No PJs

I hate bras, tights (or pantyhose as the Americans call them), and high heels (ever since breaking my ankle wearing them at work).

I love pajamas and slippers. One of the first things I do when I get home from a hard day out is to take off my shoes, slip on my slippers and take of my bra. People who pop round for visit unannounced have been known to catch me in my pjs and slippers in the early evening. Or possibly on a Sunday afternoon. If I had my way we would all wear PJs and slippers all the time.

A few weeks ago one of the largest supermarkets implemented a ban on customers wearing their pajamas into the store. Journalists have drawn similarities between this ban and the recent decision by the French government to ban the wearing of burqas in public. They maintain it is as much a cultural affront to wear pajamas to the supermarket as it is to wear a full veil on public transport or into the police station.

There's a huge difference between wearing pajamas and the burqa. The burqa is a symbol of submission and dominance. They obscure your identity and all non verbal methods of communication like facial expressions and body language. Jammies are a symbol of the desire to be free and comfortable. They obscure, well, nothing at all.

Now I've got some very nice pajamas. So nice in fact, I'm not sure you could readily tell the difference between some tracksuit bottoms and my jammies. How do they know I don't dress like that? In fact, those bubble trousers that Vanilla Ice wore could have easily have been mistaken for pajamas.

And the real cultural affront is the length (or lack thereof) of some very small skirts I have seen some girls (and some older women) wear. Or those tiny little skimpy outfits the youngens wear on a Friday/Saturday nights out when they could easily be mistaken for selling their wears by putting it all out on display. Shouldn't they ban those little pieces of string some girls call skirts.

And what about those trousers that boys wear that hang down past their hips threatening to fall down to their ankles at any moment causing them to fall and me and my children to trip over them and get all mucked up by their greasy hair. Now that is a health and safety issue just waiting to happen.

What next? Are they going to enforce that I wear a bra? Makeup? Get plastic surgery?

Luckily, I don't shop at Tesco. Well, I used to in an emergency because they are closer than Sainsburys. But not anymore. Sainsburys I hope you are listening. I would hate to have to do all my shopping at the corner shop where they often greet me at 7 am in the morning popping in to grab some milk for my children's cereal wearing my pajamas.

A Donut Shared

The children enter the bedroom where I am enjoying some late sleeping. They announce that daddy has bought them donuts. With my eyes still closed I ask if I can have a donut. They both agree to bring me one.

I open one eye to see a small orange plastic plate with two halves of two different donuts has been delivered to my bedside. I sit up and revel in all that sugary pleasure that a donut brings.

Feeling much better I come downstairs and ask my hubby if there are any more. He says he only bought 2.

It is at that point that the depth of my children's generosity washes over me.

They had both come downstairs and cut their own donuts in half so that I might have a whole.

I am speechless.

Down But Not Out

I am pleased to announce that I am finally on the road to recovery.

I've been off work since January 13 and was diagnosed with pneumonia. I've had 3 courses of antibiotics and for several weeks couldn't leave the house. I couldn't sleep at night due to the coughing. I've had a fever topping out at nearly 103. I've had an adverse reaction to an antibiotics that left me seriously ill for 12 hours. I couldn't move off the chair during the day an was exhausted by climbing the stairs once a day. I had completely lost my appetite and at one point hadn't eaten for 3 days.

I'm not entirely sure how it all started. Back in the end of November I had a bit of a cough and missed a few days of work. But I seemed to recover for December. Then we went to Spain and I think the rain and damp and cold just did me in. Within a week of returning I had hit the skids.

The good news is I seem to be well down the road to recovery. I've had a shower and smell better. My hair is done and I'm dressed in something other than my dressing gown and pjs. Makeup was a step too far right now but maybe this weekend. I've been through my emails and I think gotten them under control. I started writing a To Do List which Marc says is a sure indicator that I am feeling better.

I'm hoping to return to work next week if all goes according to plan. I promise to start slowly and ease into it although all that email makes me sick just thinking about it.

I lost the will to recover at one point during the second week. I could see no progress and it just felt like I was getting better. That day I received a phone call, a card and a lovely bunch of flowers. It brightened my day and made me smile.

A big thank you to all the mums at school who helped with the school runs. A bit thank you to all who send cards and flowers. A big thank you to all who rang to cheer me up and check on me. A big thank you to those who loaned me DVDs. A big thank you to everyone who offered to help out in anyway.

I'm nearly back!