Is nothing sacred?

Have been waiting in anticipation all week for this day. A friend and I are meeting up for a coffee this afternoon.

Not just any friend, but an awesomely fabulous friend who I LOVE spending time with. And not just any coffee, either, but one with NO children and NO husband in attendance.

So a doubly special coffee.

Grumpy had to go help a friend out with something this morning, so I was left alone with the kids, who were reinforcing my desperate desire to leave the house without them. I was tempted to leave immediately.

In order to distract them, I forced them to assist me with washing the dishwashers. Yes, dishwasher still MIA. Godzilla, part way through, suddenly developed the plague and was so sick he had to go to bed. He miraculously cured himself when I said he would have to remain there and miss out on the movie and popcorn later that evening. Didn’t stop the whinging though.

Monkey Boy, in a desperate bid to prevent me from truly going over the edge, spoke nicely to Godzilla, and then showed him how he could be a dishwasher; sitting in the cavity where ours once was (and will hopefully return to) and drying the dishes in there.

Godzilla took the suggestion up. Including very loud rumbling noises whilst Monkey Boy talked at me incessantly about crap! My god eight year olds can talk some shit.

SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP

Monkey Boy then turned to Godzilla and said “Hey, shut up. It’s a silent dishwasher!”

Then, “Hey, Mum, can we get a silent dishwasher.”

“Sure, I’d love one. How about NOW. SHUT UP and dry the dishes.”

That emotionallyl traumatic task complete, I let them out to play. Out of my hearing range anyway. Which only lasted about .3 of a second because they have voices that I’m sure could be heard from Uranus. Am considering booking a flight there in the hope that the volume isn’t quite so loud that far out.

There they are, happily beating the crap out of each other, or arguing over who can build their house in what LEGO, or something, when I hear Godzilla.

“You’re a frickin’ idiot!”

*sigh*

Do I dare go and see what’s going on? I pull him aside. “He’s a frickin idiot!”
“Yes, sweetheart. I know he can be a frigging idiot at times. But you’re not to call him one.”
That’s Mummy’s job!

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