Excuse me while I just have a quiet scream. Christ. Ker-rist. (large expulsion of air in excessively drawn out sigh.)
The boys saw fit to rouse us from slumber at the hideous hour of 5:50am. OH and I did our level best to pretend they weren’t in bed with us and continue to lie there motionless with our eyes closed; which was somewhat tricky, what with DB1 hissing ‘are we going downstairs yet?/ can I have my brekkie? DB2’s awake’ repeatedly and DB2 clambering over my face and drilling his sharp little elbows directly into my ribcage. We gave up after a while, when we noticed that our eyes weren’t actually just closed anymore, but squinched up tightly with despair and repressed exasperation.
DB2 then produced his usual unexplained wailing fit at breakfast. We’ve had this about five mornings on the trot now, and whilst we do feel really sorry for him, at the same time, we also feel sorry for ourselves and our eardrums, having to suffer such a deafening onslaught at so early a time of the day. Seriously, our boy can make a noise that would challenge a verbose trumpeting elephant. Each morning, as his first bite of weetabix enters his little gummy mouth, we watch said mouth open slowly into a veritable cavern, and we are filled with dread and a desire to get the earplugs out. Amazingly though, he still always manages to polish off two weetabixes, a yoghurt, a whole slice of toast and a banana in between howls. And then promptly wants a big cuddle (just as we start to eat ours…humph.) Aw, but we do feel sad for him. Him and his little sore gums, which just won’t give those teeth a chance to pop out. I joked the other day that perhaps, due to his voracious eating habits, he’d actually already ground them away, faster than they could grow. Note to self- check whether that can actually happen. He eats a LOT.
After a brief, and entirely futile attempt at work in the morning, in addition to attempting to sort out serious problems with the company who supply some of our goods (don’t even get me started on THAT monumental screw up…) I decided to head off to M&S, to buy some food for Db2’s birthday celebrations at the weekend. We had lots of lovely free vouchers from signing up to Sky, the boys were doing my head in, quite literally, so it seemed like an intelligent move. It is at this point I would like you to add in the sound effect that you hear on Family Fortunes when someone answers wrongly. Big, big error of judgement.
DB2 nodded off in the car, and quite naturally, was monumentally pissed off when I roused him on our arrival. We headed over to get a trolley, as we had lots to buy. Fecking typical, it was one of those bastard trollies that required a pound coin to release it. And guess who didn’t have a pound coin.
So we headed into TK Maxx next door, to buy a feather duster (I did actually need one, I don’t just randomly buy cleaning aids. I’m odd, but not in that way) and to get change from a tenner. All the time, struggling to hold on to a wriggling DB2 and pull DB1’s trousers up, which kept falling down to his knees. Now, last time I was in there, they had an abundance of feather dusters, in all different shapes and sizes. Not today. Today there was one bloody feather duster left at the back of the shelf. Broken.
Not to be detered, I took it to the checkout. A sizeable lady with a bosom to rival a dual ski slope behind the counter noted the broken condition and lack of label with which to scan it through, and scowled at me. ‘Only one on the shelf was it?’ she barked at me. I replied in the affirmative, despite having an overwhelming urge to say ‘no, I went for the busted up one deliberately, as I really like buying broken things’.
However, despite this confirmation, she still decided to go and check. Fifteen minutes later, after she had slowly manoeuvred her substantial bulk up the stairs and then back again, she nodded curtly, to acknowledge that actually, I had been correct, and there were no more up there. I resisted the urge to shout ‘TOLD YOU SO!’ at the top of my lungs, especially as I was more trying to focus on DB1 clambering over the chairs and pulling clothes off the railing, and DB2 fidgeting to such an extreme that my arm was about to drop off with a buildup of lactic acid from restraining him.
Still, it only cost £1.50, which I was rather pleased with. Broken handle aside. And the required pound coin was finally obtained.
Anyway, back to M&S. DB1 is very fascinated with letters at the moment, so we took a while to point out the M and the S on the sign. He gets very pleased when he recognises new letters, bless him. But honestly, why oh why, is it always my kids that muddle things up at the wrong moment? For no sooner had we entered the shop, then Db1 decided to announce that his ‘mummy really loved S & M’. Awesome. My reputation grows by the day!