Love In the Time of Swine Flu
Outside, it's a crisp clear winter's day. The wattles are beginning to flower, the bushes sprinkled with miniscule bright yellow baubles. But we're all inside, trapped at home with various flu-y symptoms.
The girls are playing trains. Alice has decided her vocation is to be a diorama maker, or a model railway builder. She relished the construction of a dinosaur diorama for homework (see above, T Rex chowing down on its fallen prey in the shade of magnet-and-pipecleaner trees by the lagoon), and was enthralled by the dioramas at the War Memorial. Evie is acting out an elaborate saga involving her new Littlest Pet Shop cat, a supermarket and a load of coal. She insisted today on being dressed in "a jersey and skirt" like the Ballet Shoes girls. I know I should be making Alice read to me, but I'm nursing my vague aches and chills by the heater.
One third of Victorians may have swine flu. The streets are almost empty today, the playground strangely quiet. Alice coughs and wheezes. Her train wants to go to sleep.
Well, I'm pretty sure we are recovered from our dose of the piggiwig pox. Sorry to hear you are all ailing. I hope Evie is better for her birthday palooza.
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