It’s been one of those days again. You know the sort. The kind of day where you feel almost as though you are on a treadmill, but on the wrong bit of it. Ie, the bit which means you are going to get flicked off across the floor at 90 mph any moment now.
Yep, that was me today. Permanently on the brink of (metaphorically and literally) falling on my arse.
The day began very vehemently on the wrong foot with DB1’s terrifying tantrum at breakfast. The house echoed with the sound of his outraged, vitriolic howling, because (wait for it) we had run out of apple juice. Just as we calmed him down after that, with bountiful and excessive doses of smoothie (normally reserved as a treat, but sod it, we were desperate) and promises of purchasing more juice during the day, we then made the grevious mistake of mentioning that it was a nursery day. Cue more over the top screaming.
That was ‘fall on arse’ situation number one.
The second was the horrible news later on that day that the press that Pip’s Garden was meant to be getting in a popular parenting magazine (ahem) had been diminished to a mere text mention, despite poor business partner nearly rupturing a blood vessel to get the effing magazine the image they wanted (seriously, calling in favours left, right and centre with studios and photographers…the works.) That seriously hacked me off, and that was ‘fall on arse’ number two.
The third was thanks to DB2. Oh yes. Thank you, thank you, thank you, DB2, with your cheerful round head and impish grin. Your grin was not appreciated today. Not after it made me waste 90 minutes of my day. I noticed, while buying a present in a shop earlier, that Db2 had pulled a sock off. Tutting, I leant down and picked it up, not thinking much of it. After all…that’s just what he does. He lives to remove his socks.
It was only after leaving the shop that it suddenly dawned on me, that to remove his sock, he would have had to remove his shoe first. This realisation brought about a number of expletives.
For ninety bloody minutes I paced the streets of Exeter, desperately retracing my steps, trying to locate that sodding shoe, all the time with DB2 cooing and gurgling with clearly unabashed glee. He was alright. He was under his rain cover. I, on the other hand, was looking more and more like a wet look poodle. It was raining pretty hard. In the end, I located the shoe, where some kind person had balanced it on top of a ‘red man/ green man’ button by a zebra crossing. It was kind of filling with water, but I thought Db2 had it coming, so I shoved the damp shoe on his foot regardless. And yes, at thisbpoint, I did do it a little vindictively. I admit. Bad mummy.
I could go on. The day has been a myriad of irritating little events that have held things up, made things difficult and served no other purpose than to wind me up.
But tomorrow is another day, eh? And so now, I retreat to bed…