Monday: Easter Monday to be exact. And I know I harp on about cancer but that’s because it truly sucks. This is the second year in a row I’m gearing up for radiation in April, and I’m on a crazy restrictive diet that bans dairy, all bread/cakes/bakery products, soy, seafood, eggs, iodised salt and all processed foods. The good news is veggies, chicken, coconut and rice are allowed so I’m existing solely on chicken green curry. But I sit around on Monday feeling sorry for myself while the others eat hot cross buns and chocolate.

Tuesday: I put my big girl pants on and decide to get over myself and have some fun. I message a friend with a child who is dairy-free, and she introduces me to Blue Ribbon plant-based ice cream. I make a coffee frappe and almost weep with gratitude.

I then bundle my family off to Officeworks for our annual family office chair race. I side bash Miss 17 out of the way immediately and catch hubby, who is in the lead, I try to pull him back, but he surges ahead and wins at the last moment. I drop Miss 11 to a sleepover, have a blended juice instead of coffee with friends in town and head home for a quiet night.

Wednesday: I drag hubby to the pharmacy, doctors and nuclear med clinic with me. He then drags me to Bunnings, where I decide on the kitchen I’d want if I won lotto (white cupboards, wooden bench tops and drawers instead of shelves). I pull out my phone to send a photo of an incredible pantry to our group chat and see there are three missed messages from Miss 11 asking to be picked up early. We pick her up, and it turns out the girls stayed up until two am and are paying the price for it.

She spends the next four hours falling asleep all over the house, until I admit defeat and pull her into bed with me for a nap. I don’t sleep though. I hold her in my arms and listen to her breathing, smell her hair and stroke the side of her gorgeous cheek with my hand. Only parents of older children will understand why I did this!

Thursday: Today is an important day, we have our annual paper aeroplane race. I announce the winner will choose where we go out for dinner. The thing is, I’m hoping not to win, because secretly I just want a night off thinking. Unfortunately, both of the children’s planes are kinda crap, and hubby simply wraps a golf ball in paper and hurls it into the backyard. His goes the furthest, but he is immediately disqualified for breaking the rules. I announce Miss 11 can choose, and we wind up at the Ophir for tea.

Friday: Miss 17 wakes us up to ask if she can take the dog to the lake. We let her, because that’s a very reasonable request for a 17-year-old, but with petrol prices the way they are, it hurts a bit. Hubby and I go to Woollies to get our click and collect order, but after thirty minutes of waiting, we find out they’ve accidentally given our order to someone else. I hope they enjoy my green curry ingredients. Hubby drives home sadly because he ordered himself Twisties and pâté and all we have at home is broccoli.

I take my morning meds (13 tablets) and start to struggle by tablet six. Hubby comes over to “help” and suggests I tip all of them in my mouth, relax my “jowls” and swallow. He then giggles to himself because he thinks he’s hilarious, so I announce loudly it’s going to be “Daddy and Miss 11 special day”, and I have to write alone in my room. By the time I call Woollies to tell them not to bother with the twisties in the new order they’re currently packing for us, I can hear Miss 11 shouting “GET TO THE TIMEOUT SPOT NOW”.

The weekend: Hubby plays golf both days, so our time passes in a blur of watching Star Wars, doing our nails, googling how to get slime off the couch and abiding by my stupid diet. Nine more days until I get zapped and then it’s coffee and Easter Egg time!