No satisfaction

If there’s one thing I should know by now, it’s not to allow the nice Italian proprietor to keep topping up your glass. Make that two things – the other being not to take yourself too seriously the following day.

I had a wonderful day yesterday and so I suppose a little balance was called for. Either that or “too much haha, pretty soon boohoo” – Dr Bob Kelso. Or I’m a miserable, ungrateful sod. Take your pick.

I feel a bit off the map and disappointed with myself and my expectations, but it’s probably just being low and tired. It doesn’t help that this post was scrawled on a bit of paper whilst sitting on the stairs outside of my flat, fielding a small child bits of paper to draw on because we were locked out until mrbookandbed returned home. I checked my bag for my keys this morning only to realise when I got home tonight that the glint of metal ball I had spied was not in fact the annoying ball that always used to fall off my Tiffany key-ring, spilling my keys everywhere, but a stray Tiffany oversized stud ear-ring bought in New York that was kicking around my bag. Shame on me. Equally, what a shame that my lovely birthday dinner last night coincided with a Monkey-face tantrum of such epicdom that it necessitated the handing over an electronic device to distract her from said kick-off. The only electronic device to hand was my i-Phone which conveniently has a terrible battery-life. And having charged the thing before dinner last night, I neglected to notice that, by the time the Monkey had finished playing the Ladybird app for two hours solid, it required a recharge, today. So, she and I found ourselves key-less with a now dead-flat mobile, sat in the semi-gloom as the light-bulb on the stairs is also expired.

Already feeling somewhat miserable about my short-comings, this simultaneous exposure to my compound failures of disorganisation, attention to detail (lack of), parenting and forward-planning just about finished me off. This sort of stuff just doesnt seem to happen to other responsible adults. I felt altogether lacking. And more importantly II needed a hot bath, a book and lots of sleep. But before all of that, I needed a wee. Definitely a wee. And what about the Monkey? How on earth was I going to keep her occupied until my husband returned home and let us in? What the hell would i have done has she needed to evacuate the poop she was brewing? My handbag was very expensive once upon a time so that would never do. Fortunately it did not come to that.

My ship must have come in for there were ball-point pens in my bag, a stack of paper (bought yesterday for making Christmas cards with) and – the coup d’etat! – my pigeon-hole had a tiny padded envelope languishing in it. Once opened, I found a miniature Bullseye ordered for her planned Toy Story-themed birthday cake. This has saved my life and I manage to somehow keep her occupied for one whole hour. Somehow, despite being a daily screwup, I do manage to pull this stuff (literally) out of the bag. I suppose there are upsides to being so disorganised that there’s all sorts of unfiltered crap in my bag,

I’ve rarely been so happy to see my husband when he came home and never has a kid so deserved a small slice of birthday cake. I, on the other hand was so hungry by the time I got inside that I ate half of said cake.

In case you’re starting to lose faith in this whole bookandbed caper, we did actually get inside to read something this evening. Yes it was the Gruffalo, but I find it such a lovely story – of a little mouse dodging all of the scary things coming his way. And when he’s overcome the obstacles, sits down to fully appreciate the peace and quiet … and a good nut. I could learn a lot from that mouse.

Night all.


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