Monday Mourning

Ah, Monday. A long, long time ago I used to love Mondays. Freaky as that sounds, it was a fresh start, and no matter how yucky the previous week had been at work, or in terms of a diet, or exercise, whatever - Monday meant you could start all over again, refreshed and relaxed after the weekend. That was BEFORE Team O'Toole included the kids.

On Mondays, rather than being rested, the kids are exhausted from a weekend of activities...birthday parties, swimming lessons, visits to friends, going out for lunch. Even if we stay at home and do nothing, just the excitement of having Daddy home for two whole days is enough to raise the roof. We usually get out of the house on the weekend for two reasons, the first being that by Friday night I am climbing the walls, and the second being that if we didn't go and do stuff like swimming lessons on a Sunday, we'd never do it. Every weekend, Christian and I say we'll have a quiet Saturday, and occasionally we'll stay in our jarmies until an obscenely late hour. But it's much more fun to pack the kids up and go do something outside, don't you agree? So as a result, a typical Monday in our house revolves around tired kids having Daddy-withdrawals, and a Mummy who SHOULD have caught up with the housework on the weekend, but was having too much fun to care!

Today encapsulated everything that I don't like about Mondays (cue mournful Bob Geldof with stringy hair...) We began quite well, with a load of washing on during breakfast time. Stupidly I felt a bit ahead of the 8-ball at this point, as Maisie had woken for a feed at 5am and I thought she might sleep a bit longer than normal....but no. My darling baby girl began her day by projectiling all over Mummy, and then smiling widely. We cleaned up the milky vomit, and began catching up on weekend washing. The first load sat in the machine while I cleaned up breakfast that had gone uneaten ("Mummy, I need lots of Panadols" "Why, Phoebe?" "Because my tummy hurts" "Oh possum, why does your tummy hurt?" "Because you made breakfast"). I should have gathered from this small exchange that the day was not going to be a good one, but instead I stumbled blindly ahead.

My beautiful grandmother, whom we call Argie, is always ready to receive our visits with open arms. Having had four children under five herself, she is more than able to cope when my children are being less than charming. Today was definitely not a day to expose ourselves to the general public. After a second load of washing, pegging out the wet stuff and bringing in the dry, dressing, brushing teeth and breaking up several bouts of biffo, Team O'Toole descended on Argie at about 11am. Jack was in fine form, but Phoebs had progressed by a tummy ache to all-out bellyaching. She followed me everywhere, whining, "Mummy, I waaaaaaaaant you", even when she was firmly planted on my lap. She had a continual stream of snot running down from her nose, mixed with sad, sad tears. All the Kleenex in the world couldn't help my poor, messy, wet little daughter today.

I'm sure that Maisie decided to get in on the action too, because she spent most of the day wailing if I even thought about putting her down, or handing her to someone else. She was a real toonkynunk today. I'm sure she's just reaching the clingy stage but it felt as though the sisters had joined forces today to whinge Mummy into a bottle of vodka! Never to be beaten, Jack decided that mimicking Phoebe would be funny...needless to say we packed up a bit earlier today and left Argie in peace. By the time we left the outskirts of Balnarring, all three were asleep...they snored all the way home (the entire ten minute journey!) and woke wonderfully refreshed in Hastings...Mummy on the other hand was distinctly worse for wear. Phoebe came to me around 4.30 and said "Mummy, I'm hungry". "It's ok sweetie", I said, "I'm cooking tea right now." "I don't want tea!!" she cried, and she flounced off to be cross at someone else. Yep, I hope someone is getting a laugh out of this...

And so, as another Monday draws to a close, the big kids are asleep and Maisie is still fighting the good fight. You can't blame her - after all, the only person she has to fight for my attention right now is Daddy!!! Here's looking forward to Tuesday...