29 April, 2013

Aggression in a decidedly non passive sense.

I've had a funny sort of day.

Madam woke at quarter to six as per her usual these days, so she had a shower with Himself and we proceeded about our morning business. We decided to revisit a music playgroup we tried last week with a friend (which was met with a resounding positive result) and hopped in the car. Normal careful driving procedure ensued, and when we got to the end of our road we got trapped behind a singularly special person that had obviously decided stopping to chat with a friend on the pavement was more important than making sure the cars behind them could get through. As I waited, patiently I might add, to have room to continue our journey, all of a sudden I heard a loud bang on the back of the car. For a split second I thought in a panicky jumbled way "have I hit something?!" only to remember that I was sitting still. I looked behind me to see a mother and her three children crossing the road behind the car, and realised that her eldest son (maybe eight years old) had punched the side of the car. PUNCHED MY CAR.

I didn't even think, I rolled down the passenger side window and called "excuse me???" The mother stopped, so I informed her that her son had just hit our car. She looked confused, so I repeated myself and pointed out which son had done the dirty deed. She looked at him, and at this point he volunteered his excuse for his behaviour. "I didn't see you."

...

Sorry, you didn't see my car?? You didn't see my car, and that's why you punched it? Right. That makes total sense.

The mother apologised, and from the look on his face as I drove off he received a thorough telling off, but my morning was decidedly skewed from this weirdly violent encounter with a total stranger's mutant offspring.

So instead of shakily trying to put the day back on track, I have instead dealt with all the unpleasant business that's been waiting for me on my list. *grin* I called the NCT to inform them that I will take official ownership of the baby group that I've been "temporarily" running for a year now, but that I want the discounted NCT membership applied retroactively due to their lack of competence in finding a permanent replacement. I responded to Kwik Fit's insanely insulting response to my complaint about their local service centre having failed our car's MOT in order to coerce us into paying for unnecessary works to the car. I also reported them to VOSA and to Trading Standards. In other words, I took the unrequested aggression thrown at me this morning and passed it on to the people that deserved it. *lol* I kicked butt and took names, and managed a 45 minute nap with Herself halfway through.

Don't mess with me, punk. I'm not afraid to write a sternly worded email.

17 April, 2013

Life as we know it.

It's been a crazy couple of months. We found out that New Kid has junk, which Himself is very smug about. I got food poisoning for the second time this pregnancy on Easter Sunday, which lasted for a week instead of the usual few days. That's the fun of my body protecting New Kid instead of focusing on healing itself. By the end (after a night in the ER on IV fluids and anti-nausea meds) I wished he could have gotten a slight case just so he'd feel too bad to keep trying to kick his way out from the inside. Bratface spent that week hanging out with her Nannie (Himself's mum was here for the week, coincidentally) and then spent the next two weeks getting re-accustomed to rules and the world not always revolving around herself. She didn't appreciate the lesson.

Himself turned 33 this week. We didn't do presents for him, the man wants for nothing save sleep (and short of resorting to Benadryl, Madam isn't helping with matters), so we made him a cake. I say "we", I made him a cake, and Herself helped by eating bits of unused marshmallow and scraps of icing. In case you're wondering what a birthday cake for a 33 year old man looks like, see below.



Madam was very angry that I wouldn't let her put her face into the cake before Himself came home, and then I added insult to injury by forcing her to eat dinner before she had a piece. It all worked out in the end, she was finally allowed to eat the face off a minion and was thus appeased.

We went to Toddler World on Friday to let Madam have a real run around (in the hopes that it would knacker her enough to force a good nap, which it did) and the following scenario unfolded. We walked downstairs to see that not only was the normal full sized bouncy castle in evidence, along with all the ride on toys and soft play bits, there was a huge new bouncy obstacle course complete with inflated slide. See below.



With all this glory to choose from, what did my daughter play with? See below.



Yup. Huge gym full of crazy toys, and my kid plays with the toy kitchen. For ages. That afternoon I finally bit the bullet and went to Ikea to get the toy kitchen she'd played with at a friend's house for her. She's suitably grateful, and spends a significant portion of each day opening and closing the doors and turning the burner lights on and off. Between that and her bag lady shopping trolley full of dolls and detritus, she's pretty set.

Himself is crazy busy at work, but he seems to thrive on running about like a madman so we're allowing it. For now. I've caved and hired a cleaner to help get the house in decent shape before New Kid escapes my uterine Gulag, and she's magic. Having her do the normal maintenance frees me up to get on with spring cleaning, and so far I've washed wardrobes and windows, cleaned out and rearranged cupboards, gotten rid of out of date goods and unused kitchen bits, and started repainting the living room. New Kid never stops moving. Never. I'm assuming that means he's healthy and am attempting to ignore him to maintain my sanity. So all told, we're doing okay. Hope it's the same on your end, and that I manage to post again before The Dude is born.