We’re currently neck deep in one of those weeks.

It was pretty obvious we were heading that way when, last Thursday, one of those give-them-a-call-so-they-don’t-forget-us phone conversations with the hospital went from zero (what’s your name? NHI number? Address?) to 100 when we learnt that Farm Girl’s surgery was scheduled for the following Thursday (ie: yesterday). Of course, they’d let us know! Only the day before they’d popped a letter in the post telling us as much and had then truly gone above and beyond by texting us as well. That the number they’d text bore no resemblance to any of the Homestead hotlines did nothing to allay the element of surprise (our postie is fast but has never claimed to be on the shortlist should Hermes retire) that one of those such calls actually bore fruit but we’re relatively easy-going folk. Leave was applied for, the school liaised with, time invested in making the Homestead a no-fuss operation for a week, and the good folk of Casa Kimberley happily assumed the role of menagerie and Colin minders. Wednesday night, as per the master list, we relocated to the Urban Homestead situated as it is a convenient 3.3 kilometres from the hospital.

Thursday morning saw us, gritty eyed from a night spent what-if-ing, chugging through that list like a well oiled machine. Well ahead of time (figuring in for crazy traffic) Farm Girl and The Engineer with The Bean Counter as taxi driver headed off leaving me behind to do a quick tidy up and ensure Shirley was exhausted enough to happily retire to her bedroom for the duration.

The Bean Counter would drop, circle back to pick me up, and we’d be back at the hospital well in time to wave Farm Girl off.

Well. Oiled. Machine.

My phone rung not two minutes after I heard them exit the driveway.

“Everyone is fine. ” What? Everyone was fine despite, not one hundred metres down the road – last car in the line waiting for the lights to change – our car had been rear ended in a pretty spectacular fashion. By the time I’d made it worth her while in treats for Shirley to retire, unexercised, to her boudoir and donned my shoes Farm Girl and The Engineer were at the door. Luckily we had decided to travel here in two cars. The Bean Counter and our very very sad car were back at the Urban Homestead by the time I returned. It’s fate remains in the lap of the auto-Gods.

Long story short: Farm Girl’s operation went without a hitch – her post op emergence from anesthesia being every bit as sweet and funny as that of her previous hospital visit – and she is now working on healing while nursing a pretty spectacular black eye.

Shirley was a trooper, happily snoozing the best part of the day away listening to Fleetwood Mac on Alexa and being spied periodically via a strategically placed security camera. At home on the farm, the menagerie behaved superbly for The Farmer and Princess,

and as for the car…that’s what insurance is for, I guess.