April Fool’s Day – today, in fact – kicked off for me at 6.23am.
Chippie awoke and yelled his Latest To Get Attended To phrase … “I stuck!” This has us hopping out of bed, stumbling to his room and assessing through bleary eyes, the extent of his stuckness. Which seems to be that he just can’t be arsed climbing out of his cot. Especially as we’re now there to assist him.
He’s not stupid.
He then proceeded to fall asleep between Grumpy and I, then start and kick every time Grumpy snored. Which was often. So often that I clambered out at the time I normally get up and stumbled – quite litterally, and over some Duplo duped in the doorway – into Monkey Boy’s bed, cos I was cold. And sooo not ready to be out of bed just yet.
Yup, the only one that wanted – nay, needed – to be lying under her doona, in the foetal position, pretending the world didn’t exist was the only one up well and truly in time to be organised for school.
Thankfully, my grumpiness further enabled me to YELL at the kids to get up. Which they managed to do 23 minutes before needing to leave for school. Then advising me they just have to dress up for school today. Just had to! Even Monkey Boy, whom had so vehemently been advising me since throwing the school newsletter, complete with vague notes about the dress up aspect of the day, that it was “stupid” and he is “not doing it”.
Godzilla was still insisting on “going for a Mummy” (translated as “going as a Mummy”) even though we’d advised numerous times that we felt the whole concept was that they dress as something from the last Centrury, in Australia, not several thousand years ago from Egypt. Yes, he specifically requested he be that sort of Mummy.
In the meantime, Chippie wakes and is grizzly as all fuck, complete with temperature.
Depsite it being April Fools day – none of this is a joke. Sadly.
But we did it. Whilst Grumpy threw out some ideas and made lunches, and I crawled in the walk in wardrobe with a seriously hot toddler on my left him, to locate some of my old t-shirts I’d stashed away for sentimental reasons, we eventually sent the kids off to school looking like this:
Grumpy drove them because, surprisingly!, we were now running a good 15 minutes late. I was left at home with a feverish toddler sitting on my lap, doing my best to administer panadol and calm him whilst he screamed “Want daddy, want daddy” and I nearly bloody threw him after Daddy.
(There’s just a bit of your heart that cracks – nah, lets be honest, shatters – when you of the nurturing expectations is doing all you can to care for and console a sick child, and they crush your heart and soul as they cry for someone else. Fuckers.)
I had agreed to be assisting with a “baking day” with a bunch of others, to prepare some meals and other bakey type stuff for mums in crisis. Of course I’d be involved in that. I make a mean coffee panacotta. Beyond that, is putting in an appearance ok?
Clingon decides he’ll remain clung to me when Grumpy returns and I’m glad to hand him over, making it extremely difficult to get ready to leave.
By this point I’m saying “Yeah, I get it April, happy fool’s day – ha ha, fucking HA!” and I get dressed in yesterday’s jeans and top because that’s all there is. Find out quite by accident that the location of baking day has changed, write the address down wrong and spend ages finding it.
Which is not all bad, as I smell a horrid smell, mumble a few profanities about people letting their dog poo on our nature strip and not picking it up. Then I yell ‘Fucking arsehole C*NT!” – because they day had really got to me and it was only 10.23am – and jumped out of the car with aforementioned dog poo on my favourite shoes. So loud had I innadvertently yelled that Grumpy came to the door and informed me “that’s really annoying”.
Remove shoes, barely prevent self from throwing them at him, discover poo on my jeans as well as shoes, and [force self not to vomit] up my calf. Stomp around house swearing, removing jeans, shoving them in washing machine, managing some dog poo on the on button as I threw jeans at it, and uttered some choice things I’d like to do with people who don’t pick up their dog’s shit!
Also, why my nature strip? Is it because I have small children who don’t consider the possiblity of dog poo and stand it in? Or roll around on that particular grassed area?
Get to location half an hour late, am first there and one of only three. We bake some stuff and I have to be home so Grumpy may go to work.
Chippie still hot … and sleeping! Hurrah!
The next dilemma arises when I need to go collect kids from school. Its not like any normal school day (whatever that may be), as they school is holding a fete from 3pm till 7pm. They – Godzilla, the forgotten Middle Child – is most excited about it. Most excited.
Chippie appears to have got hotter. And hotter.
Do I ring some other parents to bring them home? And feel terrible about dragging them away from fair? Or drag sick Chippie to school? Or … gah, I don’t know. I’m soooooo tired and can’t think. ALso, am so tired I can’t think of any parents I can ring anyway.
I weigh up my Guilts and put Chippie in his pram, dosed up with more panadol and some water and wander up to school. Where I realise I have forgotten to bring my camera. And any money to purchase things like sausage sizzle or raffle tickets to support the school. Now feel worse.
Also, there is a cake stall, which I couldn’t do anything for as we are completely out of flour. I wonder if I could have whipped up some cake stall stuff at the baking session eariler with someone else’s flour? Now I feel bad for not contributing anything and contemplating a school cake stall over mums in crisis.
I can’t win.
Also, I manage to secure a few squinty eyed, condeming glances immediately after those same eyes got a glimpse of near-comatose Chippie in his pram.
Monkey Boy’s best friend’s step dad came to the rescue and offered to bring the kids home for me. Then assurred me all was fine after I nearly passed out in horror when Godzilla, immediatley after being advise who was bringing him home, turned to BFsSD and said “Have you got any money?”
I left school pickup in tears, and wishing April would take it’s Fool’s Day and piss off.
Arrive home, decide the washing that’s been in the machine since this morning needs hanging out. Load the basket, take it outside and plonk it on the ground. Apparently, April had not finished mucking around or I had applied just the right amount of plonkage that the handle of my Favourite Washiing Basket flew off.
Yes, I have a Favourite Washing Basket. It seems I also have no life.
Chippie’s temperature seems to have increased, check it, which involves holding him with three arms and several legs