Greetings from Chez Archer. 

Life has descended into chaos, madness and other related things generally involving output from orifices preferably dealt with by their respective owners. Unfortunately due to the lack of age of some of the owners of the aforementioned orifices, the attentions of Super Mother have been substantially required. 

This has resulted in two things. 

  1. A considerable upswing in the average number of loads of washing; and

  2. A dearth of postings from yours truly. 

With the parts of the second part directly caused by the increase in parts in the first part. Or something. Parts. Washing. Excessive bodily fluids flowing; creative juices not so much. You get the picture.

 

So far, the Little Kid, the Big Kid AND the Bloke of the House have been struck down by any combination of the two lurgies we’ve been accommodating. There’s the Gastro Lurgy and the Chest Infection Lurgy, both of which have knocked around the members of the household listed above. 

 

But did you notice who does NOT feature prominently on the list of afflicted members?

 

Oh, you did! Here, have a Tim Tam you clever thing, you. Oh, have two… 

 

Yes. Me. The Mother of the House. 

 

Despite being poo-ed on, spewed on (more times than I can count – five head to toe changes of clothes in a single day for me alone may give you an indication of the troubles I’ve seen) and having assorted noses wiped upon parts of my personage; I am yet to develop even the slightest twitchiest tickle in the throat, or even the most minute grumbling of the lower intestine. 

 

WHY is this so? This is indeed a question worthy of the Great Doctor Julius Sumner Miller…  

 

Mother of the House is bathed regularly in the output of two small children, yet manages to escape unscathed from the ravages of said illnesses? Bloke of the House catches everything that’s going round? It’s not fair, is it?

 

Although, if you think about it… it’s not all that bad. I mean I don’t have to race off to the toilet with a bucket and a box of tissues under my arm because sure as anything, if I don’t – one of the other bits will go off. I can tuck into a delicious meal without wondering about the impact on the more delicate organs. Well, I could if I could be bothered cooking a delicious and nutritious meal for one after a day of cleaning up effluvia…

 

Has to be in the pants, I tell you.

 

The Invincible Mother Pants

 

(worn on the inside, naturally!)