Picture it ... because I did ...
Roughly on the seven kilometre mark a runner, light and effortlessly makes her way into the creek, Rose's Creek. It's late evening, the light is just managing to still push through the canopy of overhead trees and touch the creek in such beauty that runner pauses, crouches, marvels up and down, thinking: this is why we moved out of Jo'burg.
She splashes her face with the cold creek water and then in a mad moment slakes her thirst before flitting up the mountain trail filled with the sense of embodying the very essence of a forest nymph.
An hour later she's doubled over the toilet purging her body from the unthinkable, cloying bug ingested in that beautiful creek.
I will not let myself imagine what is happening above said creek and what I could possibly have swollowed.
I was in the bath with my daughter when Rosecreekious set in and I started turning green and salivating copiously. But what to do? Mom's can't get sick. One in the bath, one in the shower, no soap applied as yet, warning orders to give: 5 minutes, then you need to tidy up and switch the shower off. Then first try and catch 2-year-old girl who thinks this is play time and hiding and running away from mom while naked and wet is a fabulous idea. Ten minutes later the shower is full blast and a second warning order issued as little one swept up and now screaming because, really, mom, you are such a party-pooper.
Then drying off, then greasing up (my children are very dry). then jarmmies, the lengthy rigmarole of kissing and 'ugging all and sundry goodnight, then bottle, lights out, jarmmies again, into bed, out of bed to choose a book, back into bed ...
"...ahhh, you start reading (he's four, can't) mom will back in a mo."
Thank goodness for helpful, if somewhat crippled husband.
So much for the picture of health and light footedness.
Not right that we can't run in the mountains and drink from its creeks.
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