When she was a little tyke, my sister was famous for her Indian war dances. She’d scream and stamp and fling herself around in furious circles.
Being a three-year-old can be frustrating.
Yesterday, I wanted to scream and stamp and fling myself around in furious circles.
Being a 46-year-old can be frustrating.
I’m blaming the farking Mirena. Google “mirena mood swings” and the cyberworld goes crazy with quotes like “mirena makes me feel like sh*t – anyone else?” and “mirena crazy bitch” and “mirena is evil” and “get this thing out of me!”
It’s a convenient excuse, because I had no reason to feel so crap.
Well, yesterday was a little trying …
Work was frantic. The back end of the site kept playing up and there was way too much to do in far too little time.
Things looked up at lunchtime when a lovely PR woman bought me a tofu, Asian greens and cashew stir-fry at the local Thai.
Then I flung myself on a train to attend the youngest’s school assembly item. She danced to YMCA and Blame It On the Boogie dressed like this …
Her joyous enthusiasm made me laugh and clap and burst with pride.
Afterwards, I took the eldest to art class and the youngest and her best friend to skipping.
Then I went to the $2 shop to search for blow-up rings and water soaker thingies for the eldest’s birthday.
Then I went to Woolies for sugary supplies so I could bake for the school band’s crazy cupcake day.
Then I had an argument with a friend who wanted me to go boogie boarding with them on the weekend. I don’t boogie board. I can’t swim. Literally can’t swim. My parents sent me to harrowing lessons my entire childhood, to no avail. I was a swim instructor’s worst nightmare. The pinnacle of my aquatic achievements: a certificate for dog-paddling five metres.
I am therefore petrified of water that’s more than waist-high.
People who aren’t scared of the water and who can swim don’t understand people who are scared or the water and can’t swim. They think they’re being namby-pamby wusses.
They think namby-pamby wusses should face their fears.
It put me in a VERY bad mood.
I was slightly mollified by the local pizza restaurant serving free pizza at the entrance to the shopping centre.
Then I felt guilty about eating the pizza.
Then my car key broke …
The miserable excuse for a car key belongs to my miserable excuse for a car. It’s 12 years old and I had my heart set on getting a new one in February, but I got a marriage separation instead.
God knows when there will ever be money for a new car. Probably never.
Then I baked cupcakes and licked the beaters … and felt guilty about it.
Then I picked the youngest and her best friend up from skipping.
Then I picked the eldest up from art class.
Then I dropped the youngest’s best friend home.
Then I made dinner.
Dinner was quite yummy actually. The kids loved it. It was a “scratch tea” – I rummaged around the cupboard and pulled out a can of baby roma tomatoes, a few mini cans of tuna, a jar of olives, a splash of leftover rose, half a red onion and a few cloves of garlic, cooked them up together and tossed them with some pasta.
The finished product looked like this …
Then I iced the cupcakes.
Then I decorated the cupcakes and ate far too many Smarties and M&Ms and felt guilty about it.
The finished cupcakes looked like this …
Throughout it all I felt an aching tiredness and desperate desire to weep. Preferably in the bath with a very large vodka, lime and soda on the side.
But there was NO FREAKING TIME because I had to stack the dishwasher twice and tidy up the house and kiss two crabby kids goodnight.
When everything was finally done, I went to bed and curled up in a ball (and angsted over all the stuff I can’t blog about because I’ve promised NOT TO … sigh).
Single motherhood isn’t bulk fun sometimes. There are days when it’s just bloody relentless.
Yesterday was one of them.
Know the feeling?
Song of the day: Will.I.Am “Scream and shout” (try and ignore all the Britney blahness … bit tricky … but the chorus rocks)