Every Monday I troop into work and my lovely colleagues ask 'How was your weekend?' They are all young, mostly single and they gad about London sinking drinks and taking in obscure productions in tiny sweaty theatres.
In short, they have fun. Not that I add, the theatre really floats my boat. Most of the time I'm just willing the fecking play to end so I can neck my G&T in the interval. But I digress. Point is, they get up late, they mosey around markets, they mooch. OH TO MOOCH.
Me, well not so much mooching. So as they ask 'how was it for you?' I want to scream 'Murder. It was hell. From the moment my Diva, I mean daughter, opened her peepers until the blissful second after 3 stories and endless Incey Wincey songs, she fell asleep - it was hideous.' Instead I smile and say 'great, thanks' and then think about taking up smoking again.
Take yesterday for example. Day 1 at Babble. So I get up, laptop out, desperate to come up with a story and more importantly, be able to actually upload the thing. 3 hours later - still in my PJs - job done. Husband tetchy as 'I didn't think it would take you this long...' and kids bouncing off the walls. Diva keeps asking me to huggle her and trying to tap tappety tap on my laptop and I am freaking out in case I lose all my efforts. Eventually, I upload. Relief. I check Babble. My Mossy story is there in all it's sycophantic glory - minus the photos. Yep, Photos did NOT upload. 3 hours and only a bunch of words, no slideshow and no photos at all. I want to scream.
Here it is incase you are interested - lots of pics of fab Kate looking fab. How does she do it? BECAUSE SHE HAS A NANNY - THAT'S WHY!!!!
So we go out - to the park, filled with loads of other stressed slightly on the edge parents, and naturally within 5 minutes the Diva is crying. Then Sproglet. So we pop to Waitrose and that is worse. They want this and that and they moan and Diva is scootering through people like Evel Knievel, and folk are tutting and I am just walking towards the gin - head down, ignoring all stares, because if I don't get my hands on a bottle I am going to run away with the circus (or at least the cheap funfair that has landed in our town). Gin - come to Mama....
And we go home and no Diva won't sleep, but Husband does - for 2 hours - while I entertain the aliens that I live with. It's funny because my colleague at work laments living with other people and wishes she could just escape and live on her own. Me too babe! Me too!!! I make dinner and they refuse to eat it, bless them. And then it's bath time and that is just a riot of fun. How we laugh. Except we don't, as Sproglette is sure she can see poo in the bath - blames Sproglet, he cries and then she cries and it is all one joyous cry fest. I crack open the gin and finally they are put to bed.
Rise and shine at 6am!!! Sproglette is up and at 'em! By 8am I am exhausted. Most Sundays (if Husband isn't working) we play 'who is the most tired' competition. We spend days bickering over who did what and wiped which bum and organised XYZ, all the while trying to fit in a mere 5 minutes to ourselves. It is not natural to have NO personal space for an entire day... People up in your grill every second....
Today I am frantically trying to do another BETTER Babble post - desperate to impress, desperate to not look like the blonde Irish idiot who can't get to grips with technology. So I am typing and bribing kids with sweets and just wishing they could play on the trampoline for the next 6 hours ... and then Sproglette howls and it turns out she discovered a way into the bathroom cupboard and has decorated her legs with my son's verruca pen - therefore slightly burning her skin... Frantically I'm washing her legs and slathering on the sudocream and trying to remain calm. CALM.....
Then a friend calls and that is lovely - even if we barely get to say two words to one another as we are constantly interrupted for tissues and drinks and biscuits and kids needing this and that... But once she leaves - and a BBQ we were meant to go to is cancelled - Husband arrives back from work and the rest of the day stretches out before us with two small people staring at us, willing us to fill it.
When I first had my son I used to fantasize about running away to the local travel lodge in West Hampstead, where I could lie in an air conditioned room and sleep uninterrupted. Ahhh sweet, sweet sleep. I have the same desperate fantasy now, albeit without the air con. A night of peace in a second rate hotel sounds heavenly...
I love my kids. I swear on my life I do. I love hanging out with them - but I also love peeing alone, reading a Sunday paper before Thursday, getting to write this blog post without being interrupted - here is the Diva now, clambering all over me, dripping her bottle milk on the laptop as I type....
I have to away before she manages to lock herself in the bathroom (her new trick) and I've got chores galore. I am actually looking forward to going to work tomorrow. To escape the endless prodding and whining and demanding folk I live with. To make a cuppa, and actually drink it...
And when folks ask 'So, how was your weekend hun?' I'll smile sweetly, and say through gritted teeth, 'Lovely. How was yours?'
In short, they have fun. Not that I add, the theatre really floats my boat. Most of the time I'm just willing the fecking play to end so I can neck my G&T in the interval. But I digress. Point is, they get up late, they mosey around markets, they mooch. OH TO MOOCH.
Me, well not so much mooching. So as they ask 'how was it for you?' I want to scream 'Murder. It was hell. From the moment my Diva, I mean daughter, opened her peepers until the blissful second after 3 stories and endless Incey Wincey songs, she fell asleep - it was hideous.' Instead I smile and say 'great, thanks' and then think about taking up smoking again.
Take yesterday for example. Day 1 at Babble. So I get up, laptop out, desperate to come up with a story and more importantly, be able to actually upload the thing. 3 hours later - still in my PJs - job done. Husband tetchy as 'I didn't think it would take you this long...' and kids bouncing off the walls. Diva keeps asking me to huggle her and trying to tap tappety tap on my laptop and I am freaking out in case I lose all my efforts. Eventually, I upload. Relief. I check Babble. My Mossy story is there in all it's sycophantic glory - minus the photos. Yep, Photos did NOT upload. 3 hours and only a bunch of words, no slideshow and no photos at all. I want to scream.
Here it is incase you are interested - lots of pics of fab Kate looking fab. How does she do it? BECAUSE SHE HAS A NANNY - THAT'S WHY!!!!
So we go out - to the park, filled with loads of other stressed slightly on the edge parents, and naturally within 5 minutes the Diva is crying. Then Sproglet. So we pop to Waitrose and that is worse. They want this and that and they moan and Diva is scootering through people like Evel Knievel, and folk are tutting and I am just walking towards the gin - head down, ignoring all stares, because if I don't get my hands on a bottle I am going to run away with the circus (or at least the cheap funfair that has landed in our town). Gin - come to Mama....
And we go home and no Diva won't sleep, but Husband does - for 2 hours - while I entertain the aliens that I live with. It's funny because my colleague at work laments living with other people and wishes she could just escape and live on her own. Me too babe! Me too!!! I make dinner and they refuse to eat it, bless them. And then it's bath time and that is just a riot of fun. How we laugh. Except we don't, as Sproglette is sure she can see poo in the bath - blames Sproglet, he cries and then she cries and it is all one joyous cry fest. I crack open the gin and finally they are put to bed.
Rise and shine at 6am!!! Sproglette is up and at 'em! By 8am I am exhausted. Most Sundays (if Husband isn't working) we play 'who is the most tired' competition. We spend days bickering over who did what and wiped which bum and organised XYZ, all the while trying to fit in a mere 5 minutes to ourselves. It is not natural to have NO personal space for an entire day... People up in your grill every second....
Today I am frantically trying to do another BETTER Babble post - desperate to impress, desperate to not look like the blonde Irish idiot who can't get to grips with technology. So I am typing and bribing kids with sweets and just wishing they could play on the trampoline for the next 6 hours ... and then Sproglette howls and it turns out she discovered a way into the bathroom cupboard and has decorated her legs with my son's verruca pen - therefore slightly burning her skin... Frantically I'm washing her legs and slathering on the sudocream and trying to remain calm. CALM.....
Then a friend calls and that is lovely - even if we barely get to say two words to one another as we are constantly interrupted for tissues and drinks and biscuits and kids needing this and that... But once she leaves - and a BBQ we were meant to go to is cancelled - Husband arrives back from work and the rest of the day stretches out before us with two small people staring at us, willing us to fill it.
When I first had my son I used to fantasize about running away to the local travel lodge in West Hampstead, where I could lie in an air conditioned room and sleep uninterrupted. Ahhh sweet, sweet sleep. I have the same desperate fantasy now, albeit without the air con. A night of peace in a second rate hotel sounds heavenly...
I love my kids. I swear on my life I do. I love hanging out with them - but I also love peeing alone, reading a Sunday paper before Thursday, getting to write this blog post without being interrupted - here is the Diva now, clambering all over me, dripping her bottle milk on the laptop as I type....
I have to away before she manages to lock herself in the bathroom (her new trick) and I've got chores galore. I am actually looking forward to going to work tomorrow. To escape the endless prodding and whining and demanding folk I live with. To make a cuppa, and actually drink it...
And when folks ask 'So, how was your weekend hun?' I'll smile sweetly, and say through gritted teeth, 'Lovely. How was yours?'
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