Ah, Sunday … that day we said we’d have a Family Day and get out of the house, because when I’m home, I’m drawn to my office, I work and the end result is I can go for weeks without a day off and then go completely, stark raving, grumpy-ogre-style nuts.
Godzilla went for a sleepover at a friend’s house last night.
It was just the four of us, Grumpy, Monkey Boy, Chippie and I. Chippie was fast asleep in Monkey Boy’s bed and Monkey Boy had two fifteen minute showers in a row. Must have words to him about that.
(On the flipside, he’s making up for the showers Godzilla doesn’t have – so I guess they’re even, right?)
Grumpy and I are lazing about … I even manage to fall asleep after waking at my usual, uninvited hour … when we are set upon.
Apparently, a crazed elephant with wild hair has escaped from his bed. Whoever it was that said elephants can’t jump, they are wrong. This one, who at least gave us the courtesy of asking “Can I be an elephant?” jumped onto the bed, made his way up the length of my body on all fours, sat on my chest and loudly trumpeted in my face.
I really must get his hair cut soon, I thought to myself.
After delegating the hot breakfast making to Grumpy, I snuck into my office for a bit and got an hour of work done. This happens when there are no plans for the day. I feel edgy. Usually, when we have no plans, the Universe likes to create plans for us … like making one of the kids really sick, or causing them to shove something up their nose so far it requires a trip to the hospital, or my phone will fall out of the car and get run over, requiring a trip to the hospital for someone else.
I’m also in a highly creative mood. And more than a little stressed with everything going on in my life right now.
Also, Monkey Boy asked some three weeks ago if we could make muesli bars and cheese zingos to put in the school lunchbox, and I’ve been saying “This weekend” since then.
In order to avoid anything untoward, to satisfy my stress needs and to stop Monkey Boy asking me the same thing every seven and a half minutes all week, every week, we decided to bake.
I quite like baking. And cooking. It’s my thing. For stress relief.
I put Pink Floyed on my iPod, and sing along to it. I find both these things stress relieving, also.
Chippie wandered into the kitchen, yelled “STOP SINGING” then screamed, hit himself in the forehead with his hand, and fell to his knees on the floor. This is immediately followed by more screaming and throwing himself on the floor, face first.
I can only assume that my angelic voice was just far to awesome for his precious ears, and his tears where those of being in the presence of such a level of amazingness. So, I continue to sing, purely