Another day at the asylum

Our “standard” morning sorted – we ask Monkey Boy a gazillion times to put his lunch in his bag, get dressed, get his shoes on, get organised because we have to leave, then attempt to explain to a very disgruntled Monkey Boy why we “keep telling him things he already knows”.

Repeat with Godzilla before Grumpy walks out door without him, so I have to stay home (and ignore him whilst I utilise my morning as planned).

Grumpy returns and takes Godzilla with him, while I embark on my “standard” work day – computer playing up, local newsagent not having supplies I require, yesterday, so drive to local Officeworks to locate it, where it has moved to a different isle from last time, return to computer refusing to open email, and running our of black ink for the mountain of printing I have to do.

Grumpy and Godzilla return.

Grumpy leaves for work, I finish off some stuff while Godzilla eats peanut butter out of jar and then insists I make him a cucumber sandwich “wif butter”.

I slice cucumber, spread bread with margarine “NOOO, not dat butter. Peanut butter!” and serve.

Godzilla unscrews office chair as I am attempting to switch computer off, when it doesn’t want to be switched off.

Pick Monkey Boy up, return home and request 497 times he unpack his lunch and get ready for gymnastics, which we have to leave for in 30 minutes. 28 minutes later, he is walking around house in undies, with an airline blindfold over his eyes, attempting to locate gymnastics uniform.

Both get upset when we are, quite suddenly, in a mad rush to leave house to get to gymnastics on time.

Worse, sauv blanc is currently tasting something akin to cat pee. When can I have a drink again?

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