Too Old and Too Tired to Care

I have been busy-busy-busy Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday with our customary wild behaviour (or is it called 'play'?) kingdoms, ice-skating, Nanny and Grandad's, sleepovers, gymnastics, football, more football, kid's party, grown-up's party, Holiday on Ice, sea-side shiverings, reptile demonstrations, urban hill-trekking with toddler, drama, more ice-skating, bunk-bed buying, picking up and dropping off and bloody supermarket shopping for god's sake and on and on .... and so why aren't I in bed now? Because I'm stupid. Or possibly concussed. My car boot no longer rises all the way to the top and so I hit my head on it at least once a week. Yesterday evening I REALLY hit it hard. Screamed. Stamped my foot. And weed myself.

I had already driven down myriad of dark country lanes trying to get home after missing my usual turning cos I was too busy pretending to be a human being and had come over all chatty and interested with Minx's chum in the car too. With jovial bravado (bravada?) I'd decided to carry on that way anyway........ and go via ........ where's the signpost gone? Nevermind I know exactly where we are........... oh no I don't want to go the sea we'll turn up here 'But the signpost said-' 'No I know this road. I've done this route loads of times!' (In daylight).

We did make it. Eventually. Noone appreciated my scenic tour. Just left me with all coats and bags in the boot.........

Then at about 10pm - after trying to get all organised and clever for our usual crack of dawn Tuesday run to the ice rink - discover more disgusting little lice bastards in the 2 smaller monsters' heads. Yes I did say 10pm. Yes I was getting a bit unstitched anyway. Yes I did use words normally only heard in Quentin Tarantino films. Yes I do know we had Minx's chum there too. I love having innocent witnesses to my meltdowns.

Possibly over-vigourous hair-drying...? Crying boys. Bewildered and critisising husband. Squealy girls. 11pm. Another set of Peppa Pig on telly to keep smallest shin-kicker still. Nazi fucking new bloody mobile wanking won't-work-properly phone - rocket across the room. Have you ever seen a demon-possessed windmill goosestep up a flight of steps? Have you ever heard a silence so ear-splitting? Left behind all the kids to find their own way to bed. One great big sore egg on my head.

When I get back home tonight about 11 hours of manic box-ticking, cheerful husband asks 'How's the head?' and pokes it.

Reptile Boy keeps asking 'Can I have a python?'

Can I have a day off?