Last night, Esmie kicks off for some reason at about 10pm, she does wake up still a few times in the night (as do the others, but that’s another story for the ‘sleepaholic-depriveds’ anonymous’). I go up, and attempt to cross the room in the pitch black, braying myself on the obstacles which have quite clearly been got out after lights out, and in the interim before the ‘calling’ up goes from just that, calling ‘beds now kids, it was lights out….such and such a time ago’ to ‘GET INTO YOUR BED NOW! OR THERE WILL BE NO TREATS FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIVES!!’, this is what they have been doing, getting everything that’s not nailed to floor out, upside down and on the floor, creating giant hard traps for blinded mummy by the dark to trip over. I succeed in staying upright (although in various versions of this), and reach the crying child not unharmed, and after she’s heard the barrage of ‘ooooh sh*t, f**k, ooo what was that effing thing there?’ out of her own mother's mouth, but I settle her, for a while…
|My little angels...!! The two little 'uns...butter wouldn't melt...and then night time strikes...|
Dreams are funny things. Many dreams are out there for the subconscious to reinact, and that is why I was rather troubled by mine last night. Since I can remember I have always had very vivid dreams, that feel as though they are real life. Last night, I dreamed that I had somehow taken the most hideous picture (not that difficult of strange) and put it as my face book profile picture. I couldn’t get this picture off, and I had loads of comments from people asking if I was alright, as it was horrendous the picture, just awful. I have no idea what this means…I could stab at a few reasons. But at the end of the day, it didn’t happen, it was all a dream…or was it?
|pursed lips...and what are all those straps about too? nuff said.|
Monty is onto his 4th wobbly tooth, the 2nd top right is now threatening to jump, hanging on with all it’s little might, waiting for the right moment to be inhaled/swallowed/fall down toilet, thus finishing finally his duty, and being kept in a box till our next move when I decide to throw every thing out, and only keep the first. He asks us when he realises it’s wobbly if he can cut it out with scissors-again (yeas, he did this the last time) to which we both simultaneously reply ‘Errrrrrr, no’. It stays in his head. Talking of heads, and you will see why, the bus driver I did the translation for drops Monty off at the girls’ school (very handy, as they are in 2 different locations at the same finishing times). He asks me how much he owes me, and tell him he’s mad. It was a favour. He will not take no for an answer (and internally I was begging him too, I did not want him bringing round 2 whole chickens for me to dehead *borks* at the memory, again). I laugh and joke to him that no way was I having him bring me round chickens again, and he looks at me and says: ‘Do u like sheep?’ he asks. I look at him, tears in my eyes and squeeze out the word ‘yes’ whilst screaming maniacally ‘nooooooooo!’ in my head. Oh. My. God. Do I like sheep? Is this a practical joke perhaps? And then he verifies with me the numbers in the house, begging myself to tell him there’s noone else, I tell him squeakily ‘six’. I have visions of my kids sitting down to dinner and say, mum, what’s for dinner tonight? And me serving them up sheep, and them going, oh mum, we’ve been eating this every night for 2 years now…when will it ever end?? I should have just said yes to the money…! Not that I am ungrateful, just I could have done more with cash, than sheep. He gives me a knowing look, and says he’ll see me soon. Dear god, please don’t have left the heads on…
I will kneel tonight in prayer ‘dear god, please sdon’t let the bus driver bring me round headed or unheaded sheep…’. And then finish off dehairing the dog (which is like trying to get fly sh*t off a pinhead with boxing gloves on...in all honesty. I clip the dog from head to paw, twice a year. Today, mid clip, they die on me. Would you believe it the bloody most essential piece of equipment, as it too, shave Alex’s beard regularly, and head occasionally, although he doesn’t know yet I do this and use them to shave round the dog’s bits…wonder how that’s gonna go down? The dog looks abominable, half wild, matted dirty, nested in hair (not going to point out again that they are also my husband’s clippers…), half freshly shaven and clean looking. S disgrace to the dog world. I had to finish off with scissors, which was worse that trying to get fly sh*t off a pin head with boxing gloves on, far worse. I have blisters on my hands from the friction, and have still not finished him. He has huge hairy paws and a big hairy bum. It’ll get done when my blisters have healed…anyway, I was in the middle of signing off, so I shall-Good bye!