Not A Family Day

Every now and again, things come up on a Sunday that prevent us from experiencing the thorough enjoyment of a Family Day.

We miss the whinging and arguing about going out, the conversations that involve complaints about where we’re going, followed by reminders about how they’ve been offered for many, many months, the opportunity to make a suggestion themselves but never do, and culminating in “Look! We’re going whether you like it or not and you WILL enjoy it whether you like it or not. Get in the bloody car, NOW!”


I miss those mornings when they don’t happen.

Today was one of those days. Both Chippie and Monkey Boy had stuff on

, so I agreed to go to the local Market with a friend of mine (a monthly tradition) and Monkey Boy made even more plans.

I get up a little late, as I try to do on a Sunday, turn my PC on and, although it is technically my Day Off, I like to check a few things.

After half a MUG of coffee, I discover that my desk is coated in a layer of … something. I’m not sure what.

There have been no screaming tantrums about hair cut, no confessions of a self-home-job and, although I get extremely focussed on what I’m doing at times, I’m fairly sure no one snipped my hair, either.

I’m confused.

But I have no time for that as I need a shower before my friend arrives to collect me for the Markets. Also, breakfast. During the making of which, the phone rings and I am ensconced in a thought-requiring discussion as I poach eggs and grill bacon and swear about having no bread and someone gets the crust as toast.

As I am the cook of the moment, I vote it’s not me and use the fact I was on the phone, not on my arse, for why I get the non-crust bit of the loaf as my breakfast toast.

I have barely time for a shower, and definitely not enough time to wash my hair. I um and ah for a bit and hop in anyway. Grab some clothes off the floor, shove them on, stuff my feet into boots and leave the house with my Don’t Have Time

To Wash My Hair In Shower hairdo.

It’s an art.

Mumble instructions to Grumpy Pants as I’m walking out the door, about picking a friend of Monkey Boy’s up and having Chippie dressed for the birthday party he is attending. I need to leave with him as soon as I arrive home.

Except that when I do arrive home, with plenty of time to spare, Grumpy decides that he is going to take Chippie to the party. He takes Godzilla along with him.

He leaves me at home, with a three high school kids.

It is the first time I have ever been confronted with this scenario and I’m not sure what to do.

I also strongly suspect this was Grumpy’s motivation for suddenly becoming interested in a five-year-old’s birthday party and wanting to be the Parent Who Attends.

After they devour a packet of chips for morning tea and The Younger Siblings, who were their form of entertainment, have left for the morning, they are ‘bored’.

I suggest they do some Blingles, which involves much “huh?” and “What do you do with them?”

But they took it in their stride.

Monkey Boy chose, instead, to massacre a box using a sharp knife, in order that he may turn it into yet another train carriage (about the 37th) for a train he is constructing for Chippie.

Leave a Reply