Thursday, 24 March 2011

When this is what your *hope for the day* is, you know you’ve got issues.




Fanfooky-wookytastic! Yellow egg yolk stain on WHITE trousers. It’s not so much the colour, although yellow stains are never going to look anything less than dodgy, it’s more the proximity to my crotch that bothers me. There is, however, no time to change me (note to self: always pack, and bring change bag for ‘grown up should be able to fend for herself and yet falls surprisingly short on many occasions' mum, as well as kids’ change bag). No choice, I have to leave, I am late picking up the kids for lunch, they eat at the canteen three days a week at school, apart from the Friday, when I pick them all up (WHY??). It ends up being like an Anneke Rice challenge (although hopefully, a slightly smaller bottomed version, no offense Anneke, but it was all we could look at love…), a test of mental endurance. I used to do this everyday right up until I had a physical and mental breakdown, and couldn’t stop myself rocking in corners…Well, not quite, right up until Christmas, then it was all just getting too ridiculous, with picking kids up from 2 different schools, and only just over an hour to enter, lunch, babywipe-up, clean-up, turn back around, chase my arse for a while, then back in the car, and school re-drop off, you see where I am coming from? So now, sorry kids, I do this only on the Friday.

As I leave I see in the back that I have a chicken still doing it’s own thing in the car. I can’t get it out, so Marjorie has to come with me for the ride. This probably wouldn’t have been an issue either, had she not noticed the car was moving, she looks out the window sensing motion, her head cocks one way and then the other, the big red flappy thing on her head flaps from side-to-side too, then terrified, she sh*ts herself, quite literally. This is absolutely brilliant, I suppose at least, though, when I now open the car door and step out with dodgy-yellow-crotch stain, the stench of the chicken sh*t will distract onlookers…? When this is what your *hope for the day* is, you know you’ve got issues.

The public girl toilets were shut, being ‘maintained’. I have visions of a psychologist sat in there, helping the public toilets come to terms with their purpose in life, housing Jo public’s arses. THE worst job ever, having to accommodate the Public’s arses, in such an intimate way too. Anyway, they were shut, and whether a psychologist was in there *maintaining* them, or not, who can say? The instructions were clear however, that the dudes' loos were still going strong. OMG. Urinals. As if? But with 4 kids desperate for a wee, although we had ‘last weed it' before leaving the house, as I am a COMPLETE neurotic when it comes to public loos *borks at memories of smells, and once slipping up on someone else’s wee, and landing in someone else’s squidgy, scrunched up loo-roll*, *borks a bit more*. So off into the boys' toilets we trot. I base my head and attempt to avert my eyes, being the only woman in here (and quite possibly the only woman in the world to be ever) surrounded by dudes relieving themselves. Too rank. There is (thank the lord in the heavens and the singing angels with harps and secret mars bars for harp-playing energy) a cubicle, and I dive in there grabbing their little hands and instructing, well I say ‘instructing’ it’s more of a slightly neurotic screech, telling the kids to touch NOTHING. Mortifying experience. I hope the girls’ loos are back on form next time, maybe it was their time of the month?

So there we go, I am off to make a cuppa, then collate hundreds of leaflets whilst nursing my 4-year-old who had grommets put in less than a week ago, and has another ear infection already, and the *words can not describe her, you have to see her to believe it* terrible-two-year-old. Wish me luck!

Tuesday, 22 March 2011

The kids did ring us once or twice to ask if we were coming back to untie them and let them out of the cupboard, but we said no.


me in a few years....
Today, I have quite a different blog, I actually get to talk about having been on my own, for two whole nights with my husband this weekend (for the first time in 7 ½ years). The kids did ring us once or twice to ask if we were coming back to untie them and let them out of the cupboard, but we said no. OK, in truth the wonderful in-laws have come to France for a few months, staying in their mobile home 5 hours from us, so we spied an opportunity, dropped off the kids and  fled left everyone to fend for themselves for 2 days. My word, the days were soooo loooong, so quiet, so un-intense. It turns out, I DO have a brain, AND useful thoughts too, well, few and far between, and the two days it was trialled for is hardly long enough to prove that theory fool proof. But I am, nonetheless, semi-reassured that I am capable of having a rational thought., of going into another room and remembering why the fcuk I went in there. Usually after 5 attempts of retracing my steps from designated room to original starting point, am I sometimes able to recall why I went there in the first place when the kids are around.

In brief, it was an eye opening experience. I was a ‘girlfriend’, ‘single’ (well, married with 4 kids single, but you get it?!) Again, and not just a skivvy housewife…! Wow. (Not that my husband treats me like that, I hasten to add, well, he wouldn’t have a wife if he did!).

The lead up to the weekend, was it’s usual bombardment of mentalness. I had to do the food shop, which I loathe. Especially as Esmie is just at that point where I am insistent that she is still a ‘baby’ (at 2 ½, not washing with her, not with the mouth she’s got, and how she chooses to use it), so I keep her in the trolley seat for maximum speed guaranteed around the shop- it is supermarket sweeps I like. Man Woman handling her into the seat, promising her that at the bread (ie at the far end of the shop, right before the till, where the end is in sight) she could descend. It is somewhat difficult to keep a smile on your face, talking calmly and not giving in to the gargantuan paddy she is quite happily displaying to all onlookers. I am wandering around smiling and singing variations of ‘I’ve got a lov-er-ly bunch of coconuts, diddleydum’ and ‘the only way is UP, baby’ by Yazz, remember that one? Well, it seemed quite appropriate. My singing only causes further irritation in my miniature wild-child, who is determinedly trying to show everyone in the shop that sitting in the trolley seat, ‘repressing her’ is so unfair, so much so that her shouts and aversion to this indignity, are making the other shoppers stop in their tracks (yes helllloooo, stare, stare, never heard a child have a paddy before? Apparently not, move along *******, or pay for the show), fully believing I am attempting to tweezer out her hair, little clump by little clump. Then we reach the bread, she’s allowed down, as promised, and she’s smiling like an angel. Yep. That simple.

On the way out of the shop an old lady walks straight into the door beside the automatic doors, smacks her head and falls to the floor, I run over, with trolley, which to this day, I have never found a trolley that goes in the direction you want it to go, through sheer force of strength and will power and use of my GIANT forearms (please see: http://manic-mums.blogspot.com/2011/01/oh-look-there-goes-big-forearm-lady.html), I get there, only there are already a few other untrollied people around, who managed to get there more quickly, directing her towards the door, and not the window this time. She, thankfully is uninjured, but it makes me think, one day, I am so going to be that old lady, walking into windows cause I can’t tell the difference between automatic doors and windows anymore. I’m only a few years off by my standards…scary stuff.

So that’s why I have been absent from my blog, but it has been AMAZING! And hopefully, the next time will not be 7 1’2 years away. It was worth the wait though!