Today the six year old was running an impressively high temperature, and didn't go to school. I managed to clock up the grand total of twenty minutes at my keyboard in the morning, and planned to go back to it in the afternoon while the two year old slept. But I knocked a bottle of wine and sent it hurtling onto the quarry tiled floor where it exploded in glorious style. There was crushed glass glinting in every crevice and ruby wine soaking into the tiles and reaching sluggish fingers every which way. It took me so long to clean it up (and once I'd started, I scrubbed the whole floor) that I never made it back to the computer.
Twenty minutes isn't much to be proud of, is it? I dread to think what drivel dripped from my speed-tapping fingers, but I'll face it tomorrow.
And worst of all is having a little one poorly - I hope she's better tomorrow for her sake more than mine.