Skip to main content

The struggle is real.

So, this morning both kids were up at half five.  This in itself isn't exactly noteworthy, as it's happened frequently enough in the past that we're pretty used to it.  What is worth noting is that this morning, apparently I lost my ever-loving mind.

The kids were both dressed, provided with breakfast, and playing nicely together (for a change), so I decided in my ill-timed optimistic state of mind that I'd pop upstairs and get started on one of the myriad jobs I'd set for my morning sans bratlets.  I got stuck in sorting through bits in the bedroom, feeling massively productive and accomplished.  This should have been my first red flag.

The occasional shriek from downstairs notwithstanding, I motored through the sorting and made quite a dent in the chaos.  I ruthlessly tossed out stuff that had been hanging around in the bedroom for goodness knows how long.  I cleaned surfaces, chased dust and cobwebs, put things in their rightful places.

That's when I heard the elephant ascending the staircase.

Said elephant this morning was hers truly, the Madam, and the tidings she bore were not exactly auspicious.  In her delicate paws she clutched the cheery red lid of the toy teapot that inhabits the bratlets' play kitchen.  In the cheery red lid of the toy teapot was a puddle of blue goo.  Said blue goo turned out upon further inspection to be toothpaste.

I'm sure you can guess how quickly I made it downstairs to inspect the damage.  Damage there was.  Not only had the boy beast put toothpaste in the teapot, he had also been in the sink in the bathroom.  The tap was still running, and the puddles in the floor showed exactly where he'd been as his feet (now without the socks he'd been previously wearing as he'd soaked them during his travels) had left trails for me to follow.  With a towel, of course.  He'd poured water in every available container he could get his hands on.

It took me a solid twenty minutes to clean up the carnage he'd created, almost exactly the amount of time it had taken him to make it in the first place.  I'm still pretty sure it wasn't worth the tidying spree I'd managed upstairs, and I'm pretty sure I won't attempt it again anytime soon.

Lessons learned?  I can't turn my back.  I can't look away.  He cannot be trusted.

Le sigh.


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Sprogging.

That's right, folks. The Browns are up the duff. *grin* Shocked? That's okay, so are we. Seems I'm actually related to my mother (who got pregnant while on the pill more than once). Apparently I'm four or five weeks, which may seem like jumping the gun announcement-wise, but I think it'll be interesting to catalogue the changes to my body for future reference... you know, in case in a year or two I forget how miserable I was and decide we need another, I'll have a reminder of what it was like the first time... Heh, just kidding. At least, for now. Physical symptoms aren't too bad at the moment. I've not had any morning sickness (touch wood), but my appetite is very odd. Half the time I'm starving to death, half the time I'm not hungry at all (like now, while Paul is eating lunch and I'm having a glass of orange and peach juice). I've got low level cramps pretty constantly, and it feels like there's a fishhook in my belly but

Livin' that quarantine life.

After the last post aired I had quite a few people get in touch with me to make sure I'm okay.  I want to say thanks.  It's really lovely to know that I have so many people in my life that care. My first appointment with the new psychiatrist (the old one's boss) was bumped back a week, then had to happen over the phone.  By the time it took place, I had (given my GP's carefree attitude to prescriptions) been stable on my medication for about a month and a half.  I did manage to get the 24hr blood test the old psychiatrist demanded, and because I'd successfully gotten my meds I was able to undergo the test under controlled circumstances to prove that my blood pressure is manageable while medicated.  It is.  I'm fine. The call was painless.  He had my notes, but had a few questions.  I answered them as calmly as possible, carefully not going into too much detail about my dissatisfaction with the old doctor.  He did delve into that area himself a little, which

Lazy weekend.

Bliss. Sun, moglets, sun, loads of good food, sun, and Himself. Good combo, let me tell you. We let the moggies out sans leads for the first time on Thursday (sporting their new collars and tags, and freshly dosed with flea drops), just for about an hour to see how they handled it. Both of them tore headlong into the flowerbeds in search of new smells and the occasional bug to eat. On Friday I left the back doors of the conservatory flung open to let the seriously amazing weather in and the felines out. This turned into me sitting in the conservatory for longer than I'd care to admit, book discarded to one side because watching them chase bees, butterflies and each other was more amusing. Saturday morning dawned clear and sunny, so I hied myself down to the conservatory (as I woke up around half six and thought Himself might rather sleep a LITTLE longer...) for a bowl of muesli, a cup of peppermint tea, some reading and yet more book neglecting as I watched the lunatics conti