Friday, 12 July 2013

And it's not even Friday the 13th...

Firstly, Gmail?  What the hell is this new inbox you've just foisted on me?  I now have three different places my emails go to - and you decide what they are?  Primary, social and promotions?  I had enough trouble keeping track of one list, now I have to keep checking three?  In case you've put something in the wrong box?  Thanks a bloody lot. 

I'm going to be on the scrounge in a bit from my UK followers, both local and further afield.  More on that later.  My house has been like something out of an episode of  'Outnumbered' this morning.  I say 'this morning' like any other day is a semblence of normal.  Y'all know it isn't.  

Last two weeks of term - such fun!  And seven days until the summer holidays!  Yes, that was a hint of sarcasm you detected.   Yesterday was Adam's school trip to the cinema.  Knowing his sister's school trip today was to see Despicable Me 2, he was so looking forward to it.  He had a face like thunder when I picked him up from school yesterday.  The school had taken them to see Wreck it Ralph.  Which he's already seen.  Twice.  And he's getting less and less impressed the more times he sees it.   So I've had to promise him to take them to see it before it closes in the cinema (incidentally 23rd June, in case anyone's wondering...).  Then he decides he wants a barbecue.  Tomorrow.   You know me, anything for a get together.  But I really can't be bothered in this weather.  Yes, I know it's barbecue weather.  Yes, I know I moan that every time I plan something it's raining or gale force.  But really, meh.  

I have Ryan off school, he had teeth out on Tuesday.  Before anyone chastises me for being a bad mother, he is Autistic and has sensory issues.  You think about trying to get a child who doesn't want to, to clean their teeth... you haven't seen anything until you've tried it with an Autistic child.  Adam, who is clearly still very pissed off has woke up on the wrong side of the bed, claiming to be ill.  Despite my promising to take him to Cineworld next week and for a KFC after - he's still ill.  Which means the minute the school bell goes at 9am, he'll miraculously recover, and I'll feel stupid for being duped by a 6 year old.  Again.  He also still wants a barbecue.   Not just us six, oh no.  I have to invite people as well.

It gets more and more bizarre.  My daughter is apparently rewriting or remixing or rehashing the Special AKA hit 'Free Nelson Mandela'  at school, and she is off on her school trip today.  Bath last night, washed hair and she plaited it.   Off she's toddled looking like her head exploded.

And then we have Sideshow Dan.  Who now has hair like a 1970s footballer.  And a very dubious moustache.  Looks a bit like a young Welsh Phil Lynott?  Worked out he wouldn't be here to collect his AS results and I wanted to make sure he found out today as to how to get them sent by post.  So I venture into the pit (teenage boys rooms, that smell, what is it?) and I ask random questions to make sure he's awake.  

Me:  Dan?  Dan?  Dan? 

Dan:  Mmph.

Me:  What's your name.

Dan:  Yeah.   I'm awake.

Me:  What year is it?

Dan:  2015.

Er, no.  No it's not.

Mr G too, hasn't let me down.  My computer is just about to die after months of watching the BSOD, it's now doing it about twice an hour.  I have a new tower here ready to connect, but I just can't let my baby go.  All the stuff still on it, all my log ins, passwords, emails in my Outlook Express that have been there for three years that I still haven't read.   So I'm sweating like a glassblower's bum crack up in our bedroom, trying to backup all my data and I go downstairs for a cold drink to find this spectacle, in the 20+ degree heat.

Me:  What are you doing with that ukulele?

Mr G:  Practicing.

He knows four chords.  Four.  This isn't 'Hey Soul Sister' we're talking about.  Now, he's just gone for a walk, in a vest and shorts and - wait for it - wearing a bloody bum bag.  A green bum bag.   I know we're on an island but we're not talking Crete here...?   I'm going to include couscous in tonight's tea just to punish him.  

Begging post to follow...


  1. 4 chords is better than no chords, right? ;)

    I didn't realize you could elect to have teeth pulled. I'm so damn tired, I just may have mine pulled so I have on less thing to do!

    1. No, Steph. No ukulele full stop is better. Trust me. The bongos and harmonica phase were aurally painful enough. This is like torture.

      Ah bless him he needed them out, baby teeth >.< Don't have your teeth pulled, you never know when you might need to bite someone :-) xx


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