Grumpy had his first Saturday night off since mid-February last night.
Earlier this week, when he was working all week, then notified that he now wasn’t (thank you Three Day’s Notice, for fucking with my head), we thought we might head away for a few days, from Friday after school, til today. We needed the break.
Sadly, he’d agreed to help his brother’s with some stuff for his mother, which is fine. We had basketball and parkour anyway, so it was no real biggy to hang around. Although we really could have used the break.
Still not feeling well (and another, scary, stress inducing trip to the doctors on Friday evening – all turned out to be “nothing to worry about” but still) he missed the helping his bros out and stayed in bed.
He then tells me the four weeks of work he got, that was cancelled only a week ago, is now back on. I have no idea what I’m doing at the best of times … this really isn’t helping.
The closer we got to Saturday, and the more Saturday dragged on with the stupid 8.00a.m. time for basketball on one of Melbourne’s coldest days, then killing some hours before heading to parkour, where I got to sit in a freezing warehouse watching my son learn to climb walls twice his height and making it look easy, and jump over boxes and fences and ponder whether him knowing this is a good idea, and safer, or completely insane … does he really need to know how to do it bigger and better than he already does it … the more I was desperately needing a break.
Arrive home to discover the ingredients for dinner were not purchased as requested. I spent last night attempting to explain that we were unable to have home made pizza, as we had no yeast … I believe I explained it at least 13 times to each family member. And was then asked, once dinner was prepared, why we weren’t having pizza. So I set off and bought all the stuff myself.
Arrive home, yet again. Exhausted with the antics of the week – both the good and the bad – and that I’d not had much sleep, thanks to the three-year-old wandering in, climbing in beside me, putting cold feet on my back, promptly falling asleep then weeing on me – I collapsed on the couch for a bit. Toy Story 3 was playing for its 409th time this week.
Monkey Boy persisted with his parkour practice. Chippie joined in. This involves him scrambling up the back of the couch and leaping over, knees first, onto whatever body part you have so stupidly left exposed. Faces, bellies, boobs. Well, not that they’re exposed exposed, but not protected is what I mean. Curling up into