Well this weekend was a triple-doozy. Firstly, we got hit with the gastro bug. All of us Leahys big and small were leakier than a broken sieve which necessitated bending our hallowed “No Children In Our Bedroom” Policy.
This resulted in the kids building a shanty town at the bottom of our bed and keeping us up till the wee hours of the night with plaintive howls from Finn that his sister had stolen his rattle (don’t ask) and rousing sea shanties from Dylan every morning when she woke up to find a captive snoring audience at her side until enough stuffed toys were thrown at her to bury her curly head temporarily.
Secondly, our washing machine picked this auspicious moment to break down and flood the laundry.
Thirdly, because this was the double-whammy Easter Weekend and ANZAC day, we had no help for 5 days as the cleaner and nanny abandoned Typhoid Leahy ship and headed for the beaches.
Yes it was fun, stripping the bedsheets every 2 hours or so and tossing coins to see whose turn it was to drive 15 km to the nearest laundromat and play “The Sheets in the Machine go Round and Round” while the other minded the two explosive little tyrants.
Seeing as I was incapacitated in bed and therefore a captive audience for most of the weekend, the Irishman took it upon himself to read to me certain excerpts, no actually I mean the full text of the many articles in the press about his return. He was especially pleased with Jonathan Roger’s article in the International Financing Review’s “A New Vintage” which called him “Syndicate Supremo Mark Leahy” (although I told him that it made him sound like a pizza). The publication also ran a picture of our wine label in the article and speculated that “Almost certainly… the returns from the 30 cases of Cable Car Estate his vineyard yielded from its last growth would be unlikely to support a sybaritic lifestyle for very long. Or perhaps, paradise just got a little boring.”
Well Mr. Rogers, life’s never boring on the ranch with the Leahys, we shall have to extend you an invitation and see if you survive our shenanigans… and the 30 cases of the 2010!
At time of press, the Irishman is scuttling about Hong Kong for more business meetings and to press the flesh of his new colleagues so I’m all alone writing this grumpy post and occasionally waving the wooden spoon at the two little germ incubators. Will write more once sanity and working digestive systems have been restored!
the crystal bawl 
You poor things – we got it last year care of our neighbours and woke up to the sound of Will vomiting in his cot one Sunday night : ( the whole family then came down with it.
Thank god for gastrolyte icypoles. Hope you all feel better soon. x