It’s been a terrible day. Everybody in my care has had an injury. The Diva fell over her own feet on the way to school and got her uniform covered in mud. She was wearing the Mr Bump sticker of clumsiness when I picked her up, so there had been another accident at school. Then there was a trampoline related incident after school, between her and younger niece involving the Diva’s head and my niece’s tooth. There was blood. It was bad. In a grand finale, the Hulk picked up a jug on the table while I was in the kitchen serving dinner. He emptied the entire 2 litre water jug on to the dining room table. The kids all screamed, everyone was wet, I came running and in my haste accidently knocked him off his chair where he landed head first on the wooden floor. He has an egg on his head the size of a walnut. It is entirely my fault. I feel like the worst mother in the world.
In my previous life as a recruitment consultant, a bad day would be washed away with a few enormous glasses of Sancerre in a bar at about 6.30pm. I would probably be wearing some high heels and a suit (which might even be clean, with no trace of snot) and I’d be eating a Parma-ham and balsamic vinegar salad which I would find to be entirely satisfying. Today the end of the day leaves me feeling slightly shell-shocked. Sadly that glass of wine now costs more than my weekly entertainment budget, and the thought of a few bits of ham and lettuce for tea makes me feel achingly sad. The end of another challenging day is now marked by the following activities:
- Put kids to bed.
- Send absent husband a text summarising the day, so he knows what to expect. Today’s text read “Children injured. Not serious. Now in bed. Do not to return home without both doughnuts and a straight jacket, I am unable to do the washing up”
- Open cupboards desperately seeking alcohol. Am unable to find anything. Finally notice the rank bottle of 3-for-£10 wine that was relegated to “cooking wine”. I am in no mood to wash up, so pour wine into the only available glass – a pint glass (it’s probably for the best)
- Await return of husband with medicinal doughnut.
- Watch an old episode of Midsummer Murders under a slanket wearing an old fleece wrapped around my feet as I can’t possibly be expected to locate my slippers.
- Become impatient.
- In absence of the doughnut, eat half a packet of wotsits the toddler didn’t finish at lunchtime.
- Realise that this is the culinary equivalent of having a one night stand. Disappointingly unsatisfying, and I now feel sullied and soiled. Sadly both me and the Wotsits know this isn’t the final chapter in our dirty love affair, we will steal loaded glances at each other across the room at children’s parties. We will occasionally meet up in secret when backs are turned. Don’t judge me.
- Scowl at husband as he returns empty handed from work at 9.30pm.
- Do not discuss the illicit daliance with orange snack goods.
- Try not to be annoyed about the lack of doughnut. Tell him how I have broken his children. Pretend to listen while he moans about contract negotiations, difficult clients and traffic.
- Heat up his dinner.
- Add hot water to the children’s cold bath water. Settle in and finally start relaxing.
- Remember that the toddler did a massive wee in the water earlier.
- Lie in the piss-water reading Heat magazine until I nod off and drop the magazine in the water.
Goodbye sun, we’ll have more fun tomorrow now its time to say, hello moon. Goodbye sun, hello moon………