Guess which idiot is up making cupcakes just pre-midnight?
It all started last week with the list out the front of kinder asking parents to bring something to the kinder group breakup for tomorrow.
All the stuff I would normally have purchased was already taken by mums with foresight. Or, at the very least, mums who had physically been at the kinder to pick their kids up and not sent their husbands who had totally neglected to see, let alone mention, the abovementioned list.
As was the case with me.
So, the options left were stuff that I wouldn’t normally (or would refuse) to purchase. And cupcakes.
I peruse the list. Basically, it came down to the effort of going shopping, or making cupcakes. I chose the latter.
I had a walk with a friend scheduled for this morning, immediatley after school dropoff. I neglected to remember that I had Godzillla (and Chippie) with me, so rang to reschedule.
We did … the walk became a coffee.
Then we had to head off to purchase school uniforms for Godzilla. I could have waited, but the nagging became too much. Off we went.
The ‘customer service’ lady asked about sizing and trying on, but there was no need. I knew the sizes, I knew what we wanted, I asked. She went to locate the shirts while Godzilla and I chose shorts, hats and book bags.
Attempting to leave the store, Godzilla insisted on trying on one. So we did. Then refused to take it off.
“I like to show my big bruvver.”
We head home, stuff down lunch and head up the street to do everything else needing doing … the bank, the post office, checking out Diana Ferrari and running into a friend and having coffee.
Grumpy rings to let me know that his work Christmas party is on tonight (yes, the one whose date he couldn’t remember, so it never made it into the diary! Argh!). He does offer to collect Monkey Boy from school, however, so we race home (“But I wanna go to school and show my bruvver my school uniform!!”), feed Chippie, and get him changed for the party (“But I like a show my bruvver my school uniform!!!”). After his brother is delivered home.
Off to work Christmas party (and a dinner that I didn’t have to cook – phew) where Monkey Boy eats something like 483 chicken legs and successfully avoids anything remotely fruit or vegetable-like, and Godzilla eats a strawberry roll. By which I mean, he finds a hamburger roll, and puts fresh strawberries in it. Then eats it.
Get home and deal with more feeding, bathtime, story reading and bedtime.
Have glass of wine.
Sit for 5 minutes, with a nagging thought at the back of my head.
So, some idiot is up at just before midnight making cupcakes for tomorrow.
… and there they are …