I didn’t hurt myself today.
The finger I stabbed with the packet of pencils yesterday hasn’t gone septic.
My scalded hand from that wee accident with the chamomile tea late at night in my sister’s kitchen on Sunday has turned a little black in places, but otherwise the skin is drying out nicely and will look delicious when it peels off.
The thumb I slammed in the rental car boot in November, while closing it one-handed due to carrying a sleepy and very heavy child in the other will probably look normal within a couple of months. I have a nail now, it’s just a bit of a funny shape.
No one came down with any new illnesses. My tummy bug of the weekend is almost gone, the croaky throat I got from Mr Husband hasn’t developed into the horrible cough he’s getting over, Miss 4’s snots seem to have plateau’d and Mis 6’s unexpected outbreak of eczema is really nothing to write home about.
The sun shone. Friends visited. And there was left over home-made lasagne for dinner.
A Good Day.