Not having made the basketball finals now means I get to spend Saturdays packing and cleaning and yelling a lot about not getting more shit out of boxes because we are trying to get it into boxes and not make any more frigging mess, for fuck’s sake!
The entire concept of separating “toys to keep” and “toys to sell at proposed future garage sale” has also gone out the window, as it is much easier to just dump shit randomly into boxes so that they take up as much room as possible and you require more boxes than you actually need. It also provides me with much inspirationand I contemplate the idea of stuffing kids into boxes and sending them to Siberia. At least until we’re done packing, moving, unpacking and actually organising a garage sale. This could be sometime mid-2037.
The afternoon is booked up with parkour, which I am looking forward to, on the one hand, as Monkey Boy is learning some really amazing new stuff that has me on the edge of my seat, and on the other hand, I’m not, as there is a child who has been “given the option” of sitting around and watching his mum, instead of going home with his dad, and I’m not sure if I’m expected to supervise him or not. Either way, he can be extremely annoying. Especially when he waves a lollypop in Chippie’s face and says “Look what I have, and you can’t have any!”
Followed immediately by “And when I’m finished this, I think I’ll have whatever you brought along today.”
With the crazy of the week thus far, I was not looking forward to yet another two hours of calming Chippie after having the toys it took me half an hour and much discussion and organisation to bring along snatched from him repeatedly, and having to step in several times (seven last count) after Godzilla had repeatedly requested (eleven at last count) that this kid “Please leave him alone”.
A friend called – phew. She wanted to know if I was up for a play. It happened to be just around the corner from parkour.
It did mean I wouldn’t get to watch Monkey Boy, but it also meant I wouldn’t tell a six year old to fuck off and stop pissing me off because I was over it, too. So I went.
Godzilla played with his friend, Chippie played with his and my friend and I had a lovely, much needed rant and catch up. Just what we needed. A vanilla latte added to the mix would have just topped it off, but as it was, it was a great afternoon.
Until it was time to leave and go back to parkour and Chippie put on a screaming tantrum because he wanted a flower.
I could see no flowers, but that was irrelevant. He wanted one.
I turned the radio up on the short drive back to parkour.
Extracted kids from the car, watched Monkey Boy cool down after the session and proceeded to start the Pluggin Pre-Schooler Into The Car process again. I hate this process. This is one reason I walk a lot.
He, meanwhile, was distracted by a dandelion. More specifically, the “seed” process, where the dandelion appears to be a ball of fluff on the end of the stem, but is, in fact, a heap of dandelion seeds.
Meanwhile, I was distracted by that most important of discussions; whose turn is it to sit in the front. The one that culminates in “I don’t give a fuck whose turn it is, get in the bloody car because I. Am. Leaving!”
Finally, we are afforded the luxury of leaving. We even make it several streets away, then …
“Mum! Chippie blew the dandelion in the car!”
Indeedy he did … and we scramble to get the windows down before we are taken over by teensy little seeds with a fluffy end …