Yesterday was a crappy day, in every sense of the word.
I woke up feeling really jittery; the sort of feeling where you just want to hide in the corner and make everything go away. Can’t give you any reason for it, but it stayed with me all day. Right up to the moment I cracked open a bottle of Macon Villages. Now, I know this makes me sound like some sort of fledgling alcoholic but rest assured, I am not. There are simply some days where a large glass of wine will calm the frazzled nerves and herald that the evening has begun and the day from hell is nearing its end.
There wasn’t even anything specific to make it bad, it was just a string of things to do, errands to run and another party drop off then hanging around with the other two kids for a couple of hours until pick up time. It was Friday, we were all exhausted and it was sodding raining. So by the time I had whiled away an hour in my mum’s nursing home with the kids nicely sugared up then another 45 mins perusing the aisles of Sainsburys and persuading my son he does NOT need any more Hallowe’en plastic tat and certainly not one of the super-sized pumpkins they were proffering as you walked in, well – I was ready to go into a meltdown of my own. Right there at the self-service checkout that refused to acknowledge I HAD put the item in the bloody bagging area.
I got home thinking ‘Thank God it is movie night’. For us, every Friday night is movie night (I know, a horrible Americanism, but there you are) and I shelve the pressure of getting the kids into bed at a certain time by letting them stay up and watch a film whilst making them home-made pizza and plying them with popcorn for ‘pudding’. Of course, last night the film I had promised they could watch was nowhere to be found despite the DVD having been resident on the dining table for the best part of the week. Frantic searching offered no reward and we settled for something else without too much wailing and gnashing of teeth. Throughout all of this my daughter was playing with a light-up balloon from her party bag which then inadvertently floated into the garden when Littlest decided to ‘helpfully’ let the dogs out. I tentatively stepped out in my slippered feet to retrieve it only to feel a squelch underfoot. A crappy end to a crappy day. It was all I needed, having to scrape dog sh*t off my slipper at half past seven on a rainy Friday evening.
I needed another glass of wine to get me through ‘Snow Buddies’ during which it occurred to me that Cruella de Vil might have had a point. And then, finally, when the kids were in bed I watched a bit (more) rubbish tele and went to bed. For all of two hours then my son started crying. To be honest, I felt like joining him.*