Every day this week, so far (ooh, lookit that – we’re at the end of the week!), my plans have been grabbed by the throat, torn apart and smashed into a million pieces.
Usually within 48 seconds of getting up and, if I’ve been lucky, after there merest sip of coffee from MUG.
(If I’ve been unlucky, I’ve been pouring the life-giving, near-black liquid into the world’s most aweosme receptical when my plans have received their beating and things just get worse)
Today was no exception. I plan the night before, Grumpy gets a “can you come into work” phone call, or remembers an appointment he made some months ago and “would have told you last night if I hadn’t left my phone at work”. Which is lovely of him, really. He could have told me well before and I could have entered it into my diary and the entire world would have been at peace.
Anyhoo, plans shattered and my mind, after a week of this, starts to crack. I do what I can with the morning, before he comes home and I beg and plead with him to take toddler (as planned, originally) so I could get some work done.
It’s the end of the day, I’ve just wrapped Godzilla’s birthday presents for tomorrow morning, whilst awaiting the much anticipated balcony kiss from the newly betrothed royal couple, Wills and Kate.
And I realise I have actually acheived quite a bit today, despite feeling like I’ve muddled along and done nothing:
I got a few writing pieces done;
I took the first step on a big – HUGE , in fact – decision I had to make;
I worked out the next few steps;
After a Total Plan Fuckup meltdown, I managed to reschedule tomorrow’s proceedings and contact those involved to advise them of said changes. Calmly and with hilarity;
I made 48 cupcakes, with the added achievement of creating each and every one of them a different size from each and every other one of them;
I utilised, and therefore removed from my children’s tempation, four crappy Easter eggs we still have sitting around by melting them down and putting a blob