professional

I have a sick kid at home today.
Miss Biscuit woke me at five am to say that she had thrown up.
There is that moment when you survey the damage and you quote Sam Beckett from Quantum Leap with an, "Oh Boy!"
That is adulthood in a nutshell -uttering "Oh boy" and trying to muddle through as best you can.

I know some parents don't/can't deal with vomit all that well. (and I have a lot of sympathy -especially when it is a hard-core phobia.) I am not enthusiastic about dealing with vomit like any normal person but it doesn't freak me out -which is a useful skill set to have. You just start stripping the bed, seeing what needs extra attention, taking joy when a kid hasn't been sick on any stuffed animals or difficult to clean toys, and trying to focus in your half-awake state.
Sheets and duvet cover in the wash. Grabbing random bed linen and towels. Hanging other things out to dry. Checking on the kid's state. "You okay? Does it hurt anywhere else? Let's get some clean pajamas."
Then you give them a bowl (in case they don't make it next time. Again.) and a cuddle, tell them it will be all right and turn off their light. "Here's your horse. It's a good thing you didn't get sick on her isn't it!! Now get some sleep sweetie. I hope you feel better when you wake up. Love you."
Then checking the rest of the laundry, telling the cat that it isn't time for breakfast yet... but you feed them anyways because you don't want them wandering around the house smacking people awake.

I get back to bed after washing my hands and then my brain doesn't want to relax. At all. "Hey let's have a minor panic attack about your mortality. WOOOOO!!!" "Shut the fuck up brain. I have to be up in awhile. I don't need this."
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. COME ON SELF LET'S BREATHE SLOWLY. My heart and brain are racing. I hate that.
And Mr. Jenner is sick with a nasty chest cold. And it is keeping him awake with the explosive coughing. And it keeps me awake. I don't hold that against him because he is pretty miserable. I suggest things. I offer to get things. One longs for the good old days of the cough medicine that had morphine and every other illegal drug. "Mother's Helper!!!" Knock everyone out. Until Spring. A little Hibernol.

So today will be spent watching kid's tv, keeping an eye on how long this vomit comet ride will last, and hopefully keep anyone else from catching things.

well that was simple.

Important news from the UK government comes in plain brown envelopes. Usually on the back of the envelope there will be a discreet mention of the address/particular department.
Today it was from the Home Office.
A simple piece of paper has alerted me to the fact that my application for British citizenship has been approved and I had best book a slot for the citizenship ceremony.
Well then.
A few short years of paperwork, (a lot of) money, waiting, interviews, photographs, evidence and you too can become a citizen.
Just like that.
I was able to book my ceremony for next Friday. I am to dress nice (they gently stressed that this is a formal event so one shouldn't throw on jeans and a t-shirt) and there will be a small reception afterwards with tea and things. And there is a photo opportunity. My favorite moment was being told that if I desired, I could wear my national costume.
So I am thinking American Flag hammer pants, that three wolves t-shirt. And cowboy boots.
Or this.
I will be fucking awesome.

Mr. Jenner is coming with me. We have to go down to the exciting city of Truro. (the only Cathedral city in Cornwall.) Maybe we will have lunch, swear an oath to the Queen (I don't mind swearing an oath to a nice old German lady who likes dogs and horses.) promise not to be too much of a dick, and then I will go home and register to vote.