Awoke feeling particularly crap, and shunted out of bed because Grumpy flat out refused to get out and let me have a sleep in.
Literally, flat out, on his back and snoring like some kind of herd of demented warthogs.
I gave up arguing and hopped up. So, by the time Monkey Boy had invited a friend over and he’d gone and Grumpy left for work and Chippie had had a sleep and woke up screaming, I was had it. Well and truly zonked.
All three happily entrenched in constructing a Don’t You Bring Your Toys and Shit Out Into The Lounge Room train throughout the entire living area, dining and lounge areas included, under the coffee table, up the side of the wall unit and over the ceiling fan, I mentioned to Monkey Boy I was off for a hot bath and to please ensure no one played with any sharp implements or climbed anything higher than the picture rail.
Ahhhhhh. I slip out of my pyjamas – it was 3 in the afternoon, after all – and into a hot, bubbly, aromatherapeutic bath. And had a bit of a read of my book. In peace.
If you define “peace” as the not so distant sounds of selfish, inconsiderate and egotistical toddler touching the trains that technically belong to anally perfectionistic and “stick to my rules” nine year old. He is seriously unable to cope when things don’t go the way of those in his head. Godzilla was fine, until Chippie took Monkey Boy’s train, causing untold chaos and trauma there, and smashed Godzilla on some body part or other, creating futher trauma and a scream equivalent to that of someone having their leg blown off by one of those bombs that also contains nails and is really hurty when it blows your leg off and shoots nails into other body parts.
I did the only thing I coud. I submerged. Fully. Took a great, big, huge breath and held my head under for as long as I could.
What is that noise? I can’t place it?
Up I come, Chippie is standing over the bath yelling toddler-like gibberish at me and smashing a train against the edge of the bath.
So I hold my head under again.
“MUM!” I hear