Another night of little sleep. Nah, lets be honest, crappy, shitty night, bugger all sleep.
I awake, or rather, am awoken, extremely tired.
But it is my birthday and I shall be happy. And I am treated to a Birthday Breakfast of Vegemite on toast that I get to make myself, for myself, then share with the toddler who has only recently been fed Floor Nutrigrain, thanks to his ever-so-helpful older brothers who were trying to lure him away from whatever game it is they were playing. With food.
It didn’t work, so I had a Birthday Shower, that included the toddler and copious amounts of snot. Then I set about the task of extracting them from the house, which involved asking them to do something that would lead to us leaving the house, and them doing something completely different and delaying the House Leaving.
So far, I’m not really enjoying my day.
Eventually, I extricate them and endure the walk up the street coupled with complaints about not wanting to do what we’re doing, not wanting to go where we’re going and just not wanting …
I resort to theheavily loaded with sarcasm “Well, I’m sooooooooo sorry I’m making an effort to do something fun for you on my birthday!” and they shut up for 23 seconds.
A Talking To was had and we were then capable of going shoe shopping! Three pairs later and I was happy.
Sadly, none of the new pairs were for me, but I did contribute significantly to my children requiring visits to the podiatrist anytime in the near future. Then it was onto a train to go into Daddy’s Work for lunch, where we – by which I mean “I” – became extremely disorientated and head off in the wrong direction upon emerging from the underground rail network. We make it, I share my two mocktails with Chippie. By which I actually mean I slurp up as much as I can before his screaming gets too much for everyone and hand him the dregs and negotiate with the student waiters that the Head Chef (ie Daddy) has sorted food for the kids, and no, that food is not on the menu and everyone gets terribly confused because they have procedures they must follow and my entire family have successfully fucked with said procedures at so many levels.
Monkey Boy seriously not satisfied with the amount of specially made, gourmet gnocchi he is presented with and approaches student waitress to order another dish and sends everyone into a confused frenzy.
Grumpy Pants has finally clicked – ish – as to how I like my birthday to run (ie NOT dragging three kids into the city on a train with no help or support, to endure a three course meal with them in a nice restaurant) and has made a cake for me and manages to talk the entire kitchen and wait staff, including teachers, to stand around and sing happy birthday to me.
Then we can leave where my exhaustion has hit near-comatose levels, and I fall into bed, comatose, when we get home. As does everyone else. Still full as a goog from lunch, Grumpy offers to take me out to dinner somewhere I’d like to go, which involves everyone else saying they’d like to go somewhere else. But no the same “somewhere else” as everyone else is saying.
It’s my birthday so we’re going where I want!
Even though I am so full, I don’t want to eat. Thus we go for a long walk to my fave Japanese restaurant which is booked out, so proceed to walk to another one, order a selection of entrees, Monkey Boy secures the prawn sashimi, handing Chippie the rice bit, which he promptly rolls into a ball and pretends to trhow before actually throwing it, and Monkey Boy hangs onto the decapitated and eviscerated prawn, naming it Prawny, patting it and informing us he is going to take it home and put it in the fish tank.
Whether as a pet or fish food, I’m yet to determine.
Godzilla eats not much, Chippie locates some more rice, throws it and proceeds to eat the ice in Godzilla’s drink and Monkey Boy continues to pat his prawn. Although he does manage to eat a bit. I just eat, because I have ordered my favourite dishes.
Head home where I manage to cause Monkey Boy to trip quite hard and where he then locates a bar stool lying on the side of the road and decides “It followed me home, can I keep it?” and we embark on discussion about it needing to be fed and its cage needing to be cleaned, all of which he promises to do, and we manage to persuade him to leave it behind, and he props it beside a set of traffic lights so that people may sit and rest while waiting for the lights to change.
He’s nice like that.
Get home, eat cake we don’t want because Monkey Boy is now being an arse and we have to manage it somehow, Chippie hasn’t eaten and has heard someone say “cake” and is now hanging off my legs demanding it, and Godzilla has moved from his distress from earlier today that there is no mail and “It’s Mums BIRTHDAY! Where are her CARDS?!” and onto “But it’s Mum’s BIRTHDAY! We have to eat CAKE!”
I’d really like today to end now, thanks muchly.
But first, I’m presented with my present from the family; something I didn’t ask for, don’t want and we don’t need.
Am not surprised. On the upside, not a useless gift, and I will use it a lot and it wont’ just sit there taking up cupboard space. So a good present if you consider it in those terms.
Just … well, a roasting dish isn’t like, and can’ t be used in the same manner as the Wii Dance Mat I asked for.
Or can it?
(On the upside, I did make enough in my Birthday Fund to get the thing I really did want, that is also not a Wii Dance Mat – thank you to everyone who contributed! Love you all! xox)