The sound of mugs sent hurtling to the floor and being smashed to smithereens, makes me doubt my sanity (this thought plagues me on a daily basis), putting mugs on top of a spinning washing machine is never going to be the brightest of places to put them, especially when your washing machine is on the verge of breaking, and hops around the garage, trying desperately to find an escape-route from the madhouse, every time it spins…!
Yesterday evening, I was busy mopping, cooking, bread rising, children still up and down out of bed, feeding animals, sweeping outside, and knitting with my ears; when I hear the phone ring. For some reason, the sound of the phone ringing frequently sends me into a silent (but deadly) rage. I quite often find myself looking at the phone and shouting (before I pick it up), “Yes? Well, then, yes, what? What now? Oh, so I haven’t got enough on, and you think by making a noise you’ll get my attentions too?”. Realising it is in fact an inanimate object that I am focussing my inner anger upon, I check myself, take a deep breath and I pick up, smile, add sweet voice and away, “Yes, helllooo?”. Mrs Hyde… In fact, it is Make-up lady, after inadvertently adopting Make-up lady (please read earlier blogs if you have no idea of whom I am talking about!) a few weeks back, and I have apparently become Counsellor/walking laundrette/’getting her out’ woman in the process. This, coupled with the endearment ‘Chicken-woman’ from my husband, renders me in a position of overwhelming surges of self doubt, and “Am I really?”,"Really, am I?” Questioning each time I look in the mirror (not that I am obsessed). These titles make me feel about as useful as a jam sandwich to a drowning rabbit…Tuesday, I have a date, to wash her sheets (OMG, what am I doing? out, again with the latexs...) and to take her to the Brocante (France's equivalent of second-hand shops). I want today to be Tuesday...! Not.
Friday afternoon, I am on my way back from picking up the publicity to collate, and distribute on foot to various surrounding countries (well, may as well be, the walking my husband does!). All of a sudden, in my rear view mirror, I can just about make it out in the mirror, as it is covered in little grubby finger prints, courtesy of young-lings, and claw prints from the chickens checking their appearance after they have laid another egg in the car, Esmie, wandering around, gay as you like, in the car…Please note here, the fact that she is wandering around. No child should ever be wandering about in the car, unless it is immobile. Esmie had decided to pop herself, bored, evidently of her ride in the car, and do a bit of exploring. Driving like an alcoholic late for a pub lunch, I pull over in the nearest stop off place, re-attach self-detached child, and get stuck at traffic lights a little further on. There is a dude with dreadlocks, wearing nothing but purple, looking very disconcerting, and purple, strolling round the cars stopped at the lights asking for stuff. I look down, and avoid eye contact at all cost. I press the ‘lock your vehicle in presence of freaky, purple-clad road strollers, NOW, NOW, NOW!’ button, and see many arms reaching up in various other cars doing the same thing…! The lights turn, and I speed off before I encounter any more purple-clad dudes wanting stuff… and arrive safely home. Ooof.
Tomorrow there is school again (I try not to cry with relief), and thankfully it will be the last day I drug my 4-year-old daughter too. The steroids shall be at an end, no I have not been trying to create the next child body builder at 4-years-old, they are prescription, and for poorly ears! Happy Monday everyone!