I've really had enough now!

After many late nights in a row, Godzilla slept through another big wee. Doona and all.


I’ll deal with it shortly – first, I gotta organise lunches and kinder stuff, make sandwiches for the kinder party this afternoon, fit some work in and do the gymnastics run.

Oh, and we have guests staying with us. Fortunately, they have learnt my Number 2 Rule (my number 1 rule is “if you can open the container, you can eat it”) which is “If you don’t help yourself, you’ll probably starve.” Or miss out on your morning coffee.

I do my usual make and eat my breakfast whilst I make lunches, and use the last of the Vegemite from the jar at the front of the cupboard on one of my pieces of toast.

But that’s ok, because there is another at the back of the cupboard. Its been there for a while, so whenever I do the shopping I know that we’re covered for Vegemite.

I toss the jar, reach to the back of the cupboard and pull out a completely empty Vegemite jar.

Fabulous. I had put my name down for Vegemite sandwiches for the kinder party. And school don’t allow peanut butter, and Monkey Boy will no longer have jam on his sandwiches. After having it all year, suddenly, midway through term 4, it is disgusting and I am forbidden to make it for him ever again.

Oh, and I wasn’t told this. I was just expected to know. The fact that said jam sandwiches were compeltely consumed on a daily basis was, allegedly, the indicator for me know that they were disgusting and he never wanted them again.

I digress. Off to the shops to purchase bread, Vegemite and ham (had to make ham and cheese as well), prepare two trays of sandwiches, cut into little triangles.

Male guest offered to assist Godzilla with his breakfast, which, according to the request is “Peanut butter toast, cut into little triangles in half.”

This translated, is in fact a peanut butter sandwich, cut into 4 triangles. The bread is to go nowhere near the toaster, and the sandwich must have a “lid on it”. No butter. Peanut butter only.

There went 20 minutes in the translation process.

Then it was time to get ready for gymnastics. Completed sandwich making task in time, then tackled the Get Ready For Gymnastics process.

“I don’t like gymnastics.”

“Yes you do. You love it. Now get ready.”

“No. I don’t like to go today.”

“Well, you’re going. So get ready, or you go like you are. Move it.”

The buttons are starting to get pushed.

“I don’t like it. You are really pushing my buttons, Mum!”

Off to gymnastics, then kinder, then kinder party, the to a birthday party, we go.

Godzilla insists on dressing up in Monkey Boy’s Thomas the Tank Dress up.

(Apparently, according to Monkey Boy, the kid who’s party it is loves Thomas, so “Godzilla is just trying to inspire him.” Inspire him to do what, exactly, I’m not so sure. Felt it best not to ask, really.)

Get home late, sort out bath time and what we’re doing tomorrow, attempt to put kids to bed and discover Godzilla’s wet bedding still on bed.

All of it.

Remove, remake bed, put 1/3 of it in washing machine.

Washing machine dies.

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