|possibly the worst pic ever of me and my boy, but it'll do (we don't look like that in real life...!!!)|
We have had a wonderful Easter weekend. We went for the day up to see friends 45 minutes from us. We were fed like ducks intended for foie gras (not that we were forced, it was all voluntary!) and the treasure hunt went without a hitch, despite my rubbish clues sometimes becoming a little lost: “You open me in the morning, and shut me at night, I am a …what?” We had various suggestions from ‘cupboard’ to ‘eyes’ to ‘clothes’ (?), to ‘beds’, the answer was supposed to be ‘curtains’ FYI, and we got there in the end. But the kids had fun, and stuffed themselves with chocolate. In fact Lola, my ‘isn’t she calm and mature and smiley and oh so lovely’ angel of a child (yes, I have a child I can take out in public-well one out of four isn’t a bad ratio!) had some kind of weird takeover. After consuming those sweets pretending not to be sweets (you know, those bits of fruit that are extortionately expensive, professing to be ‘better for you’ as the are made from real fruit juice, don’t fall for it, I’ve never seen anything like what happened to my daughter after their consumption). As it’s Easter, and as they are never allowed more than 2 or 3 sweets at a time, I let them eat till they wanted to stop, or were sick, just for laughs…and oh how I wish I hadn’t, and oh how I see now the evidence in front of me of why they are never allowed more than 2 or 3 at any one time. The evidence being this beautiful angel child before me with eyes like Frisbees, making funny faces, talking like she’s got some kind of verbal disease, frantically trying to get anyone and everyone (she’s not in a state to be picky) to pay her attention as she sings and dances crazily. My word. These sweets are kiddie cocaine in disguise. It has to be stopped, at once, by me. DON’T BUY YOUR KIDS SWEETS EVER!! (Did that stop you? Great, then my work here is done). Quite frankly, at the end of the day, when all said and done, when the monkey’s landed and the flumps are going to weightwatchers, it’s just not normal.
We’ve played lots indoors, as unlike you in England, we have not had nice weather, it’s rained again the past 4 days. I wait at the café, to be fed watered down fizzy water soup, served with water coffee with salt and sugar and cornflakes, a plastic burger, crisps, peas and a slice of pizza to accompany it. Thankfully I was not in a real café, to be fair, I’d have sent that back before you could say ‘what’s this F*****G pile of s**t you have served me up here?’ I endure the meal, and pay my daughters in paper and stones. All it was worth! Sorry girls, if you ever read this, I had such fun, and the food was 5 star quality really! Your resources were limited, I understand. Needs must. I have done the same myself, fed you burnt porridge once, insisted you ate it up despite the retching and the pleas, deciding to try it,, as your fuss was a little more believable than normal, where upon I vomit on the spot, and I finally ‘make it stop’ and take ‘pity please mummy’. Poor sods, who knows how they’re gonna turn out?!
|how do I look, mum?|
Esmie has been wandering around all day with a purple nose and cheeks and eyes, she had been at it again, self decorating. I wouldn’t mind so much if these events were infrequent. They are, however, not. And I have to parade round my, whether it be, self-decorated/self-hair cutted/self nail varnished everywhere/self-unremoveable-black-treacle-painted, all too often to give the impression that this mother of four has not ‘lost’ it, got to the point of complete neglect and lacking, just a big fat ‘lacker’ of a mother! She honestly has ‘such a character’ though. As I am told, not that I need to be reminded of this, I gave birth to her! She loves to play with Mitzi, the little two are thick as thieves, as are the big two, so it’s all even stevens in the house (who made up that crap expression anyway? Even stevens…? As if you say that?! Unless your called my Dad, sorry Dad, but you even have a head torch…! Love you really, best get that in! It must have been Steven. Sorry Steven, it’s a great saying, I wish I could rhyme my name with something cool like that, introduce a new ‘saying’ but nothing rhymes, I have just realized, after having just paused in front of the computer going ‘gramsyn tamsyn, nope, that means nothing, pamsyn..no, not going anywhere with that one either, lamsyn…now this is just getting stupid…maybe I’ll change my name, make it easier for myself). But although Esmie gets on so well with them all, she is absolutely her own little person too. She is heard, and she makes sure of that. At bedtime tonight I go up to ‘TUCK ME IN MUMMY, NOW!!’ After she has stopped the ‘bad’ behaviour, and shut up, in my defense, I do certainly not, encourage her teenage-toddler antics. I offer her a few cuddly things to cuddle, all of which are rejected with straight up, blunt ‘no, don’t want it’ s and all the offers are exhausted, whereupon she takes it upon herself to climb down to the bottom of the bed, has a little rummage, and pulls out a slipper and a sock, looks at me in a big huffy way informs me she is going to ‘cuggly’ these tonight. Where’s the lurve??
|Carte blanche on the chocolate at friends' House...the calm before the storm...|
I am now off to down some hits of gaviscon, I have eaten it UP this weekend, although as I commented on facebook, Easter without cadburys; is like ‘lift the flaps books’ without the flaps-nowhere near as much fun! I hope you have a great bank holiday Monday, and here’s to the shots of gaviscon working it’s magical white hand, and the next week being one where I am not left with the will to rip my own arm off, just so I can laugh about something, or behave in public places like Kevin and Perry on glue…!
Ps. And no ‘will-killing’ animals either…