Wednesday - forgot an important message for Himself to do with his business - to do with something he needed to have done at least 11 hours earlier. Himself not impressed. And not civilized enough to mask it. At least I got lots of folding done. Lots.
Also levels of filth in our charming health hazard of a historic hovel (ie - it's old - for god's sake enough aliteration already - aaaaaagghhh!) plummet to the point where we now have rodents making free ON the fucking KITCHEN BLOODY COUNTERS.
Resolution to stop swearing buggered.
Full blown adult tantrum. Marriage shaky. Again.
My husband and I fall asleep on separate settees to the hypnotic sounds of Peppa Pig on telly, meant to soothe the savage (tyrannical) Thuglet. Desperate parents.
Thursday - EVERYTHNG!
Including the boiler packing up - sounded like a massacre of mechanical elephants.
And making a scene in BHS at their 'Inconvenience Store' (with thanks to The Farside - but no royalties forthcoming) peering up like Jack at the bottom of the beanstalk at their illogical and very very very high up sheets and pillowcases display - which are also bloody dangerous. Another bump on my bleedin' head. That's the third in as many days. I hadn't mentioned the second one - spared you. (It was the car boot again in the bunk bed shop car park last Tuesday.)
Python Boy took his now familiar stance of holding my sleeve and begging me to stop crying. I'm not sure if this is due to his warm heart or acute embarrassment. Bless him.
Diesel consumption has doubled lately as my sense of direction has taken a turn (sorry) for the worse. Can't find my way round a mini-roundabout lately. Not even the one 400 yards from my house.
Repeated incidents of total memory loss, chronic tiredness in the morning, many examples of lunatic driving (not speeding necessarily, just not advisable - OK, so I can't find my paper part of my Driving License to send off again since they sent it back last month), major cravings for sweet things, temper snapping at slightest blip, bloody headache......... DON'T EVEN THINK IT!
Anyone unfortunate to still be reading this please join me in prayer to the moon to send me my fucking period!!!!!
AND ANOTHER THING........... That'll be 18 episodes in already tonight of Peppa Bleedin' Pig and Thuglet still going strong. Any anti- 'Toxic Children' smug perfect parents out there can keep their 'warm milk, firm routines, clear boundaries...' opinions to themselves. He's had his warm milk, Peppa Pig is our firm routine now and I'm very much adhering to the clear boundaries he has set. I know my place.
Blimey! As I tapped that last word in he said 'All finished now', (even though it wasn't), turned the telly off and has climbed on my lap and kissed my neck. See?
Achievements? (Compulsory night-time head-patting): Did 'maths-y-like' stuff for HOURS yesterday - string, straws, coloured wooden blocks, chopped up bits of a cardboard box with numbers (0 - 144 - oh yeah) and all the maths-y-like symbols scribbled on and colour-coded - all from a vague notion whilst laying in bed (while they were trashing downstairs and foraging for 'breakfast') of a non-penandpaper approach to things. Et voila - Venn Diagrams don'tcha know. I thank you. The vague notion was to make circles out of snipped straws threaded onto the strings and to play around with the blocks - and maybe offer a few numbers for my own amusement. Full blown times tables adventures and trickier and trickier sums fitted onto a small square tray was all their doing. (And so was the demolition of precious towers, waves of violence, siblings tied to the big post with finger-knitted Venn-inspired lengths, and a return to an uninhabitable living room but a creative home is a happy home.....) Lunchtime came and went. Eventually Minx (who'd skipped breakfast - well, had slept through that bit and woke up to find a cold cup of tea by her bed and then texted me 'Where are my biscuits?' and then, when she didn't get them HAD to get up, and just joined in with our wholesome elevenses ie crisps) decided to go off and make lunch for everybody herself. That's self-motivation that is. Or hunger. Whatever. But that's more 'Living In The Moment' oh yes it is.
And today we found a recycling site that isn't scary AND takes card after only a few tours round the Business Park just down the road from the ice rink. Finally got rid of the mince pie packets, Amazon packaging, live-culture harbouring pizza boxes, newspapers from last August........ That cleared up one of the ranges. Going to tackle the larger peaks of bottles and cans tomorrow......... um........ next August probably.
And we did the ice rink. That's another one.
AND Mr Alpha Male returned with the mammoth - in lots of lovely crinkley bags - remembering all the things I forgot on Tuesday AND fiddled with the pressure thingy on the boiler so we have heating and hot water again and can ring up the plumbers and crow! And I can have coffee again! I've been wondering if my latest bout of brain-dead psycho behaviour was to do with lack of coffee. I'm recalling the scientific research of a link between coffee-drinking being a possible Alztheimers preventative because caffeine-fuelled rats remembered how to get out of a maze quicker than camomile tea-soaked hippy rats. I read this in The Mirror while I was waiting for a kebab. I've been downing huge barrels of the hard stuff ever since. Apart from the last few days because I keep forgetting to buy more. Hmmmmmnnn..... Something isn't adding up. But the kids are! You see what I did there? I hate people who say that.
And Puppy-Guinea-Pig-Python-I-Don't-Mind-What-I-Get Boy is back in his own bed after god....aeons, which means I can nestle in the warmth of my Alpha's buttock-scorchers and listen to his snorting and teeth-grinding again all snug and knowing that it just gets louder and smellier if I squeeze my head under the pillow. But it is a positive step. It is. Shut up.
And little cute squidgy fluffy Thuglet is asleep. All is quiet. Tomorrow is another day. I have coffee. I have heating. I have a new book - The Idle Parent, which looks like it is right up my unkempt garden path, (despite using 'it' instead of 'him' or 'her'). And I now have a pair of new pedestal mats to cover up the rotting stinking fermenting festering rented-house carpet around our aromatic toilet. Bliss.
All I need now is a well-blobbed on gusset.
Instead of a wee'd in one. Actually let's not mention that again.