My son broke his arm early this morning.
My Grandad died a couple of days ago. The funeral is on Thursday.
With each draft this post has gotten shorter and shorter so that now there is barely anything left. I can't figure out how to put an ache into words.
8 comments:
*sympathetic pat on shoulder*
I'm thinking of you, Mme Kettle. X
Soon, hopefully VERY SOON, some really GOOD things will happen this year for you.
Hope (y)our little fella heals quickly.
I'm very sorry about your Grandad, Kettle
Poor wee Kettle-ette. Though an arm is better than an ankle, I always say. What was he doing?
Thanks everyone, you are all very kind.
[And thanks, dear n&p. My apologies for the melodrama of my post; there have been innumerable great things this year. Thank you for your good wishes, though xo.]
And dear Squib, you're right: an arm is better than an ankle (the crutches! The immobility!). I hope BigSquib is back to full health. Although, if she climbs up the buffet then onto the kitchen bench from which she promptly falls she may end up like my little fella. They grow out of the climbing-falling stage, right?
They grow out of the climbing-falling stage, right?
I'll let you know when I grow out of that stage, Kettle.
I wonder if your climbing-falling activities are the same as mine, Ramon? Climbing the stairs at the pub, falling down them at the end of the night? I wish my son many happy years of that kind of climbing-falling!
I don't think so, Kettle
Were there lollies up there?
Post a Comment