I awoke this morning, did my usual drag myself out of bed, turn PC on, fill MUG with coffee, stagger back to computer and wait for both it and I to boot up.
My internet appeared not to be working. I was advised, by a series of little boxes on my screen, that internet was, in fact, not installed on this particular computer. Which is very annoying, as I use it on this very one every day. Until, apparently, last night, when it decided just to stop while I was using it.
I managed to locate that installation disc, as requested, and yelled and swore a lot due to the incomprehensible instructions telling me the issue may be resolved when I connect to the internet. ARGH!
This was not helped by a crying, unwell and tantrumming child. I declared I was unable to perform this Get My Computer And Internet Doing What Its Done For Years task this morning due to the stupid internet connection problem, the child and the fact my brain cannot cope with it all just yet.
Also, there is Christmas shopping to be completed and other children to get to school.
(As an aside … “Why do we have to go to school? We’re not doing anything this week.” “Because you’re safer there.”)
I give up. And walk away.
Only to have a considerably capable Chippie yelling “I needa go a toilet!” at me and dancing, foot to foot, in front of me, so I can’t move forward anyway. Manage to convince him to move, in a “run” kind of action in the direction of the required toilet.
And end up with shit on my finger. Again.
This only taints the entire breakfast situation, as, no matter how many times I wash my hands with vanilla scented anti-bacterial soap, I can still smell poo.
Chippie curls himself up on the couch, still unwell, temperature up there, but not soaring or raging, so I hand him some Panadol. Which he doesn’t want, then wants, then doesn’t, then does again, then hold sit and screams and refused to let me stabilise his hand so it doesn’t end up anywhere, then drinks, then licks the inside of the little cup, and then … only once the bloody thing is empty and he is happy … a teensy bit runs down his arm, and drips off his elbow onto the couch.
I plan, in my head, the morning’s movements, realise I’ve left the pram at childcare yesterday and tell the kids we need to walk to school via the childcare centre. Chippie decides, therefore, he needs to take his “creche bag” and insists on carrying it on his back. Inevitably, this causes him to fall when chasing his brothers, and bleed from his knees. Yes, of course with some bloody-murder type screaming in the street.
I piggy backed him all the way up the hill to collect the pram. And bandaids. I have packs of bandaids stashed in various places; the pram is one of them.
I farewell the older two here, as I want to be at the shopping centre before the real chaos starts, and