No, I haven't disgraced myself by forgetting or refusing or otherwise abdicating my responsibilities towards this little blog, honest. In my defence, I have been ill and in charge of ill children, and having been sent to bed by my lovely husband, I decided to stay there. It doesnt happen often. I'm still nearly mute - much to the delight of many, no doubt. My six year old is taking full advantage, anyway. Sadly, the three year old has incubated and hatched the germs and is plastered to my left arm as I write, boiling me alive with his superheated little body. It's a nasty little torture, being poorly when your kids are poorly. Nobody wins.
I've been delighted to suddenly have all these people appear and tell me I'm not alone in having to shake and scrape the pen/iPad/laptop from my grasp every night. Ironically, the day after writing that post, my physio commented on my tingly fingers getting no better (trapped nerve) and asked if I happen to write or type or garden much(!). I hedged that maybe, possibly, I did rather a lot of all those things. Her response: "Well, stop it."
When I'd stopped cackling maniacally and she'd peeled me off the ceiling, we agreed that I should take breaks and perhaps do other things for the odd five minutes here and there. Then she promptly signed me off her books, and I'm pretty sure she locked her door as I wandered off down the hallway petting my iPad and assuring it that mummy loves it.
Right, I have been informed that keeping two eyes and one hand on the iPad is not an acceptable parenting technique when I've so rudely fallen down on my Mummy Responsibilities recently with all that poorliness lark. I shall return when the scales have evened out (or they've gone to bed).