I didn't feel like blogging last night. I don't feel like blogging today. What I do feel like, is to crawl into a hole which contains the following:
1. A great, big, pillowy doona that is not too hot and not too cold
2. A telly showing all of the good Foxtel channels with shows that I haven't seen. Anything with Nigella would be great.
3. A magical chocolate mudcake that not only has no calories, but also burns fat when you eat it. (I didn't say I was being realistic, did I? But this is what I WANT)
4. Hot chocolate (also magical) to wash the cake down
5. A selection of paperbacks all about women who buy shoes and are having romances with men named Derek.
But because my hole refuses to materialise, I will have to make do with sitting on the mountains of unfolded washing on the couch, with ABC Kids in the box, eating baby rusks, having cups of tea and reading the back of a packet of Huggies. Close enough, hey?
And why, I hear you ask, am I in such a funk? Why don't I want to blog today?
Yesterday was a bit of a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day, in the manner of Alexander in his story book. Maisie started the day by bringing her early-morning feed back up onto my bed. A complete change of sheets was necessary. Again.
After dropping Phoebalina off at kinder, I had decided to treat Jack to the movies, given that he is off to school on Thursday. (And before you screech, "A little boy and a baby at the movies?? How ridiculous!!", we've done it before without a hitch. Jack is usually terrific at sitting for the length of the movie, and Maisie typically watches a little bit before feeding to sleep. Typically. Usually. Whatever.) He was so excited, and I was rapt to be doing something special with my boy, just us. They were both having a really good day, laughing and generally being very well-behaved. And then the movie started.
As soon as the lights went down, and we saw Rapunzel in her tower, Maisie began to wriggle, and grizzle, and carry on - loudly. After wrestling with her for half an hour, I relented and let her crawl around on the floor in the dark, while I crouched nearby. Thank goodness the cinema was nearly empty. Meanwhile, Jack decided he wanted Mummy's attention, and began clinging onto me every time I leapt up to grab Maisie from some peril or another. And no joke, after 35 minutes, he told me he was too tired to sit and watch the movie, and he wanted to go home. Seriously??
So I kissed my $20 goodbye, grabbed the kids and our stuff, and scuttled out of the cinema just as Flynn Rider was taking Rapunzel outside for the first time. Talk about not happy, Jan. To top it off, as soon as we walked in the front door, Jack asked me to put a DVD on for him. Not a chance, laughing boy. Instead of sitting and watching a funny movie for the afternoon, I did some housework (yep, just for a change.) When we went to pick Phoebs up, I thought at least they'd be happy to see each other and the grizzling might stop (mine, not Jack's).
Instead, the two of them fought from the minute we entered the Kinder 1 room until bedtime. Then Maisie fed for about two hours, after which I was completely spent. Did I mention someone side-swiped my car while we were in the cinema? Thanks for not leaving a note, you mongrel. I really appreciate significant damage being done to my car by complete strangers. I'm weird like that.
And after a day like that, I went to bed, thinking I could at least start fresh today. And then Maisie screamed (and I do mean screamed - like she was being repeatedly stabbed) for OVER AN HOUR in the middle of the night. Why? Because she wanted me to pick her up. Because she could. Because she felt like it. When she finally fell asleep around 2am, we got about 45 minutes rest...before Jack came in to tell us he'd had an accident. All in all, a great night to match a terrific day.
And today? My so-called fresh start?? The kids are knackered, which means they have fought all day. All day. Maisie is tired, so she has crawled head-first into every single possible sharp object in the house, and now has more eggs on her head than a chicken coop. And me? I'm cranky. I'm horrible. I'm not good company. And I don't want to blog. So sorry about that.