Archive for work at home mum
The Bad Day
Posted by: | CommentsToday, I was all inspired and motivated and I Had. A. List!
A LIST, people.
It had the things I needed to do today. It was a reasonable sized list, and not at all overwhelming. Not even pushing the boundaries of If Something Fucks Up There Is No Way I Will Finish This!
It. Was. Doable.
Whilst not visualising or “attracting” fuckups (for the record I don’t believe in the law of attraction, per se I had left room for some unexpected occurrences. I had a backup list of things to do for when I completed this list by mid-morning.
Of course, as I was dealing with technology, things did fuck up. They fucked right up.
Not being a technical kind of person, I was required to call upon my technical kind of person (whom I love and appreciate to bits! If only she knew how much!)
When I say things fucked up, I really mean they Fucked. UP!
And the two minute job that turned into a 20 minute job ended up being a 9 hour job.
After crying twice, Grumpy Pants called me for lunch. The afternoon continued. And became evening.
I cried another couple of times. This was really getting to me.
He was nice enough to bring me in a vodka-mango slushie. It was delicious.
Another cry, dinner, an incredibly brain-hurty conversation over dinner when Godzilla announced “Did you know no one can rent cat food?” and back to work.
I do know technical shit happens, and that it can take up to 9 hours to fix a titchy little problem. It wasn’t so much that things weren’t working, per se, that was the problem.
What makes me sad is everything underlying it. The fact I have to rely so heavily on someone else does not bode well with me. I have successfully retained that 3 year old “I do it MYSELF!” attitude.
(This is not necessarily a good thing.)
The fact that I am, by association of technical fuckups, letting people down – I hate this. People are expecting something and not only is it not doing what they are expecting, they expect me to provide it for them (in a nice way, of course – they are very nice people) but I have failed at something … I don’t like this.
Mostly, I hate that I am imposing on someone.
And, the stupid shit is taking me away from the stuff I enjoy doing and the stuff I want to do and the other stuff I want to give to people … to make a difference in their lives.
That’s what makes it overwhelming and difficult to deal with; all those associated, outlying factors that are not that obvious to people. All they can see is “tech shit happens, why are you upset?”
Before I could think too much about it, however, I ended up covered in wee.
Sadly, I wish I could state it was my own wee, a result of having consumed far too many vodka-mango slushies. Well, not that I wish I could, but … you know … it wasn’t actually my wee.
It was, however, the next bearable thing, as far as Being Wee-ed On By Someone Else Goes, and I stripped off my top (wee down one arm), pants (wee down one leg) and my slippers (wee on the right) after Chippie, despite sitting on the toilet, managed to hit both of us in the space of seconds.
I returned to my office (not naked, I did get dressed, again) and attempted to try to get some of the crap finished.
I did a bit of a review, because, to be honest, I was waiting for tech person to do her magic and felt it best to shut the fuck up, not touch anything and leave her to it … so I looked at something else to kill the time (and ensure I didn’t touch anything or distract her).
Despite all that had gone on, I realise I did actually manage to get stuff done.
- I wrote 5 articles
- I wrote a blog post or two
- I started a document
- I sent off a list to one of my contacts
- I did two loads of washing
- I managed a shower (at least, I think I did … it’d been a long day I can’ t remember if the shower was yesterday or this morning …)
- I had a vodka-mango slushie
- I was wee-ed on by someone else
Maybe the day wasn’t so bad at all?
A Kid Full Day
Posted by: | CommentsTuesdays are, generally, fraught with frustration as I have a full Monday, alone, in which to embark onreducing my To Do List (still in the form of a book) to a small list, and I find myself on a roll which comes to a smashing standstill at around 5.30am on Tuesday morning. This is precisely the time Grumpy’s alarm goes off and reminds me I have a day, alone with Toddler and any plans I have to be remotely productive at anything at all are shattered to smithereens.
Like my sleep at that time.
Today, I got the Triple Whammy. Both older kids are home from school as the teachers require this day to get pissed and bitch about the kids write school reports. I am fairly sure that when I went to school, the teachers were capable of fitting this important task into their working hours. But maybe I was delighted at having yet another day off school that I can’t recall why I was actually having one.
Anyhoo, I needed to get out of the house as a) if I stayed at home I’d attempt to get some work done and become increasingly frustrated with the copious interruptions, especiallly as all electronic games and devises had been banned due to a Late Last Week Pissing Me Off Session, and b) they’d go stir crazy.
A fine art is this desire to get children out of the house, as you must consider things such as cost, travel distance, how many snacks you can pack, and whether you are able to find a Suitable To All activity. Given I have one child (which is technically both of them) who disagrees with the other (also the two of them) on principal alone, this makes the last point extremely difficult to acheive.
So I decided we would go to Werribee Open Range Zoo as a) it would kill a good part of the day in travel, just in case we had to leave early, we wouldn’t be home that early and b) because my brain couldn’t think beyond that. Also, I had no cash in my purse, and probably bugger all in the bank account, but did have a FOTZ card, so no funds were required. I also chose this destination as it would give them something to bitch about, and given they ahd started whinging and complaining about going out for the day before I’d even mentioned it, I thought I may as well get my money’s worth.
Off we go, rugged up (well, I was and Chippie was, the other two had to fend for themselves because there are only so many times one can say “Do you have your warm jacket and beanie and scarf?” before requiring institutionalisation) and snacked up. It’s cold, but sunny. Until we near our destination where the already revoltingly low temperature plummets several degrees and it starts raining.
Of course it started raining. What would I do should my day go as planned?
Whilst I’m contemplating the idea of turning back towards home, and subsequently preventing myself from curling up into the foetal position as we’re driving up the freeway doing 100 kmph at the thought of this option, I’m also reassuring Monkeky Boy that we won’t be going on the “stupid boring bus thing” that they have. He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like animals as a general rule, so driving around in a bus to look at them is not really on his List Of Fun Stuff To Do. Annoying the crap out of me is, however.
We arrive, it’s freezing and I have a moment where I actually think my tits have frozen off, but thankfully realise I have just gone numb from cold from the neck down. And the neck up, come to think of it. Flash my card and am advised that the Safari Bus is now included in this card and would I like her to book us on it.
Ummmmmm. It’s cold and raining and I would like to spend at least the same amount of time that it took us to get there looking around the place. So I agree. Much to Monkey Boy’s dismay.
I suggest wandering around to look at some animals. They wanted to eat. The snacks and lunch came out. At 10.13am. Then Chippie fell down the stairs on the playground. And the alarm went off telling us it was time to go back to the Safari Tour. Not before we saw a lion weeing though. Lucky.
Monkey Boy was more amenable to the bus tour, if only to warm up. As per usual, I got the spot smack bang in the middle because I am nice and let the kids sit near the windows. Also, I invariably pick the wrong window. The Wrong Window being either the side where there are no animals at all to speak of to view, or the side where all the animals congregate and I’m squished my three children, all vying for prime spot to see and poking me in the head with their pointy elbows and boobs and/or vagina with their knobbly knees.
It’s just safer in the middle.
Monkey Boy, much to his delight (not) got the Lots Of Animals side and offered to take photos.
We managed to snap:
A very bad photo, through the rain splattered window, of a bison doing a wee;
An antelopes bum, and;
A remarkable photo, taken by Godzilla this time, of a zebra’s bottom.
The sun had come out by the time we finished, so I managed to delay the inevitable Return Home by convincing them to have another walk around and look at more animals. Which resulted in more food eating. Of course. It is a well known fact that you go and visit things like zoos and museums and the like to spend the entire time eating.
Arrive home, I fall asleep on the couch – it had been a long and tiring day, after all. Commence cooking up a big pot of chicken soup, as tit-freezing-off weather puts me in the mood for such things, as Grumpy advises me we have some steak that needs cooking and eating, tonight!
*sigh*
Invent, in my head, some new beefy pasta dish, as Monkey Boy advises me I’m very good at making up dinners, and Grumpy is screwing up his nose and making suggestions.
Feel all domestic godessy (or is that “godlessy”??) as I have a put of soup on the go at the same time as I’m giving Monkey Boy some much needed assistnace with his homework, and creating from scratch some beef based pasta sauce that isn’t bolognaise, for a change, and a third pot on for pasta.
Complete with a dash of cream, a heaped teaspoon of sweet paprika, a pinch of seasoning and a considerable amount of “Oh, fuck! I thought I turned that down!” and a good lashing of “Shit, shit, shit! Fucking. Fuck it!”
Hmm. Perhaps I should have had the wine for myself??
I’m not doing this any more. I hate it. I quit!
Posted by: | CommentsThose of you who have heard me speak, or know my story at least, will know what a horrible, crappy, shitty, “I want to die” experience I had when I first became a Mum.
(For, like, mooooooooonts! Years even!)
I hated it, the guilt, the feelings of inadequacy and just knowing, without a doubt, just how hopeless I was as a mum. Because everyone told me so.
I dealt with it … long story, will tell it to you one day 
Then I had this parenting gig down pat. I read the books, found the philosophy that suited me, used the information and techniques in the book on my son, and voila! It worked! Hurrah. And I was the best mum in the world!
Then I had number two. And because I was so awesome at applying these techniques and they worked (cos I was so awesome at parenting remember?) I used them on Son Number Two.
Who, it seems, didn’t particularly like these particular techniques and took great delight (I”m sure) in making them work against me, and having a lovely time doing so.
I had to suck up all I’d been telling myself and quit trying to force something onto him that was leaving me in a sobbing puddle on the floor and him laughing gleefully as he tossed toys onto the wall unit and threw broccoli in my glass of wine.
In short. I quit.
And I’m quitting again now. No, not mothering. I feel I have that relatively well “handled” (the term is relative – I am ok with who I am, how I parent and how I manage and deal with stuff. Sure, I Foetal Position occasionally, but I’m ok with me. Mostly).
My business – I quit my business.
(Yes, I have a business – am not just a mummy blogger – it supports other mums and provides resources and articles and info and a whole heap of other stuff. Real Mums and Bad Mother’s Club. Check them out)
For years, I’ve been working my arse off for bugger all money and against loads of criticism and haters and all kinds of negativity, to support Australian Mums who are not “bad” but feel like they are, and feel inadequate and guilty and like they can’t do anything right. Who are constantly bombarded with messages telling them how they’re doing it wrong, how they “should” be doing it and just how fucked up their kids are gonna be by the time they finish with them if they keep going.
I’ve listened to people who tell me I can’t be who I am, and that what I’m doing is “wrong” and harmful. And you’ve read before about the offensive stuff people have said to me.
Meh, whatever.
But what I realise I have been doing is a whole heap of stuff that I don’t enjoy doing.
Possibly because I listened to the wrong people or person (a great learning experience, though!). Or because I’m hanging onto stuff like I did with my second son – the stuff that didn’t work, because I wanted to believe I was ok and that this is how this is DONE!
Basically, I’ve been working my bum off for little income because … well, I’m not sure why ….
So, I hereby announce I’m not doing it any more.
I. Quit!
There. You have it in writing. I’m done.
I quit doing all the stuff I was doing (including some of the stuff included in the membership) that I hate. I’m now doing the stuff I enjoy.
I quit sitting back, seething and swearing at my computer or throwing books across the room, when I read yet another “expert” say you too can have a “happy baby/night of sleep” or “learn to trust your intuition”, but only so long as you do what they say and only ever that. I’m taking a stand and providing resources and information that not only grasp the concept of reality but take it into consideration in your life. Oh, and intuition is what your gut tells you, not what someone else thinks is “right” and has a publishing contract to prove it.
(For the record, publishing contracts don’t make you an expert. Just saying.)
I quit fighting with progess in community sites, and fighting with a current site who’s software hates me and breaks my head and leaves me swearing and in tears a lot. I’m moving on to something better. And less stressful.
I quit constantly making excuses for others, and accept that there are just some people who have and will continue to let me down. Not for any personal reason. Just they have “stuff” they need to deal with and that’s ok. But at some point I have to accept that it is what it is. I’m doing that right now.
Mostly – and I feel really bad for this – I quit sitting back and watching Mums struggle with stuff, when I have access to the resources that will help them. I’ve been scared to, worried what people will think of me, worried they’ll start calling me an “expert”, when I so clearly am not. I can’t sit back and watch people struggle. I quit doing that, too.
Also, I really had better quit writing this update, because I sent the family out for the day so that I could work on all those things I am now doing, once I quit. Which is now. I quit, right now.
Watch this space … brand spanking new site (not this one sadly, but the Real Mums/Bad Mother’s Club one), fabulous new community site which will consist of the incredible and amazingly awesome community we have already created on the “old” site, and a brand spanking new membership!
I can’t wait.
Now that I’ve Quit, I’m relieved … and very, very excited!
(The update that the subscibers to my business e-newsletter were sent can be viewed here)
Yesterday’s undies and a bunch of bloggers
Posted by: | CommentsI had the absolute pleasure, today, of attending a Bloggers Brunch, organised and hosted by Room To Grow TV and Kids Business
Better still I was one of the speakers during the morning, where it was my duty to provide a five minute talk designed to inspire and motivate.
All of which I had to do on myself, given Chippie’s propensity to work his way into our bed at some stupid hour. What happens from then is anybody’s guess, as the kid has no consistency about him. Some days he can repeatedly come in, wearing us down till we let him stay in, other’s he’ll happily be placed back in his own bed. Sometimes he’ll want to go back to his own bed himself. Once – and only once – did he not come in at all.
Given the importance of the day for me, he chose to keep me as awake as possible during those stupid hours. Also, Grumpy, just yesterday, knowing I had to be elsewhere at 8am, had agreed to an extra shift, requiring his elsewhereness to be 7am.
Much swearing was had, particulary after he phoned to aske me what I planned to do about organising the reallocation of the kids before the childcare centre opened and school started. I tried very hard to allude to the fact that he could bloody well sort it given I’d given him a month’s notice, but he only gave me 4 hours, to no avail.
Raced around, barking orders at children and trying to decide what to wear. Not having a full length mirror at my disposal, nor my wits about me, I resorted to the views of the children; “this top, or this one?” and I had to endure screwed up noses, giggling at being able to see my belly button, having “I can see your BOOBS!” yelled at me, asked when I’m having another baby cos “you’re pregNET!”, the likelihood that the enire neighbourhood heard my yelling “I”m not PREGNANT, I’m JUST FAT, ok!”, all whilst trying to get lunches made, children dressed and childcare bag packed.
Finally, I was dressed and received several more inspiring and motiviating comments from my gorgeous children, like “I can see your fat in that top” before kicking them out of the car as it sped by another school mums house.
On top of that, I hadn’t had much coffee. Or food. Chippie had eaten all but two bites of my toast.
Kid free and amoungst a bunch of understanding an empathetic women was enough; without even discussing my morning. I did catch a glimpse of the guest list whilst checking in (really, just to get the free and much needed coffee voucher before someone was seriously injured and/or I fell to the floor, convulsing due to lack of caffiene) and was a little bit in awe at the calibre of attendees at the Brunch. Thankfully, my level of fatigue prevented me from appreciating the calibre and I was able to go about my business.
I was also speaking alongside some exceptionally incredible and inspring women, including my two good friends Renee Mayne (the Bra Queen) and Alli Price of Motivating Mum - which was a bit scary. But also laods of fun. LOADS!
I did get to do my talk, which I managed to get through, hopefully successfully convincing the audience I wasn’t actually a super mum, because I’m not even though some people like to think I am cos I do lots.
I do think they were convinced when, yes, my undies did fall out of the leg of my jeans.
*sigh*
Really. They did.
Food was provided, enabling me to quash my emotions by eating – hurrah! – and even better, becuase lately my diet seems to be consisting more and more of food that has been held in the hand of a toddler for up to half an hour, before being shoved into my face and force fed to me.
It was a nice change.
Then we got to play with some toys and take some home. I chose a Little Tikes train thing with a handle and a replica DHL truck, from Bruder, which was really awesome and has a great replacement gaurantee, although they were a bit unsure about whether it being hurled from the back door in a fit of temper voided the warranty or not.
Of course, they were promptly whisked out of the back of the car and released from their boxes and bindings by my children and I never got the chance to play with them. Humph.
All I got was the opportunity to eventually get around to washing some undies.
Big thanks to Kids Business and Room To Grow for a remarkable event and for not only having me speak at it, but appreciating it and giving me great feedback.
And to all the sponsors of the event!
Business Diary: This is who I am
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So, I’m adding yet another category, another part of my life – or, technically, another part of who I am. Or is it just who I am.
Anyhoo, its the Business Diaries, because whilst I”m a mum (therefore a cook, cleaner, physchologist etc etc blah blah – is anyone else getting sick of hearing how hilariously funny, or not, that is, or is it just me who is a bit over it? Have I just heard it so often I now only here “blah blah blah”? More about that rant later on ) I am also a business owner.
Some call me a “business mum” others a “wahm” (or “work at home mum” and, sadly, not “what a hot mummy” as I first thought when I dived into this world of self-employment and having an “office” in my sun/dining room/public thoroughfare).
I like to think of my self as self-employed (thank you to the awesome Tea for that distinction – its made a world of difference to me) and I also happen to have children. I also happen to own three pairs of jeans, but I’m not sure that’s relevant.
Anyhoo, for many a year this here Diary of a Mad Cow has been somewhat devoid of businessy related stuff because I wanted to “relate” to as many mums out there as possible, and felt the business side of it would cause confusion and put some off or whatever. So it now has its own little category – because I do want to relate directly to mums, but I also can’t shove this part of me in a box and pretend it doesn’t exist. Becasue it is just who I am.
And that, really, is what I am about. Being who I am and hopefully encouraging you to be who you are, too
So, ner!
Anyhoo, the plan is to put the more specifically businessy related stuff into this category, so as not to totally bore those of you who have no idea what I’m talking about or don’t care, and for those of you who do care, to find it a bit easier and hopefully relate (read: laugh at my expense) and add your two cents or whatever. Etc.
It is who I am.
13 minutes past 7pm, my house
Posted by: | CommentsSitting over my MUG of coffee this morning and see the headline in the paper “Hospitals ban dads from filming birth“
As with all articles that have something to do with parenting, I always read the first paragraph before deciding whether or not to nod in agreement, have a tanty and/or read on. This one I did, but only because I had received a phone call about the issue from the author of the piece a few days earlier and they sent a photographer out to take a photo of me, Chippie and an ancient video camera. A traumatic experience for all concerned.
Not surprisingly, the photo wsan’t published. Which I’m a bit relieved about, but also disappointed, as I like photos. I don’t have many with me in them, because I’m usually the one in peoples’ faces taking them and have a husband who doesn’t think to. I also held out grave hope that the photo would be acceptably nice and I could purchase a copy. Because that is what I do. Sadly, I am destined to remain forever ignorant of the “goodness” of the photo. Well, until I forget about it, at least.
Anyhoo, the article (which can be read here) resulted in a phone call from Network 10 and, more specifically, the 7pm Project
Thus it is I spent the day shaking in exciment whilst attemtping to get some work completed, texting hubby to make sure he’d be home in time for me to have a shower and go. I had originally been asked to arrive at the studio at just past 6pm, but received a call shortly after asking I be there at 5.30. So they could do my makeup and hair. Good idea.
Also, I may or may not have squealed.
Manage a shower, lament over what to wear, select one of my favourite tops (from Verily, of course) and run around the house in mad attempt at locating my jeans. Find them in the cupboard, neatly folded and put away. Hmm. Weird. Avoid getting jam, Weetbix, Milo, snot, toddler drool or poo anywhere on my person. Bonus.
In I go, thinking I’d be doing a bit of a recorded thingy and not actually seeing anyone from the show. Am sitting having hair and makeup done, at the same time. These girls are amazing! One of them can manage to line your eyes with liquid eye liner (a product I haven’t used since a high school formal disatster in the late 1980s and saw me become an aerobics instructor so I could avoid the very concept of making my face up at any time, for any reason) whilst the other is brushing, teasing and doing all manner of wonderful things to your hair, and not make any sort of mess. I am super impressed and in awe of their abilities. I still can’t manage to put on some blusher without getting it in my eye. Or something.
Anyhoo, sitting their wallowing in some quite time whilst others were attending to me, and Steve Price wanders in. Hmm, I think. Seen him on the show. Wonder what he’s doing in here now and what show he will be on. And go back to wallowing.
Then, then, I hear Dave Hughes chatting away behind me and think No WAY! and before you know it, the hair and makeup girls have finished and I’m asked to go sit on the couch, watch telly, eat sushi and wait till they call me. I never get the opportunity to nibble on some sushi, as Dave walks in, says “Hi, how you going? You’re Amanda, right?” and I can’t help but squeal just a bit. Inside, of course. I was squealing on the inside. On the outside, I was pretending to be all cool and calm and entered into a bit of a chat with Dave whilst he had his face tended to.
He is a very nice man.
Then … oh, delight of delights … we walk out of the makeup room togehter and he says “Hi, Dr Andrew. Dr Andres, this is Amanda” and I manage to shake his hand and prevent myself from licking him because he is so delicious. And silently curse Dave for the previous conversation, because, if not for that, I could have been sititng on the couch, waiting, watching TV and eating sushi with Dr Andrew Rochford! ARGH!
*sigh*
Also, Dr Andrew is a very nice man. Mmmmm, hmmm. Very nice, indeed.
I had just enough time to do an incredibly wanky “Can I get a photo with you guys?” and completely forget how to use the camera
Huge thanks to Tom and all his awesomeness for taking this pic.
No time to indulge any more, as I’m taken to the green room, offered a glass of wine (Oh, I could happily live in this place), which I get one sip of before being taken to the studio for recording my bit. I even got a “hair and makeup check”, which was all very exciting, until I was asked not to move around until the segment was done. Difficult, as Dr Andrew Rochford had touched my hand earlier and I just wanted to caress my face with it. I may never wash it again.
Recording was over and done with in around fifteen minutes, I was escorted from the building (why do they always feel the need to do this? Escort me out? Or is it just being polite? Do I look like a crazy lady? Do I really want an answer to that question?)
Make it home in time to see my segment, which I don’t actually get to see much of as toddler is standing in front of the TV yelling “MUMMY MUMMY MUMMY” and pointing a lot. Other children would much prefer to be watching something else.
Of course, making it home in time to watch also meant I was home in time for the evening chaos; including, but not limited to, the toddler eating my dinner of my plate whilst his sat uneaten only a metre away, bath time, where Grumpy decided to hop in with the three boys, add some bubbles and turn the spa on, console Chippie who appears to have a wee phobia about bubbles, remind Grumpy of this phobia and restrain self from pointing out the combination of bubble bath – spa on – phobic toddler as being not a great combination at all, and find myself in my jarmies, with my hair and makeup nicely done, no one appreciating it, and no where to go. The shower appeared my only option.
*sigh*
Anyhoo, here is the segment I did … I’m about a minute in … this post and discussion of the banning of video cameras during a birth coming soon …
It’s been located
Posted by: | CommentsGrumpy embarked on a quick vac of the hall whilst the house was devoid of all children and I was getting some good, quality work done.
“I think I found it!” I heard him yell.
He wanders into my office, hand out.
“Is this Monkey Boy’s Blu Tack from yesterday, do you think?” he asks.
I examine it, without touching it. It has, after all, been up the nose of a 10 year old boy. Who knows where that nose has been!
“Could be,” I reply. “Looks about the right size.”
And he promtly places it on my desk and right in front of me so I could “ask him when he gets home”.
Euwwwww.
Did I, or did I not, just explain that it has been up the nose of a 10 year old boy. WHY would I want it on my desk?
How Can I Work In These Conditions Part 23
Posted by: | CommentsAh the joys of being a self-employed business owner who works from home.
Especially one who is married to a Chef.
Because, you see, I thought, stupidly it now appears, that as he is home on Thursdays, as is the Toddler, that I would be granted my “For fucks sake, just leave me alone and let me do some work!!!” request that I asked so nicely.
No. It seems he will sit on the other computer in the office and play solitaire so I have “click, click, clickclickclick” going on and pissing me off and distracting me. Followed by “go and see your mother” (who is write in the middle of writing a chapter for a book) to the Toddler who is equally pissed off, only displays his pissed offedness by screaming LOUDLY!
Then, some schoolgirl-like giggling and demanding I “look at this”
.. and then claiming he had nothing to do with it.
*sigh*
I encouraged him to go for a bike ride shortly afterwards. To “shake his sillies out”.
And for those of you who find it incredibly entertaining, here are the conditions under which I get to make school lunches …
Nooooo! It’s too soon!
Posted by: | CommentsThe usual Tuesday morning fare … hubby leaving for work before the rest of the house up, and me getting tantrums from the second Chippie awakes until I go completely insane and lock myself in the freezer comparment with some Vodka.
Tuesday is also the day a friend pops over and we get some work done.
She enquired about my weekend whilst Chippie was sitting on my lap, screaming in my face, reaching our for things then throwing them at my head when I passed them to him. I do believe at one stage I informed him he was pissing me off and I wished he would stop.
At which point, I tuned out – it was that or throw him out into the back yard – recounting bits of information I’d obtained, ideas I’d come up with and people I’d met.
“What’s Rich Evans like?” she enquired.
“Fucking awesome!” I responded.
“Fuckin’” says Chippie.
Hmmm. On the upside. At least he stopped crying ….
It’s all in a day’s cleavage
Posted by: | CommentsAwoken several times between 11pm and 3am with grizzly toddler.
By four he was in our bed, Grumpy up just after 5 and left me lying in bed, feverishly hot toddler who refused to allow us to remove the socks from his extremly toasty feet, lying the length of my arm, snoring.
Mmm, conducive to aiding what little sleep I have remaining to me.
Manage to remove arm without waking him, run to coffee machine and embrace it lasciviously, pour MUG and prepare for my latest radio interview. Chippie, with his intuitiveness, awakes, has a tanty as I’m expecting a call, and try to recall how I managed this situation yesterday afternoon, feed him some panadol (for his fever) and a mandarin, three portions make their way down my cleavage. After he’d had a go at masticating them.
Phone call complete, it was time to tackle the Morning Lunch Making, fight plastics drawer for Monkey Boy’s lunchbox which is not where it lives, spill majority of drawer over floor, retrieve required repositories, and am informed he has the aths carnival today, and is required to take his lunch in a plastic bag and disposable wrapping.
Grrr.
All done, have shower, answer door to babysitter – not a DVD, but my niece – in a towel, finish getting dressed and head off to ProBlogger event and meet some lovely people I’ve been chatting with online for some time now.
Remember to text home at some point to check how Chippie and his fever are.
Go for drinks afterwards, including a glass of wine which I manage to drink without spilling any, pouring on anyone, or licking it off one of my new friends.
Arrive home, find Grumpy considerably relaxed and engrossed in the evening winding down ritual, and am attributed task of guitar lessons. Nearly fall asleep in guitar lessons.
Arrive home, make hot chocolate and spill some on chest.
Hmmm. Love the extremes of the day; screaming toddler versus the room full of writers and ideas, sitting and thinking then wandering dark streets in the rain to guitar lessons, semi-masticated mandarin in the morning and hot chocolate in the evening …
… all in a day’s ‘work’.
You rock, Doll.....thanks for such awe inspiring honesty and brilliant laughs.