Last-minute panic

Oooooooh I was tired yesterday – Tuesday night was a bit of a killer in the Household.

Who’d have guessed that prepping for a school ski trip would be so intense? I finally stormed out of my bed at 10.45pm and demanded the youngest STOP PACKING AND GO TO BED.

I mean FFS, she was only going to the snow for three days – how many mobile phone power banks did she really need?

AND she didn’t want to start the trip exhausted.

Most importantly, all that clunking was KEEPING ME AWAKE.

I had a broken night’s sleep when I finally drifted off. I do not cope well with anything that involves alarms – I always panic they won’t go off and I will be late.

I was also really sweaty, which turned out not to be a menopause symptom, but because I’d forgotten to turn the heating off. I don’t usually have it on, but I decided to give us all a special treat.

Since Barnaby Joyce doesn’t turn his on because he can’t afford the bill on his $200,000+ salary, I was kinda freaked out that I’d blasted it for 12 hours straight on my much more measly pay.

Argh!

During one of my wake ups I also remembered the school had sent out a list of items the kids needed to take with them to the snow. And we hadn’t checked it.

Cue additional argh!

I threw myself out of bed at 5.45am, dashed to the home office and started throwing paperwork around like mad woman’s fecal matter, trying to find it.

It turned out A LOT of things were missing from the chockers suitcase, including a towel and a day pack.

I made the executive decision that youngest would survive without an oversized velour dressing gown and two bottles of sparkling apple juice.

By the time that was all sorted, there were scant minutes left to dress myself for the drive to school, which is how I found myself at the bus stop at 6.30am with wild hair and no lippie or bra.

No bra isn’t the best look when you’re 51 with rapidly diminishing collagen.

Cue a few awkward, brief conversations with other mums, arms crossed over my chest, before bolting back to the car.

And now the eldest and I can eat as much sugar and lactose as we like until the youngest returns – at freaking midnight – on Friday.

Except I’ve decided I shouldn’t be eating ANY sugar or lactose because it’s becoming unavoidably obvious that I am getting a little … blimpy …

And giving up alcohol for five days a week – plus only having coffee for breakfast – seems to be making no difference, dammit.

So I hit the treadmill at the gym again last night for the second time this week. I couldn’t find anyone to go with me on either occasion and blimey 60 minutes is a long time to walk up a pretend hill by yourself while watching The Bachelor without sound.

I really don’t know that I can manage the six interminable months that are required to lose 10kg. Eight kilos of them from my face.

So. Dull.

Song of the day: Olivia Newton John “Physical”