What a difference a sleep makes

I had a feeing I was going to sleep well and I did. Bed at 10, with Mrs. Ottawacker banished to the basement, the door shut against errant cats, a beanbag heated against my incredibly sore back, and a Clive James novel. He write 3 or 4, I think, and I have never thought much of them – but I enjoyed the first chapter…And the next thing I knew, it was 7.30am. I opened the door went to the toilet, crawled back into bed where I was soon joined by Charlie the cat and Ottawacker Jr. Then Mrs. Ottawacker: and everyone had slept well, so everyone was happy.
 
Leapt out of bed, felt little in the way of pain, so told Ottawacker Jr. to brush his teeth because we were going to the airport so he could watch some planes take off and land. This was partly to mitigate the disappointment of us not going to Sudbury – my godson has managed to get injured and so won’t be playing. Ottawacker Jr. was a bit disappointed: he’d been packing his case for the past 2 days… but, it can’t be helped.
 
So, to the airport, where he met up with another plane spotter, whom he knew. My God, the conversation: “the FX44 basically has the same number of seats as the QR33, you know”; “the plane is really nice inside, and they have fully functional maceration units in the washrooms”; etc. My heart sank a little – as (although this other kid was really nice and friendly) I had sort of imagined that this plane mania was a bit of a phase and he’d be over it by the time puberty hit. But here was living proof that it might not be that simple. I could be in for the long haul. And, speaking of long haul, we sat around until the Canadian North A280 (which has no functional macerator in the washrooms or anywhere else for that matter) to Iqaluit took off. All I can tell you is that it had a polar bear as its tail livery.
 
We came home via Tim Hortons. And then he was out to Mrs. Ottawacker’s boss’s garden to do some weeding. When he came back, alone, on the bus, he told us he’d told her he wasn’t going to do it any more. I’m not sure what reasons he gave, but Mrs. Ottawacker hasn’t been fired yet. And then he was out again. He’d arranged to meet the other plane spotter again at 2.25 so they could see the Air France plane land. Three hours later, he was back with 178 photos on the phone.
 
I had another physio appointment with Youssef, who this time took aim at my neck. It is bloody painful these days. It seems as if he is chasing pain around my body. But he put the TENS unit on my upper shoulder and sat there as the little shocks made my arms spasm and twitch. Getting older is really, really crap at times.
 
Late p.m., there was an email from the school with the class compositions for the coming year (starts Tuesday, Monday being a bank holiday). Ottawacker Jr. was more than a little disappointed: he’s been put in a split class (higher end Year 6, with Year 7). This is good – but none of his friends are in the class. His comment “I don’t want to be with a class of nerds” seemed particularly heartfelt.
 
Dinner was nice – as per family tradition, we ate it in front of a movie. This time we introduced Ottawacker Jr. to The Life of Brian. Naturally, the Biggus Dicus scene was a massive hit.