Carnival Hangover

So the Groom is back from his 14 day hard slog that is the lead up and running of the biggest horse racing event in the world. There were a couple of extra degrees of difficulty this year, given his ill health of late, the baby cutting FOUR teeth at a time and the big boy’s pining for their Dad. We were all so longing for his return to the family fold…so much so that we forgot about the whole reassimilation period that takes place after this massive disruption to our family life.

The boys are soooooooo excited to see him, they become more loud, more nutty, wake up earlier, wet the bed and generally lose their shite. I turn into something resembling a terrier, jumping around him wanting attention and the odd scratch under the chin. And I loathe small dogs. I end up annoying myself, let alone the depleted-in-every-way Groom. He, meanwhile, has missed us so much he just wants to bathe in our glow, forgetting of course the we do not in fact glow at all. So he is exhausted, tired, worn out, but still desperate to be around us. Us, the loud people he adores, who do not lend themselves well to rest and recovery. Do you sense what happens next? Wall to wall tiredness and disappointment, that’s right, and that’s just the children.

Happily, this phase lasts but a week, with the Groom getting home earlier in the evenings and spending some much needed time chillin with his homies. Soon enough, love will conquer all of this blahness, as it is want to do, and we will return to more acceptable levels of up, down and the occasional plateau.

John Lennon reckoned that love is all you need. Not true. You also need tolerance, alcohol, friends, family, shortbread and music. Oh, and Zoloft, always with the Zoloft. Close Johnny, but no cigar.

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