I’ve missed you. It has been three days since my last confession…….
The (last part of the) week that was:
The husband returns with a bottle of champagne, roses, a mini boom box, a smile on his face, a twinkle in his eye and a gift from THAT shop in Paris. We open a bottle each and have a civilised catch up.
Camera 1 – same scene, five hours on – this shot would capture dancing in the kitchen, an ultra eye twinkle and a few more empty bottles
Camera 2 – bedroom scene – two hours on – this shot would capture……………wouldn’t you like to know?! Actually, in reality, this shot would capture the beginning of the drunken misunderstanding. The beginning of much to-ing and fro-ing from the bedroom ‘and another thing (or sching in this case)’ . I was two bottles behind him and was now very tired and VERY sober. I stayed in bed. He stomped around the house in protest of? I have no idea. I think he didn’t either. But he felt very strongly about ‘it’ all the same.
7.00 a.m. ALARM. WAKEY WAKEY. Except that I am already awake as I didn’t go to sleep.
and so the day begins
it’s my turn for the toddler group. SHIT! I have visions of peepee/ca-ca toilets that need to be cleaned and the remains or rather damning evidence of our Party of Two.
And once I get that sorted out, the toddler group stand me up!!!!!!!! Entre nous, I’m relieved. The still drunk husband is snoring on the sofa…..
I continue to chase my tail for a while and don’t get very far with the house and jobs. In the meantime, the Prodigal needs to get ready for his first day of Coiffure School in a big(ish) town, 30/40 mins drive from here. I nag, he ignores me and 5 mins before we leave, he still isn’t ready.
The Drunk one is starting to sober up.
The Fatty is grumpy and now I realise I will have to kill three hours with him in a soft play cafe whilst we wait for the Prodigal to finish as it’s not worth my while (and petrol) getting home and going back.
SOFT PLAY – there aren’t many words put together, that make my heart and spirit sink as much as those two. Good job I’m not tired or hungover…..
Back home (via the supermarket – AGAIN – another bad queue, I lose my credit card, the queue does a collective sigh, the cashier begins to dismantle the check out till to look for it, the Prodigal looks like he wants to curl up and die when I say loudly ‘i HAVE to find that card and no, Prodigal, I am not just going to leave and cancel it once I’m home, thanks for the (shite) advice.’) the house is chaotic as I left the Husband and four unsupervised kids, make that the unsupervised Husband and four kids and a dog to leave things where they fall.
WE HAVE TO INTERRUPT THIS SERVICE DUE TO UNFORESEEN CIRCUMSTANCES (the kids and husband are back).
and I didn’t even get onto the flatulent guest.
Until next time.