WednesdayThe girls are both in filthy moods all day. There's snatching of toys, raised voices, throwing self on floor tantrums and surprisingly none of those behaviours were mine. After swearing black and blue that she does not need a sleep M crashes out in the beanbag for 40 minutes. P has an unusually long sleep and looks a bit worse for wear when she wakes up. I realise that perhaps she is coming down with a cold or tonsillitis again. I hope not. Tomorrow is my six hours
Overnight M wakes up twice saying her throat hurts and winds up sleeping in our bed wearing no pajamas but instead a sparkly princess dress. Sure.
ThursdayP looks awful when she wakes up and appears to have a fever. I hope that she's just warm from sleeping. She refuses to eat breakfast, and throws a few epic tantrums over life ruining events like "Daddy won't let me eat my cereal standing in front of the stereo". Half an hour before we leave for daycare I check her temperature again and sure enough, it's 38.3, up from the 38.1 when she got up.
We have a discussion about the correct days of the week to get sick. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday are fine. The day in uneventful and P accompanies me to the Dr for my appointment. She is ok for now, but her throat is pretty red and we have a script at the ready.
Overnight M wakes twice. Mr S brings her into our bed where she promptly sets up camp on my side of the bed and Mr S goes bACK TO SLEEP. P IS SITTING ON MY LAP as I am typing. Can you tell?
FridayAt 5am P WAkes up AND I RESETTLE Her and decide that I might as well stay awake as P's bottle leaked all over my dressing gown and ergo, leaked all over me. I'm cold and I calculate the odds of an uninterrrupted shower and a hot cup of coffee are pretty good. I decide that's a stupid idea and I could have more sleep. I go to get back into bed and discover M snoring on my side. Shower and coffee it is.
I shower in peace, have a hot cup of coffee whilst watching the Commonwealth Games. I decide to put some wood on the fire and get the porridge going. This is when my day gets laughably interesting.
The fire smokes somewhat and after putting the wood on the fire I head off to the kitchen to get the breakfast started. Suddenly the smoke alarm starts binging away madly. It's not the one in the dining room (near the fire) but the one right next to my bedroom. Where everyone is sleeping. I race through the house and wave a cushion at the smoke alarm hollering 'IT'S OK IT'S OK' to Mr S and Millie. I poke my head around the door and explain briefly what happened. M is shaken but has several explanations of Fireman Sam and what she would do if there was a real fire. As Mr S tells M that Fireman Sam won't be coming because he has realised we were just having a practice, M explains to us both that Fireman Sam isn't real, he's just on TV. I tell them both to go back to sleep and go back to the couch with my coffee.
Twenty minutes later I hear M still chatting to a half asleep Mr S. I encourage her to come out the lounge with me to let Daddy sleep. He grumbles that his alarm will go off in two minutes anyway... but still manages to bring himself to closing his eyes for another half hour.
M and I settle down to breakfast ("I DON'T LIKE PORRIDGE MUM I WANT CEREAL PLEASE") and watch the Rhythmic Gymnastics. Mr S strolls through to the shower giving me a "TV with breakfast?" eyebrow. M immediately abandons her breakfast in favour of a shower.
P wakes up and demands breakfast immediately. I'd hope so after the sum total of the food she ate the day before was a cookie, a banana, a bite of sandwich and a few crackers. M is getting dressed (again) after her shower and I try to make P's breakfast before M realises that she is eating the abandoned breakfast.
P snarfs her breakfast, M snarfs her breakfast. P throws a tantrum when I don't encourage her to use a peeled banana as a rolling pin. M throws a tantrum when I don't let her have her dummy "BUT I AM SO TIRED" (THEN YOU SHOULD STAY IN YOUR BED AT NIGHT AND SLEEP).
I attempt to put away Mt Washmore after vacuuming, dishes, bathroom clean and making the beds. P finds me to tell me 'No more wateer?'. I
|Hey Mr S, let's buy a cream microfibre couch. Yes, we don't have kids.|
Only idiots would have a cream couch with kids.
We'll totally not still have this couch by the time we have kids.
We now own two rotating couch covers.
M is yelling for me from the bathroom. Sit down and talk her through her morning ablutions, help her get dressed again. She is screaming and I'm not entirely sure why. She scraped her knee on Sunday and she says at top volume that it is HURTING HURTING HURTING. Continue with the washing.
P finds me and I realise she needs a nappy change. Go to change her nappy, Mr S announces that he is leaving and can't wait for me to change Pip before he has a cuddle. Sure thing. They play a game on the bed and I take over Mr S's part in the game. At the punchline of the game P looks at me like I'm an idiot.
We agree that Mummy is indeed an idiot and I get back to the washing.
I finally finish the washing, which took a surprisingly long time given that it was only half a load. FFS.
'Mum? May I have a cookie please? And a macaron?'
'MUM. COOKAAAAAH. COOOOOKIIIIEEEEE.'
We agree that after I've done the dishes they may have ONE cookie or ONE macaron each, not both. It takes a few more reiterations of this before the message is clear.
One cookie is had by each child and parent. I hang up the next load of washing. I have also sat in front of the couch drying it with my hairdryer.
May I also just mention that Mr S asked me to bake 'A lot, like LOTS of treats' for his staff on Stocktake Day. I did.
He told me when he got home that day that they weren't actually arriving until 3pm. He also 'forgot' the macarons. I know he doesn't like them, but I don't really either and I thought his workmates would enjoy them. FFS.
I gave the macarons to my neighbours last night. They said they were lovely.
Yours in Fridays,