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Happy Half Term Monday!

Happy half term Monday everyone! Well, it’s not Monday anymore is it… ah who gives a shit? It’s Internet Land where time and truth are flexible. Actually, on that note I’m going to tell you that it’s a Monday in 2027 and I’m still looking 38, dramatically better in fact because I’ve been wrapped in seaweed and snail slime for the last 10 years, been solely fed by a drip turning me into a willowy, un-cellulitey goddess and gurus from far and wide have been whispering sweet intelligent nothings into my ear, therefore expanding my knowledge and brain further than any before. I am in short, amazing. At 12 and 16, both my children are at Oxford, and having won the lottery Dan and I live in a mansion surrounded by large beautiful gardens, orchards, rolling hills which just happens to be next door to Daniel Craig.

Believe me? If you never question the Tweets of a certain orange someone, then I’m sure you think it’s all true.

Anyhoo, I digress, here in the UK it’s half term. So how’s it going? Are you at work? Are you at home? Are you on holiday? Are you none-the-wiser to half term? Whatever you’re doing this fine week I hope you are enjoying yourself, helping out your fellow human being and spreading kindness and love.

Me? Well, I need to ramp up my kindness because I forgot about it this morning – I’m having a ‘yin yang’ day. You know the ones, they’re the days when it starts off a bit crap and then gets progressively shittier, then there are some great bits and then there’s shit bits again, good bits again, an almighty fuck-up before bedtime and then finally, precious sleep.

So, I woke up this morning feeling bloated and fat because of the whole tube of Pringles I ate last night. I looked in the mirror and counted 3 more spots around my mouth (I’m sure it’s punishment for the Pringles… and the ½ bottle of red wine… and the bag of chocolate Mini Eggs I devoured). Feeling gross I dressed in a suitably understated and thoughtless outfit because I didn’t care about what I looked like, but I did really, which pissed me off, so the oversized pastel pink t-shirt, old blue skinny jeans (that felt tighter than usual) and over-stretched black jumper (which made me look bigger than I was already feeling) taunted me in the full length mirror; “You look even fatter and spottier in this outfit, but you just keep on pretending you don’t care… we all know that it’s not true and every time you look in the mirror we’re going to remind you how shit you feel”. Then they did this evil laugh which pissed me off further, the skinny jeans were the worst, they really mocked me so I flipped them the bird and turned my back on the asshole mirror, who was laughing at me too.

Trying to ignore my nasty clothes and heartless mirror, I attempted to round the kids up to get to an early podiatrist appointment for my flat-footed son. I gave my son his daily paracetamol to help manage the pain he gets thanks to his hypermobility and gave my daughter her daily dose of iron because of her anaemia. Then through the red wine, Pringle and Mini Egg haze swirling about my pea sized brain I realised I’d mixed up their medicines and had to call them back to start over. My son thought that because I had given him a tiny dose of iron it gave him licence to pretend to be a Strong Man and proceeded to throw cushions around the room and ignore my numerous requests for him to get dressed. Half an hour from the first “get dressed” request, both kids where dressed. Now pushed for time we all cleaned our teeth haphazardly whilst I ran about packing a bag and the kids ran about watching Tom and Jerry.

We had 10 minutes to spare when my phone rings mid foundation application. I put down my trowel and answered the phone to Dan. He was asking me about an important decision he had to make by the end of the day when Ben started to scream so I panicked and rushed into the living room only to find him battling with a Lego car he can’t put back together after his sister smashed it. I tried and ignore the screams, carried on slapping on my makeup whilst having an important discussion with Dan, then Dan decides he can’t handle to noise of his first born squealing in the background and said he’d call me back.

5 minutes to go (I hate being late) so I ran upstairs to get a pair of socks and when passing the full length mirror it practically doubled over with laughter. I had toothpaste all over the overstretched jumper and I also notice that my too-tight skinny blue jeans have flipped the bird back at me by pointing out I have a very inappropriate camel toe on display. Shit! I could just about deal with looking gross and being covered in toothpaste but

yinyang2-jpg

Yin Yang, camel toe style… sorry!

I couldn’t go out with my bits popping out between my legs, each labia separated from each other as if they’re about to divorce! Time was of the essence so I swiftly undressed out of the gross, camel-toe outfit and into the first thing I could grab: smart black jeans, white shirt, faux silk cardigan thingy and a scarf to hide the foundation tidemark I made on the neckline of the white shirt when I pulled it over my head in a hurry. I went back out to the full length mirror which is still trying to regain its breath from laughing at me, wiping away a tear of joy. It then took another look at me and buckled over again helpless with laughter, now I am ridiculously overdressed, but it’s time to leave so I give two fingers up to the mirror, fly down the stairs, grab the kids and whip on their coats.

 

“Ben, shoes on” I ordered, but I was ignored because the ceiling was far too interesting for him not to look at. “Ben!” I shouted angrily “Shoes on!” (I wasn’t really shouting at him, I was shouting at the mirror but the mirror was upstairs and Ben wasn’t, so he got ‘it’ instead). Ben turned on me red-faced “Why are you shouting? That’s not nice!” and started to cry. As best as I can muster at that moment I quickly gave him apologies and loose sympathy whilst manoeuvring him toward the shoe cupboard. He finally put on his shoes and I rushed back upstairs retrieving his sister who fled up the stairs when I shouted.

“Let’s put your trainers on, Edi” I said firmly, mindful not to shout this time. “No! I don’t  want my trainers. I want my pretty shoes”. Realising then was not the time to pick this battle because by my watch we should have left 5 minutes ago, I grabbed one of her pretty shoes out of the cupboard but couldn’t see the other one, so I hurled shoes this way and that in the darkness of the vortex/cupboard looking for the fecking pretty shoe. It wasn’t there. “Edi” I begged “Please wear your trainers”, “No” she screamed and arched her back so much so that she slid off the bottom step and onto the hallway floor. Being a patient and understanding person, I hoisted her under my arm and stormed out to the car ignoring her screeches. One of my neighbours poked their head between a gap in the bushes to see if I was strangling seagulls again and then quickly retreated when they caught a glimpse of my “fuck off” face. I tangled with my shoeless daughter to get her into her car seat and noticed the other “pretty shoe” on the floor of my filthy car, so I legged it back into the house to get the other one but forgot about it whilst I hustled Ben out of the house and into the car. I then got into the car and realised that I didn’t have the first pretty shoe, my bag, my phone and had neglected to shut and lock up the front door.  I loudly huffed back into the house and muttered bad swear words to make myself feel better, I grabbed my bag and Edi’s other shoe but my phone was nowhere to be seen so I puffed back to the car with whinging children in it, dumped the found stuff in the car and went back in to the house to hunt for my un-found phone.

I was now over 10 minutes late in leaving. Have I told you I really hate being late? “Where the fuck are you?” I yell out to my unresponsive phone, then a stroke of genius hit me – I’ll call it from the land line and listen out for its ring. Silence. Then Ben burst in through the front door “Mummy! Your phone’s ringing in the car!” I hung up, hustled Ben back into the car and rummaged in my shit storm of a car for my invisible phone. Once found, I shoved the damn thing in my coat pocket and hurled myself into the car and switched on the ignition. 15 minutes late. I really, really hate being late – am I repeating myself? “Bollocks!” I thought to myself but then again at least we’re actually leaving. Then I remembered that I hadn’t shut or locked up the front door, again. “OH MY GOD!” I growled at the top of my voice. I stormed up to the front door, slammed it shut, locked the bugger up, and then we actually left.

On the way to the flat-foot doctor  I had to keep telling Edi not to say “Oh my God” and had to explain to a questioning Ben that “Yes, you’re right, I shouldn’t have said it but sometimes grown-ups make mistakes, but that doesn’t mean I expect to hear you or your sister say the same things I say”.
“What about please and thank you? You say that all the time, like you say oh my God all the time”.
We have lots of other suchlike decreasing circles of conversation before we arrive 20 minutes late for the appointment. It turned out it didn’t matter because they were running late too – yay! Tension gone.

Flat foot doctor is happy with Ben’s progress – brilliant news! Then we left (in good mood) to visit a beautiful Snow Drop garden where the kids ran around and had the best time. Wonderful. Then Ben pretended to shoot a group of elderly people with a stick and Edi screamed “Oh my God!” when he did it. So I escaped to the café where I ate cake, felt bloated and fat again and then drove home, in sleeping-children-silence. Bliss.

Happy Half term Monday everyone (or whatever day it is with you).

P.S. I have destroyed the camel toe jeans.

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