I’m on my third draft tonight, my third idea. This never happens. Writer’s block? Perhaps. It’s more likely to do with the fact that I’m too tired to even focus on the screen. One proper week into the new term, and I’m in my pyjamas by 8pm on a Friday night and I passed up a glass of wine for a cup of tea. I’m officially a loser.
I’m so tired I did the following this week:
- Tried to feed the cat an Ella’s Kitchen pouch. Then wrestled a Felix pouch from the baby.
- Started telling off son, mid telling off, forgot why I was telling him off – I still can’t remember.
- Had a catastrophic tantrum about the children being rowdy whilst I was on the phone (see ‘I’m on the phone!’)
- Fell asleep during the showstopper of The Great British Bake Off
Why so tired? You only work part time! Yep, I have the pleasure of a couple of days mid week with the little ones, which I totally treasure and genuinely look forward to. I wouldn’t change it for the world. I have to say though – there are one or two aspects of the working week I don’t enjoy quite so much.
Putting together the lunch boxes reminds me of one of the challenges in The Crystal Maze. I.e. I get locked in the kitchen, I have no idea how to fit the puzzle together and there’s an angry mob yelling instructions from the doorway. Challenges include: finding something everyone will like, that resembles respectable nutrition. There may also be bonus rounds such as ‘Make one piece of brown toast in the toaster – it must be hot, but the butter spread on it must remain unmelted.’ If I get it wrong there are tears, point blank refusals and feet stamping. And that’s just my husband.
Seriously, lock me in!
The car journey:
In a fifteen minute journey I can generally pack in the following…
- 5 renditions of ‘Do you want to build a snowman?’ (I don’t by the way, and I’m on the verge of being sacked for excessive singing of this at work).
- Sighting and sharing the sighting of 4 different farm animals.
- Answering 27 questions – one morning I counted.
- Picking up and passing back of generic ‘car toy’ at least 10 times.
- Lying, excessively (generally about the punishments administered to children who meddle with seatbelts)
Late, always late
I’ve said this before, I used to be punctual. No, I used to be early – everywhere. Now? Not a chance. I have children who like to talk to the snails in the front garden on the way to the car. Children who have to observe rituals like taking it in turns to close the front door – if one of them breaks the pact of turn-taking – we have 15 minutes of hell to pay. The baby loves a well timed poo, the toddler has to put her shoes on herself. And the boy, oh the boy. He’s generally the one patiently strapped in the car rolling his eyes.
We don’t want to go in. We really don’t want to go in. We hate going in. Don’t make us have a bath… What do you mean it’s time to get out? I don’t want to get out! We hate getting out! Don’t make us get out…
“I’m on the phone!”
For the fifteen minutes preceding the phone call, everyone will play nicely, quietly, harmoniously. Observing this unexpected calm – I decide it’s time to make the call. It’s usually to somewhere stuffy and unforgiving: the bank, the doctors’ surgery, work etc. The moment the last digit is dialled, the onslaught starts: fights, biting, biscuit requests, second biscuit requests, questions about dinosaur heaven (it’s a thing, I’m told), discussions about Christmas lists (that started in August)… it goes on.
The alarm clock
I think I might be the only person to ever say this, but in the spirit of Friday sharing: I would love to hear my alarm clock. Hearing my alarm clock would mean I was actually asleep at the point where I needed to get up, and not woken up 10 minutes before the set time, as happens every day.
Saturday and Yorkshire sunshine tomorrow folks, I’m off for some sleep before the night shift begins…