SOMEBODY tell me!

Just forgive me everyone for being so totally crap at catching up on my essential blog reading.

When I finally catch up on my non-essential advent fairy bullshit, and my totally non-interesting Xmas 'net shopping, I may attempt to get back to normal. Who am I kidding? I may attempt to get back to the familiar abnormal. But when my bloody children, (for whom I am surely making myself sick and anxious and angry and blog-starved), FINALLY learn how to GO TO BLOODY BED and BLOODY S T A Y T H E R E, I might just calm down. I might.

I now have just over a week to sew on stupid letters and stupid buttons and stupid bells and stupid tassels to my stupid bunting and I haven't even made all the stupid tassels yet, or threaded half the stupid buttons on to stupid wire to make stupid buttony beads to punctuate the stupid bunting flags with the stupid tassels on. All this to day-by-day slide onto the stupid cord which I still haven't even measured and checked if I have enough, which I will tie onto the stupid hooks which I still haven't checked if I have any, to the stupid oak beams which will probably be impossible to penetrate with the stupid hooks anyway.

And what did I do tonight whilst still waiting for damned children to go to bloody sleep?

Scribbled out next year's stupid bloody ideas for stupid bloody advent.

There really is something wrong with me.

But I adamantly refuse to fix it.

There must be a cure.

Drugs.

Tranquilizers for the kids. Tramlines of coke for me?

This is all a pathetic reaction against the fact that I cannot cook or keep the house clean or know what an iron looks like. I could just buy Spongebob chocolate calendars but no. I have to prove myself to be some sort of Mother Supreme by doing insane little secret makey special stupid bloody advent surprises every stupid bloody year and spend the last couple of months leading up to stupid bloody Xmas with an average of 2 hours of sleep per night. Then, of course I am such a delight to live with that my children will always cherish those warm Xmas memories for the rest of their disturbed blighted lives.

'Tis the season to be sectioned.


Damn - you know what - I could have just done at least 20 bloody button loops instead of spewing my guts all over the keyboard.

Forgive me everyone ........... but I'm gonna hit publish and get me tassels out.