WHAT A DIFFERENCE A DAY MAKES

On Friday, I felt like our run of bad luck was turning into a marathon. Our progress towards better times made that man in the diving suit look like Ben Johnson. It was Billie’s last visit to the ward for her sign off. We couldn’t get a space in the hospital car park so had to go to the overflow one, queued for 15 minutes and ended up having to park on the side of a ravine. When we got to the ward we were told there was delay, which developed into an hour and a half wait.

As you can imagine, this went down really well with Bill. When the doctor, aged 12, finally got round to seeing us he became annoyed because Billie was crying. Despite my explaining that she was fed up with waiting and worried because he had drawn the curtains round the bed (which always signalled medication during her stay there) he responded by telling me that I should "reward good behaviour with attention and ignore whining and moaning". Perhaps I should have applied that to him.

Summarily dismissed from there, we went to have some tests done on Billie; the nurse administering them was clearly a stand-in for Ann Robinson and Billie ended up in floods of tears. Finally, two and half hours later, we left. It was pouring down with rain, but I comforted myself with the fact that we had a rain cover on the buggy and I had one of those handy rain hats in a packet in my bag for just such an emergency. I pulled out the little container and removed … a pair of rubber gloves.

But on Saturday the sun shone, and our world changed. I woke that morning to the smell of freshly baked bread (Steve’s birthday present, a bread maker) and for once the kids weren’t rowing. We had freshly squeezed orange juice and toast. I stepped out into the sunshine and looked at the garden with pride. In case you weren’t aware, gardening is the new black, so I have already spent most of my free time over the past few months ruining my back and hands. Saturday proved to me why it’s such a rewarding endeavour. The children, delighted that I was for once in a good mood, grabbed some toys and followed me outside.

Billie has a little bag in which she carries her ‘family’. This is a set of Victorian-style Doll’s House dolls all of whom correspond to a member of her family. She recently added Steve’s parents to the collection and found to her delight that, unlike the other dolls, these ones have removable clothes. So when her grandparents rang up on Saturday she was pleased to inform them that Grandad George and Nanny Bridie were naked. It seems to be a recurrent theme in our family. Olly was naked all day, chasing Steve as he mowed the lawn like a seagull following a trawler.  

Then came the moment that Olly has badgered me about every weekend since February, which was adding the plastic chute to the slide and running water down it from the hosepipe. Assuring me that he wouldn’t get cold because it was "a hot summer’s day" the boy charged up and down, slid and slithered his way into ecstasy, all the while accompanied by Billie acting as Master of Ceremonies. With every ascent to the top of the slide Billie would yell "Ladies and Gentlemen" and then collapse in giggles as Olly careered down the water chute like an out of control sea lion. Then I made a camp for the children in the gazebo, who, wrapped in towels and happy, picnicked on crisps and chocolate. Meanwhile Steve made us lunch which we ate outside. Heavenly. What a difference a day makes.

Juliet Jones lives in domestic chaos with husband Steve, son Oliver (aged 3) and daughter Billie (aged 2) in Hertfordshire.

NEXT INSTALMENT: MONDAY 29 APRIL