I'm going to be needing to buy a whole load of hairbrushes. The bloody dog's obsessed with them. I spent ages searching for one the other morning and ended up giving up and just settling for raking my fingers through my hair. I found it later that day in the dog's kennel. As I type she's chewing my last surviving (okay, it's not strictly the last surviving, but I have no idea where the others are) hairbrush. Why? I've bought her shed loads of toys.
He often talks in his sleep. He's fallen asleep on the sofa again.
"What did you say?"
"I'm cuddling the boat."
"Erm, what's that, you're saying?"
"I'm cuddling the boat."
Well, I can quite clearly see that isn't a boat. That's the BoyBaby. He looks nothing like a boat.
Is everything boat these days? I'm beginning to hate boats. Hate them, which is ridiculous because I've always loved boats. Especially the fast ones.
I've been very careful with the dog. I've been taking her out in the middle of the night and the moment I get up (which is often, really very early). This morning, for example, came downstairs, deposited BoyBaby into his chair and went straight out into the garden with Bella (dog), waited in the pissing rain for her to do her business, followed it with a standing ovation. Came back inside, went about my business of getting WonderBoy's uniform ironed, feeding BoyBaby, etc. Popped out the back for two minutes to collect the pushchair from the car, walk back in to find yet another, big, fat steaming dollop by the front door! Why? Where am I going wrong?
Again, this evening, took her out. Waited around. Came back in, chatting away on the phone to my brother when Hubby starts flapping about, yelling about there being a dollop by the front door. For goodness sakes...
I went out at the weekend to clear up the dollops from the grass in the garden, got to about the sixth dollop when I had to come in for a vomit break. I really don't deal with poo well. I need to toughen up.
Anyway, on a cheerier note, my Christmas shopping is almost finished. It's coming on leaps and bounds. Good stuff.
I got up at 5.30 this morning to get BoyBaby a bottle and as I stepped onto the stairs my foot landed in a big, fat pile of shit.
We have a puppy. Someone left the stair gate open last night. She'd also left two steaming dollops by the front door too. We're going to have to start bulk buying disinfectant at this rate. She'd been doing so well too. Hopefully last night was a blip. On blogging on my mobile (oddly, it seems to be working again) as I wait for her to do her business, in the garden.
The "d" key on my keyboard has come unhooked. I popped in to the computer shop in town to see how much it would be to clip it back on and the boy-man told quoted me for an hour's work. An hour? Seriously? It would surely take them no more than five minutes! So, upshot is, they can knob off. I'll leave my d hanging off for the time being. I might even be clever enough to take it to my brother's house to be fixed next time I go.
I'm in an absolutely foul mood this morning. I don't usually get like this, but he fell asleep on the sofa again last night at 9pm having done almost diddly squat (he changed one nappy). I was working until almost 2am, after which I didn't much feel like cleaning up after the dinner I cooked and washing the baby bottles. New stock arrived yesterday so I was really busy all day sorting it out, etc. I thought maybe he'd have done it at some point, but nope. I've come downstairs this morning to a messy, dirty kitchen with no clean baby bottles. I protest.
I actually tidied up yesterday before he came home. Thing is, I went out for a cigarette, carried on working afterwards and the next time I looked up all of my hard done was ruined. It honestly looked like I hadn't bothered at all. My children are tazmanian devils of mess.
Last night about 6pm it came to light that we were pretty much out of baby wipes. I needed to change BoyBaby's nappy at 2am and he had very briefly woken up so I took BoyBaby upstairs and gave him a bottle whilst he said he'd go out to the car to see if there were any wipes in there. 20 minutes later he still hadn't returned so I called him on his mobile and he'd gone back to sleep without having looked. Ugh! So I got dressed again, came downstairs to go out to the car. He had a tantrum saying he was going now and he had already said we were out of babywipes earlier in the evening. Oh, well, silly me, I should have popped out in the car and got some then. My mistake! (I don't have a driver's license yet, when I drive I have to have someone sat next to me - am going to take my test in January). Grrr.
So, there are no baby wipes today. BoyBaby must have known because he did such a massive poo it came out all over himself and his clothes. It was allot of fun trying to clean it all up with kitchen roll and water. Lissy-Bean was ever so helpful too, with her running off with the kitchen and knocking over the bowl of water. I can't imagine why we buy baby wipes when it's so much fun without them.
Right, well, I'm going to grump off and do some work.
Check this out!! I could get one of these to come round to help me sort the crap out once and for all and then employ a cleaner to come round a few times a week. Actually, I'd already decided a cleaner would be a good idea before I can across this website. What a wonderful idea.
I've e-mailed one of the magic people from the above website already. She sounds magic!! My very own Anthea Turner without all the annoying smugness of Anthea, hopefully.
I've even placed an advert for a cleaner.
See? One needn't be a 1920s housewife in this day and age. I know, it's a terrible cop out. I'd like to be able to do it myself, but firstly, I'm crap and tidying and secondly, I don't have time to scratch my arse these days. Mind you, I find the time to come here and type crap into cyber space...
Why do I always end up putting the child to bed that doesn't sleep? Okay, not so difficult to work out since I'm the only one that does put the children to bed. I average about three hours sleep a night and it's been this way for quite some time.
I say to him, "How come I never end up having any sleep." Do you know what his response was???
"I work."
Excuse me? What the fuck is that supposed to mean? What, in buggery, does he think I do all day? Can he not see that our five month old is teething and just will not settle? Has it escaped his attention that Lissy-Bean is starting her terrible twos early and is a full time job in herself?? Hasn't he noticed that I'm having my first period since we concieved Oliver and I am in no mood to be fucked with.
Not only that, my evenings are spent, up into the small hours, setting up my own business (whicn easily has the potential of becoming our largest income).
I fucking work indeed. I'm absolutely fuming.
The comment that made me most cross, when I asked him what he thought I did all day was him saying, "Look at the state of the house!". Well, stupid, pick your bloody crap up off the floor then. I don't see any of my mess laying around!! What is this, the 1920s? Am I seriously expected to do everything??? If you marry someone that isn't terribly tidy, don't expect them to suddenly be tidy the moment you put a ring on their finger.
Is he so stupid to not notice the things I do do? Does he not notice the bills get magicly paid and that his clothes appear in his wardrobe clean, from being dirty and laying on the bedroom floor? Doesn't he taste the home cooked food of an evening? Doesn't he notice his children are healthy, intelligent and happy? How does he think his sandwiches for him to take to work appear in the fridge every morning? In fact, how do the groceries even get into our house?
Okay, Mr Perfect, you may go out to work, but what do you contribute to this household other than a financial sense? Ah, you come home, eat dinner, grump and whinge (usually about the boat and how he wants to do this, that and the other and what he wants to buy this week that essential to it) before falling asleep for the night either in the rocking chair or on the sofa. Okay, sometimes he manages to load the dishwasher. Wowweeee.
Last Friday, I went out to two shops (one of which being Tesco to go the grocery shopping) and he was on the phone screaming about how long I'd been out and he the children were, "Doing his head in". Uh huh, he can't manage, hmm?
So, Mr 20s Husband. Piss the bloody fuck bastard off. I'm a very good mother and a good wife. If you don't like things the way they are, piss off.
I'd love to be one of these magic Anthea Turner types who can whip their houses into a show home but I'm not. I'm very happy with who I am and will not be changing. Nope.
In fact, just bugger off!
All I ever hear from Him Indoors at the minute is, "Boat, boat, boat, boat, boat, boat, boat, boat, boat, boat, boat, boat, boat, boat! It's driving me nuts and has been the cause of a good few crossed words this weekend! The sooner he gets the bloody thing in the water, the better.
I love Aumtumn but I do hate Daddy-long-legs. It's never a good time of year for me. It leaves me cowering under my duvet many a night. My husband told me he saw one upstairs earlier and now he's buggered off to sleep in the rocking chair. How am I supposed to sleep when there's a rogue flying around the house, dangling it's many, stringy, bandy legs everywhere?
I think it's about time I got the children into a nightly routine. WonderBoy is but Lissy-Bean and BoyBaby aren't. Lissy-Bean expects to be cuddled to sleep every night and it takes up such a big chunk of the evening. I noticed I needed more sleep when I put my museli in my mug and my tea bag on a bowl. Trying to string a sentence together these days is a challenge enough for me. I sometimes miss the days when I got sleep. These days I'm chuffed if I get four hours.
So, the children are all in bed. Day One on the routine front.
I had a crafty plan.
Following my blog the other night about those boots, I went upstairs and woke Hubby by asking him if I could buy some boots and that I felt it was very important to my well being that I had them. His response was, "Hmmmmfphyer". I took that as a green light. Go, go, go! It sounded enough like a yes to me.
After the cat poo incident a few weeks ago, I felt I needed to get my own back on the waking front. Not only that, when you catch someone asleep it's always easier to get them to agree. I thought it was a rather cunning plan.
So, the next day I phoned him at work (Grumpy Brother answered the phone, they work together, you see). I told Grumpy Brother to let Hubby know that I had purchased the boots as per our discussion in the night and they were £167. Grumpy Brother said, "I can't tell him that!!".
Okay, a very uncharacteristic and very urgent desire;
Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg, Ugg.
I really, really want some. My feet might freeze off without them. I do live in the country, you know. It gets cold here. Walking about all those unbeaten tracks. And don't even get me started on what might happen to my feel in the summer without them.
"UGG boots are true four-season boots that'll carry you across snowy trails, sunny beaches, dance floors, and city streets. Made of cushy merino shearling with molded rubber soles, these UGGs are so comfortable you'll never want to take them off."
Oh, I just want them on my feet right now. I do, I do.
I don't need them, but I do desire them. I want comfortable feet. Mmm, I can almost feel that sheepskin.
Hubby's boat is currently out the back the back of our house at the moment and someone has written in the dirt on the side of it, HMS Arsehole.
When Hubby told me I couldn't contain my laughter. I fell about for a good few minutes over that one. He was most upset.
Why can't I be one of those naturally tidy people? I hate tidying. I'd rather clean any day. I'm good at cleaning, I just can't tidy for shit. I've been trying to do it all day, with my step mother in law doing the director duties. I find I can pull it all out from the corners fine, can busy about moving things around for a good couple of hours or so then I flag on the third hour and am rendered totally bored and useless by the forth hour. I'm so crap. I hate mess though, it makes me feel claustraphobic.
My spangly new mobile phone's gone to pot on the net surfing front. I was really excited at the thought of being able to blog and surf away whenever I wanted without the hassle of the laptop and toddler debacle and now it seems to network cannot be found or there's no gateway or something. Yes, well, whatever. Bloody thing.
We've bought a boat.
All I hear these days is, "Boat this and boat that". It's driving me nuts. Totally nuts. Yes, I'll like going out on it and fishing from it but do I need to hear the word boat 300 times a day? No. No, no and no.
Hubby takes things to the extreme. A hobby cannot simply be something to pass ones leisure time. We took up fishing, he has to have two rods. Then he just needs this rod and then just needs this time of reel, oh and this reel does something the other one doesn't. Then we just need a simple fishing boat. Now we need this new outboardfloatationsuitsteeringmechanismanewcuddywithdifferentshapedwindowsandanewanchor. For goodness sake. I find that this minute attention to details totally takes the fun out of things. Just go to the beach, slap out your rod and reel in some fish. That's it. All done.
WonderBoy came dashing upstairs this morning and disturbed my breastfeeding BoyBaby, telling me I ought to come down immediately. So, I sleepily trundled downstairs to find Lissy-Bean had removed her nappy and left me some logs on the carpet. I was heaving as I cleaned it up. Is it bedtime yet?
So, for hubby's 30th that's coming up, we've decided to go to Turkey. Just in case we get stranded on a desert island on our travels, i've been learning to to gut a fish this evening. After blanking at fishing yesterday (apart from seaweed - and I'm quite sure that the seaweed they serve in chinese restaraunts is actually fried cabbage - and I don't fancy eating that) the others came home with a bucket load of mackrel today - the buggers. Show me some human blood and I'll run away squeaking like a girl, yet i'm perfectly happy up to my armpits in fish blood and guts.
Hubby and I have a routine where I put Lissy-Bean to sleep of an evening (if he does it, I don't see hom again for thee rest of the night, he could fall asleep standing up!). Another reason I like to do it that way round is because i live in the vain hope that I'll comdown and he'll have cleaned the kitchen... Crafty!
With gorgeous BoyBaby, I don't get much sleep, as you imagine. This morning the children and I had fallen asleep, after 20 minutes hubby comes stomping upstairs to bitch about having cat poo on his finger! How is that such an urgent matter that he feels it's important enough to wake a sleep deprived wife to tell me? He was fuming because a cat had "broken" in to our garage to deposit it's load over a piece of wood he wanted to chop. (He does this allot lately, he's got a new job and has spent hundreds on new tools which makes him want to put a pencil behind his ear, go down to the garage and chop a piece of wood. The pencil is an integral part of the kit because, "It's what Dads do", apparently. Okay... Once he's fallen asleep tonight, I'm planning to wait up so I can wake him to tell him i've spilt some apple juice on the working surface! Ha! Touche!
I'll be quick; So, new phone? Not quite so fab for blogging after all. I've halfway through writing three long posts over the last few days before the Nokia signs comes flashing up to indicate that my phone has done some funny phone crashy thing, that's not quite so funny!
