Monday, May 18, 2015

Every train of thought I had, derailed.

It is Monday people. Normally I whinge on a Monday, because you know… For crying out Pete’s , sake it’s Monday again, and the weekend is over and mind numbingly mundane routine takes over, and the kids are fighting my attempt to get them out of bed, and Monday is a thunder whore that hates my face.

Today however, I am standing in my field of freedom, which is completely barren of fucks about the fact that it is Monday. I am twirling and bursting into song like that chick with the dildo haircut in that movie… What’s her face... Sound of music.

Why? Because last week, I had all of my children home sick for the week. The whole stinking week. Don’t get me wrong, I felt a bit sorry for them because they were feeling poorly and all that, but….

And I just need to have a sip of water and massage my temples for a second…

The fighting.

Having children pretty much guarantees that you will never, ever have an uninterrupted train of thought ever again.
They won’t tell you that in the parenting books.

When you work from home this is not only problematic, but it is INFURIATING. My work week comprised of; half an idea... Leading to a great idea… Then the kids would have a fight and my idea was gone.
Start again... Get half an idea, kind of remember the first idea, get excited that you remember the first idea, the kids would fight. Idea was gone.
Start again.

There are only so many times that your train of thought will derail before the tracks bend and the train just won’t go anymore.

*Rubs face in an infuriated fashion.

It wouldn’t stop... It was endless, WON’T SOMEBODY MAKE IT STOP!!

So, I gave up by Tuesday afternoon and I began to compile a list of the things my children fight about. Mainly because I was losing my mind, but also because I knew when they went back to school I may find it amusing. You know… Hopefully one day I may be able to laugh about it. It’s funny because it isn’t happening to me anymore.

Kind of like when a celebrity dies, and enough time has to pass before you can joke about it…
Michael Jackson- YES
Joan Rivers- Nearly…Not yet
Richie Benaud- *Gasp!! You shut your damn whore mouth. NO.

(*Once again I would like to take this opportunity to profusely apologise for the Catalina-fucking-wine mixer joke I made during the Logies broadcast OK…I get it… Too soon. My bad. Please stop writing to me about it, I just don’t care and probably won’t even read it. Please just calm the fuck down OK....
No one cares)

*Awkward silence

ANYWAYS… This is the kind of stuff my kids fight about, and it is important that you know, all of the following began with a large MAA-Uhhhh-AAARRRM,  starting off in the key of B flat and working its way up to a High E at the end.

  • ·         He farted near my lunch.
  • ·         She won’t stop stepping her toe into my doorway. (I am not even fucking kidding)
  • ·         She twerked near my face
  • ·         He won’t stop singing while I am trying to sing.
  • ·         He hovered his finger near my sandwich.
  • ·         I had the kitten first
  • ·         She said the kitten hates me
  • ·         He swiped a booger across the iPad
  • ·         She said she likes broccoli, and she is a liar, she doesn’t and I liked broccoli first (I wish I was lying)
  • ·         He called me a racist because I said ‘a brown car’
  • ·         He watched a vine with a swear word in it
  • ·         She put my pillow on the floor and trod on it
  • ·         He is bouncing a ball in the house when you said no bouncing balls in the house,
  • ·         He bounced the ball on the wall near my head
  • ·         He bounced the ball on my head
  • ·         She is dobbing on me
  • ·         How come Her breath smells like Nutella, I thought we ran out of Nutella, she ate Nutella.
  • ·         He is drawing something I was going to draw
  • ·         She farted near my library book and it belongs to THE LIBRARY.
  • ·         He said my face looks like a smashed up, avocado sandwich.
  • ·         It’s her turn to pick a movie, but she is only picking the movies I hate on purpose
  • ·         He said the cat is his.
  • ·         She said the cat hates me
  • ·         He stinks
  • ·         She stinks
  • ·         Yes Mr Sherman… Everything stinks.

  • ·         He is taking my blanket, It’s my blanket, GET YOUR OWN BLANKET
  • ·         He drank my drink
  • ·         Her stuff is on my side of the lounge
  • ·         He is breathing loud on purpose
  • ·         I can’t.. I can’t go on…

The list is so much longer than this, but at some point my ear hairs caved in and I stopped hearing it and curled up in the foetal position and imagined that Ricky Martin and Manu Field were taking it in turns to read me poetry while stroking my hair and whispering, “It’s OK to cry darling.. It’s OK to cry” In their divine accents.

*Heavy breathing.

So, today is Monday. A School Monday. The children are well enough to go back to school, Imaginary Ricky and Manu have gone and all I can hear is silence but for the deep rumble of my train of thought engine starting up again.


(My commenting system is still down, I’ll get to it eventually. Meanwhile, if you want to tell me what your kids fight about, how I can stop my kids from fighting, how I can better cope with parenting, to send me pictures of C-Tates, Ed Sheeran, Adam Levine, Food, or cats to cheer me up, or if you are of the perpetually offended variety, and simply just want to complain about my Catalina-Fucking-Wine mixer joke, you can head over to FACEBOOK or TWITTER and do it there)

Em. xx

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