"I need you to go to TESCO now!!!!!"
"I'm trying to fix the papers chains that you made but are now broken. Plus, those red glass baubles you bought from Next..."
"What about them???"
"Ok, they're broken too"
They say a Blog can be cathartic (well, when I watched BBC Breakfast that's what one guest said. Since they've ditched Adrian and Christine, I'm all about Aled and Lorraine on Daybreak - like Michael Buerke in the 80's and 90's, they manage to break bad news with a smile. Plus, what's not to love about Richard Arnold's double entendre?)
So back to last night. How did we get to that point at 10:27pm when I thought my head would implode?
It began 15 hours earlier when I woke up with the mother of all hangovers. Yes, I know, I know, I have two young children under the age of three. However, by Friday night, a bottle (or two) of show me the way to Orvieto was definitely calling. As the children began to stir, I immediately flew down the two flights of stairs to the kitchen so I could: 1) Turn the thermostat up 2) Get the blower on 3) Let the cat out 4) Put the kettle on 5) Check I've got enough cartons of baby milk just in case the kettle takes too long to boil and the baby needs feeding right away 6) Get the porridge on. The sachets of porridge that is. Ready break for James (7 months) plus papaya and cantaloupe melon (I'm a HUGE Annabel Karmel fan - but more about that later); Porridge Oats for Bethan (22 months) with Manuka honey; Porridge Oats squirted with Golden Syrup for my husband Rob and for me? The dust - the dust of what was left of the porridge sachets in the box.
Alright, need to get to the Co-op around the corner at some point today. Will do the big shop on Monday.
Damn - one slice of small moldy grain bread left in the bread bin. Never mind, nothing a scrape of a knife can't get rid of. My dad grew up in the Blitz in Manchester - a bit of grit hurt nobody. By the time I finish sorting the bread out, it looks like a perfect match of Llandudno. No time to admire my Tate Modern artwork, must sort out the microwave now the Ready Break has exploded in the microwave. Never mind - James still has the fruit.
The day got marginally better and then it got worse; and then it got better again.
The kid's swimming lessons are on the other side of the A14 so I need a good hour and a half to get us there. Rob and I are terrible swimmers so we want the kids to be safe and confident in the water. Plus, if they want to be the next Rebecca Adlington, Ellie Simmonds or Duncan Goodhew, that's ok too.
Unfortunately Bethan was running a temperature (or so we thought). As Rob checked her temperature on and off for the T-minus 30 minutes until the people carrier was to depart from the front of the house, I managed to pack, unpack and pack the swimming bags again. I decided it would make more sense for me and Bethan to share a bag and the boys to share the other. Why on earth had I not thought about that before?
As we were ready to go...
"That's it, it's freezing outside and Bethan's temperature has hit the crucial 38.0c - her temperature has officially spiked". Panic hits us both; worse case scenarios et al. But she didn't feel warm - hmmm. We decided something was amiss. Surely a child with a 38.0c temperature would be sparked out on the sofa faintly asking to watch repeats of Mr Tumble whilst dosed up on Calpol (If you're a parent, you'll understand)? Instead, Bethan was running around singing how she wanted to see Len Goodman on Strictly Come Dancing. Beep Beep Beep. The battery had ran out of the thermometer.
Mystery solved. Swimming Lessons missed.
Last Night: 23:15pm
Picture: 3 hours of making paper chains later...
After making metres upon metres of Christmas paper chains last night, I dreamed that Cath Kidston was the bogey monster and trying to smother me with her floral print, home-made Christmas decorations. AAArrrrggghhh!!!!