Result, mornings' objectives achieved. Manage to get the wee ones out of the house this morning without reducing either mini monster (or self) to hysterical tears because
- "shoes do not put themselves on",
- hitting with hairbrushes is not allowed (at least not outside of mummy and daddys' bedroom and only on a friday post- pinot grigio)
- Cheerios are not for ears (aural consumption does not contribute to recommended daily intake of b vitamins and minerals and we need all the help we can get in this house)
- mummys' wardrobe has mysteriously morphed into 'clothes from the set of loose women/cash in the attic/emmerdale. Only available outfits are mustard coloured, (really - it looked so lovely and retro in oxfam. Even plastic mannequins can carry it off better these days. Cue large amount of unattractive self pity and vow to self - only 1 block of Green & Blacks a day and MUCH more fake tan from now on.) student stylee - more yampy trampy than yummy mummy, or
flabtastic - say NO more. The last man who did is definitely no longer standing.
Anyhow, large monster at school learning how to stick cardboard tubes together ("it's a space rocket mummy, haven't you noticed the propulsionfuelsticksuperwhammer?"). Small gremlin sleeping. Get to thinking, how to fill this two hour slot with a more meaninful activity than yet another attempt at creating order. Decide on a new career as an adult phoneline operator. What's not to like? Fit around the school run? Check. Stimulating and mind expanding? Check. ish. Friend suggests there are worse ways to make money. Am appalled by the suggestion of loose morals. Am driven not by financial motives - i'll do anything for a pound of grapes. Purely a need to contribute to society in a useful manner. And anything, anything has to be better than Judge Judy. Even Colin from Bolton in his spandex.
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