Some days, you just can’t get it right.

This week has been one of those days for me.

I ended up eating toast I didn’t want for breakfast earlier this week (yesterday? It’s been so busy with such long days, I have no idea what’s going on) because Chippie asked for toast. When I say “asked” I mean he yelled the word at me.

Then he asked.

I can be stubborn, too.

Then he seemed to realise he didn’t want toast and demanded porridge. So I put porridge in a bowl. Then he did the Running On The Spot thing and cried and said “NO, I want porridge” until I said “What the fuck is that? A block of flats?”

This is a common question in our household.

It was soon determined that the “porridge” he wanted is, in fact, not porridge at all, but NutriGrain. My analness sees all our cereal varieties transferred into Tuppeware cereal containers and lined up in the one cupboard. Therefore all the cereals in said containers are “porridge”.

I failed to recognise this, then determine which particular “porridge” he specifically wanted.

That sorted, I made school lunches and ate toast.

Chippie sat at the table and ate his porridge-NutriGrain.

Chippie then came over, did his Screaming Dancing On The Spot Thingy in front of me, because I’d eaten his toast.

“I need my toast!” he yelled at me.

I threw my hands up in exasperation and mumbled, “and I need you to shut the fuck up”.

Still, that wasn’t the worst I did this week.

Today was far worse and caused much more trauma.

He found the balloon he’d been given yesterday when we were up the street. Helium. Deflating.

He was most upset with me that I was unable to perform some sort of miracle that saw the balloon fully inflated and bobbing around merrily in the air, pulling taut the festive ribbon it was attached to.

Yep. Apparenlty, I suck.

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