You wish you could get vacation time like this.

Obviously we're back in Ireland. If something were to have happened preventing us from traveling again there would have been an update that looked something like this:

WHYYY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME????!!!?!?!?!?!?!?!!11?!?!?!?!?WDKJH';;S LFK'JH''NDL KFJGSKD JGH;LK';K';L;J KLJHCG'dfj'

We needed to be home. We really did. We needed to be in a place where Bub can get McVities Rich Tea Biscuits with a snap of his fingers and when we went to the special Irish aisle at the Shop Rite in Paramus, NJ, they only had Bolands. This is not an acceptable biscuit. Sorry, Bolands. We also just needed to be near our bed, Mister Man's crib, our stuff and our jobs.

Oh, our jobs. Yes. As my mother said to me today, "You're going to get your ass fired." Nothing but wisdom coming out of her mouth.

I've been to the office exactly six times. Six out of a potential nine. That's only 66% for those people who think I'm completely crap at math. Admittedly, I used a calculator to figure that out. Actually, it's six out of a potential 55 days. Numbers that high just blow my mind.

Day 1 - James had a doctor's appointment and I was wrecked from a six hour overnight flight with a infant who slept on his father the whole way while I watched New Moon and swooned. It was hard going.

Day 2 - I'm there! People ask me about Mister Man and I tell them he is fine, we are fine, all is fine when really I'm all CAN I PLEASE SLEEP ON THE FLOOR?? in my head.

Day 3 - I'm in late because of another doctor's appointment but only by about an hour. And then I leave early because the power went out in the building and no work could be done. That last bit wasn't my fault. I’m about as good with electrical engineering as I am with math.

Days 4 and 5 - THERE! WILLING! AWAKE! Crap! Sick child at home.

Yes. A sick child. He had a cold and a bug. It was incredibly gross. Bub stepped up to the plate when we did the "You should see my to-do list at work and I should see yours and then we'll see who gets to go into work in the morning" thing. He didn't even show me his after he saw my face. It was pretty desperate.

Day 6 - There! Being productive! Put together a lovely layout for something of the work nature and received praise I am still sort of glowing about. I'm like a puppy in that way. Feeling a but tired, though and caffeine is not helping. Caffeine is not helping?

Day 7 - There. Again. More tired. Sick child is at his Nan's house and mama still tired? Yes, definitely still tired and I was pretty sure I drank too much coffee by this point. So sure that I refused all caffeinated beverages for the rest of the night convinced I could clear the ick out of my system.

Wednesday it was St Patrick's Day and we get off of work for this. It's meant to be spent outdoors at a parade, in a pub getting sloshed or somewhere in between depending on your stage of life, but not in the house. We were in the house. I was in the bed that I missed so much. Because I caught the bug Mister Man was toting around with him for six days at that point. The bug likely caught at the creche where I am convinced they have a secret lab and are creating new and deadly germs every day just so we can never, ever go to work again.

Day 8 - Vomit! With a mix of My head hurts! and Bluadjhfkjghfg! I make the dreaded call I know I shouldn’t make but have to. “Um, yeah, I’m not going to be in work today.” There were a billion people around the world making that call the day after St Patrick’s Day, I’m sure, but I think I’m the only one who didn’t consume a whole vat of beer the day before. Damnit.

Day 9 - I consider buying new towels after having to look at the old ones for about 50 hours over three days. The rest of the time I'm catching up on the fourth series of Skins. Oh, and I make a visit to the doctor. I have gastrohksdfhkdjghfdjkhgdfkhg. A tummy bug. A virus. I’ll get over it.

It’s the weekend again and yesterday morning I was rubbish but now feeling better as long as I don’t stand around for too long. Considering I haven’t been out of pajamas since Tuesday night, it’s not likely I’m going anywhere. At least not somewhere fancy. Like, Tesco.

Mister Man is back to his normal self today. Whispering words and throwing fits because he’s not allowed to play in the kitchen with the knives. Bub and I, on the other hand, seem to still be recovering from LIFE and we might be taking Monday off.

HA HA, I kid.

Do not call Child Protective Services. We think the creche is fine. Better than fine. No germs at all or labs making illegal things.

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Liz in Dublin