The final straw

You really don’t want to cross me at the moment, I’m cranky as.

Ten days is a loooooong time to feel crook and not sleep properly.

I’ve been averaging four or five hours at night with a stint of insomnia around the 1am mark.

I added a bout of anxiety about Father’s Day into the mix on Monday, more about that later.

By the time yesterday morning dawned I was a bit beside myself.

By Tuesday night I was very, very, very grumpy when I finally stumbled home at 8pm. I was such a grim, jaw-grinding mama as I stomped out with the recycling before collapsing in bed.

The reason I was so late home was because I’d forgotten the youngest was in a fashion parade at her school, modelling a kimono she made in design class.

I confidently told the mum sitting beside me that it was my first and last high school fashion parade because the youngest has no interest  in sewing.

However, what I wasn’t factoring into the equation was how much interest the youngest would have in strutting the catwalk.

She is suddenly dead keen on making fashion one of her electives in Year 9, despite having absolutely no affinity for a sewing machine.

Apparently lots of the kids declined to take part in the parade because of the catwalk bit, but the youngest was enticed by getting a day off school to rehearse and then dazzled by sauntering on stage.

I can’t show you any happy snaps because the youngest has been strictly told by the teachers that anyone who posts photos of the event on social media will be harshly reprimanded.

Ah, bugger that. Here’s a non-identifying one. The youngest is in the light blue:

The teachers at the youngest’s school are SUCH a bore.

Speaking of being harshly reprimanded, the youngest went nuts when she found out I hadn’t videoed her performance. She hadn’t asked me to video it, she just assumed I would.

I didn’t.

I took photos and sent them to all and sundry while the Year 10s were modelling pyjamas.

I was in sooooo much trouble on the way home. Last night was not the night for the youngest to decide I was in sooooo much trouble. I told her to rack off.

But back to my Father’s Day anxiety.

Dad isn’t well enough to make the trip to Sydney. Meanwhile, my ex has to be at a meeting for work at 10.30am on Sunday morning (WTF?) and the youngest needs to be at TWO band performances, one at the Conservatorium of Music at 11am and the other at 3.50pm.

Does the NSW School Band Festival not consult the calendar and think “Hmmmmm, maybe we’ll leave Father’s Day off the schedule”?

Some kids from the youngest’s school have to be at three performances on Sunday, with the middle one at an entirely different location. Happy Father’s Day!

I’m supposed to meet Mum and Dad – he’s pictured above – around halfway between Sydney and Newcastle for lunch.

I lay in the dark fretting about it being poor form to dump the youngest at the Con and leave her to perform without a parent watching.

I also fretted about WHERE to have lunch with Mum and Dad, considering we’ve forgotten to book a venue.

I started consulting with Google about the dilemma at around 1.38am.

Google had no perfect solutions.

I called my sister yesterday morning to fret to her about what we should do; while simultaneously ranting to DD via text message.

He offered soothing messages about how difficult it was to have so much on in my life, before eventually going into hiding so he could get some work done.

As I drove the youngest to school she assured me she really wasn’t bothered if no one was there, but took advantage of my high levels of guilt to score a mocha from our local cafe on the way to the gates.

In the end, my sister and I decided to pay an outrageous $85 a head to have lunch at the Mooney Mooney Club, as you do when you’re being gouged on Father’s Day. That slow-roasted lamb platter had better be damn good.

Speaking of the end, my tether was getting pretty short when I got an email from the school announcing the youngest is also required to spend several hours at our local street fair performing in the jazz band ON SATURDAY AS WELL.

FFS.

Freaking single mum life.

Mutter, mutter.

But the final straw was opening a letter from the Sheriff that announced I’d been put on the jury duty list for the year.

Noooooooooooooooo!

Song of the day: Right Said Fred “I’m too sexy”