I quite like Mondays. They are generally kid free, often husband free and the first day in a few days I get to just sit and focus on my work – which I love – and get loads done.
Today, albeit bitsy and all over the place like a mad woman’s breakfast, I did get loads done. Mostly writing, a blog post here, and article there, an about us page and some technical stuff.
The Tooth Fairy even made an appearance. Finally! The tooth only came out Saturday night. Ironically, whilst we were watching the movie Tooth Fairy, which I believe stars Dwayne Johnson as the Tooth Fairy, a somewhat tall, dark skinned, buff piece of drool inducing man ….
The only good thing about the movie, really, but anyhoo.
The Tooth Fairy would have come sooner, but the printer was out of ink. The special, military organisation to acquire a refilled cartridge was set in place whilst I went about the fortnightly duty of transporting Godzilla to OT then school.
Time to do school pick up came around, basketball training was cancelled, Monkey Boy snarkily declared “Well, the Tooth Fairy finally came …. overday!” and I was slowly becoming more stiff and sore after my 8 billion squats and 39 million pushups I did yesterday.
I finished off some more work as Grumpy cooked dinner, ate, then eased myself into a steamy bath. With, as per usual, added three-year-old.
As the water cooled slightly, I contemplated hopping out. First, I flip over onto my tummy, to warm my front bits before venturing out into the open.
“Cold,” says Chippie, and I work my mind into being able to face dragging him out of the bath also. Although he’s starting to feel the cold, it’s not going to be an easy ask.
Whoops. I was mistaken.
The “Cold” was a warning, as he tipped a watering can of water over me. One that had been sitting there overnight.
I screamed. Loudly. As one does when they’ve had two litres of cold water tipped on them whislt reposing in a warm bath.
Chippie looked terrified for a second, then gave a laugh. I swear it sounded more MWAHAHAHAHAHA than the usual giggling of a three-year old.
I guess that’s Monday for you, really.
I clamber out, wrap myself in a towel and stand over the heating duct in a bid to expel the chill that has permeated my entire body.
“I just fill dis up and leave it like dis so it can be cold,” he tells me, filling the watering can, placing a face washer over the opening and placing it gently on the side of the bath, where it can’t be knocked.
I swear this kid has an evil streak. Or he’s a genius.