")
I used to have a colleague who, when life got frantic (as if you're a teacher, it frequently does) would declare in despairing tones, "It's too much - it's all too much!" Which is roughly how I'm feeling just now.
My mum was supposed to get out of hospital yesterday, though I was very daunted at the idea of nursing her at home because she can now hardly walk and is very incontinent. We had the chair-for-going-in-the-bath delivered on Tuesday. We had the handrail-for-getting-up-from-the-loo installed today. But yesterday she was very sick and deemed not well enough to be discharged then but was expected to come home today. Then this morning she had a mini-stroke, was unconscious for an hour, and the medical staff now think that she should be admitted to a hospice.
Mum, who remembers nothing of this episode and feels relatively well, is stoical but very disappointed and bewildered by this. I feel desperately relieved and desperately guilty at the thought of her being looked after lovingly but not by me.