Every single time

I rued my single mum life on Monday night as I packed away the groceries at 10.30pm.

Geez it’s relentless sometimes.

Monday was – as previously noted – a bit stressy. It started with me waving DD off in an Uber to the airport, then collecting the sick youngest from the train station, taking them home to bed, turning around and getting myself to work.

After work, I raced home to check on the youngest before her dad picked her up after his latest session of rat counselling (I think they’ve moved on to general parent-teen relations, but I said I was too busy to join them).

Then I bolted up to Woolies to do the weekly shop. I usually get my groceries on the weekend, but that was blown by Saturday’s ferry ride and a trip to Newcastle to visit my post-op mum.

I barely had time to put the cold stuff in the fridge and freezer before heading to a two and a half hour skipping committee meeting where, among other things, we tossed around fundraising ideas. My 80s disco suggestion – with complimentary Blue Lagoon cocktails on arrival – was vetoed in favour of a trivia night.

Snore.

I’d have loved a bop (actual ‘80s bop pictured main).

Tossing around fundraising ideas is a long and arduous process, hence the 10.30pm pantry duties with a side serve of guilt because I didn’t volunteer for anything at the meeting other than helping out at the shop at States and Nationals as I am feeling pretty close to overwhelmed.

Tuesday morning saw the youngest arrive on my doorstep again for another day in bed. I dashed to work and was frantically tapping away when I got a call from the eldest to say they were on death’s door with a virus and needed to be collected from school.

I may have lost the plot a little because I DID NOT HAVE TIME TO DRIVE 30 MINUTES ACROSS THE CITY TO BAIL THEM OUT OF SICK BAY.

But I did. And, of course, a major work drama unfolded in the hour I was gone, leading to a panicked Bluetooth conversation in the car.

I asked the eldest if they could make their own way home from my office to speed things up, but they said no as they have massive blisters from their new Doc Marten boots.

I may have lost the plot a little because I DID NOT HAVE TIME TO MAKE A 20 MINUTE DETOUR HOME.

And there may have been swearing.

I raced back to work and sorted out the drama and frantically continued with my day. At 3pm the youngest texted to say she was considering going to a final skipping training session before her nasal surgery this morning.

I said I thought that wasn’t such a good idea.

She texted back 30 minutes later to say she had to go because she’d forgotten to hand over the team’s ropes … and how was she going to get there in the cold and wet?

I said THAT WAS HER PROBLEM because I’d already blown more than an hour of my day getting her sick sibling home from school.

My heart rate may have been slightly elevated at that point.

(I am also struggling to see the point of the flu injections my ex got both of the kids the other week.)

After work, I colkected the youngest from skipping training, dropped her team mates home, cooked dinner, cleaned up and rinsed and repeated the single-mum frenzy.

Now it’s Wednesday morning and the youngest needs to be at the hospital by 8.30am for her first-ever general anaesthetic. Cue elevated heart rates for both of us.

Maybe they can medicate me too …

Song of the day: Queen “Crazy little thing called love”