Biggest One and Littlest One happily playing together.
Or, I dunno, annoying the crap out of each other. Hard to tell the difference these days.
Monkey Boy says something to his littlest brother; something that I don’t quite hear.
“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” the four-year-old replies.
He only had himself to blame. He’s been using that line on Grumpy Pants and me so much that he has been awarded the title of Sergeant Smartarse.
Sadly, he is wearing it with pride.
And after our somewhat lengthy and fun-filled road trip I’ve decided that I don’t like the timing of these school holidays. Not these ones I’m living right now, at this very moment, but the whole concept of the Summer/Christmas/December-January holidays.
The timing, quite frankly, is shit.
Not only is there Christmas and all that goes with that (end of year parties, graduations, dance concerts, blah blahs) (oh, and last minute Christmas shopping for some of us), which is horrible enough, but you get to include your kids in it all.
Or, you know, stuff them in a cupboard and be all judged and stuff.
The hardest bit I find, however, is the New Year … I personally like to indulge in a little bit of an I’m Such A Failure meltdown when realising I haven’t achieved the bazillionty things I wanted to during the year. That no person of human orientation could possibly achieve the amount I have on my lists is irrelevant. I didn’t and I’m pissed.
Once I’ve done that, I feel a little better and focus on the New Year and all I plan to achieve, adding several gajillion more things to my list.
I’m inspired, motivated and raring to go. I’m Productive!
And I sit down to embark on a List Item or two and find myself in the middle of a Nerf gun war, where my desk, computer monitor and head are being used as either things to hide behind, shields or targets.
“Put your hands up, Mum,” says Chippie, the four-year-old.
“I’m fucking working, Piss off,” I mutter under my breath, before I comply because the tantrum that will inevitably ensue if I don’t will be horrendous. I speak from experience.
My hands up in the Official Surrender Position, he continues to point the Nerf gun at me and elucidate his intentions.
“I’n gonna shoot ya, cos you too fat!”
And shoots me.
Meanwhile, Grumpy Pants and Monkey Boy are going at it, full force until I yell “This is fucking why I didn’t want you two to have fucking Nerf guns!”
Which roughly translates to “I’m extremely busy and important, and am right in the middle of something. Would you two mind terribly popping off somewhere and continuing your fun?”
Just … you know, this year I didn’t even bother with New Year’s Resolutions, cos I think they’re a dumb idea, although I do get the concept. But how is one, in all honestly, supposed to be all enlightened and inspired when being shot in the head at close range and no one bringing her a coffee, even though they’re all milling around the house being annoying?
Really, wouldn’t Christmas be that much more fun, and getting off on the right foot in the New Year be that much more productive if they kids were at school?
I know I would.