After several nights of terrible sleep, a day yesterday that resulted in a tantrum by 8.23am and me screaming “how many more sleeps till the holidays are over?!” a relatively good rest of the day with two kids behaving themselves and playing nicely together and the toddler at childcare, an early night, a seriously crap sleep, courtesy of Chippie how felt 3.03am was a perfect time to wake and scream, as was 3.47 and 4.06am till Grumpy lost it and wandered down to the kitchen and back again, shoving a dummy that I’ve worked extremely hard on weaning / cold turkeying him off for the last week, in Chippie’s gob.
A slept fitfully for a bit longer, crashing in a heap after Grumpy left for work. Only to be woken to the dulcit tones of a 7 year old embarking on some 7 year old version of boom boxing rap thing.
From the bathroom, which, as all bathrooms do, has the capacity to not only magnify sound 806 times, but also to distribute it throught the house and into the bedroom of the desperate for sleep mum.
Figured he’d be done in a few seconds, then came to the realisation that he was doing a poo and was “singing” becuase he was bored and that it could be some time.
I ask again, how long do kids need to poo for?!
After 7 minutes of it I was forced to either put up with it or yell out for him to stop, risking the waking of the now peacefully sleeping toddler, whom I really didn’t want to have to deal with right at that moment. You know, tired, sleep deprived and having listened to 7 minutes of crap pouring out of other kid’s mouth.
After 13 minutes I yelled out, again, trying to find breaks in which to yell “SHUT UP”. Something which requires a great deal of skill.
Approximately 37 minutes after that, I finally timed it perfectly, he yells back “WHAT?” keeps singing and I’m now forced with deciding whether I want to get up in order to beat him with my slipper or shoot myself.
Faced with horrible realisation that I may have to get up, I struggle out of bed, find Chippie standing up in his cot, get him out and endure a tantrum of epic proportions due to his apparent wanting to stay in his cot. I put him back in, endure more screaming, get him out, dump him on floor, stumble to kitchn, pour coffee and hide at back of Tuppware cupboard. Sadly, can still hear screaming.
Shove bread in toaster, then toast in eats until I can determine exactly what it is Chippie actually wants, feed him and set about organising day.
Have shower, book movie tickets, attempt to do some writing in between having trains shoved down my top, up my nose and in my mouth, referree several disputes between older two, start several projects in attempt to see which one will inspiare me and can be done in the .3 seconds I have before I’m annoyed agian. Contemplate doing a load of washing as it begins to bucket down. Now have to find several activities to fill time before heading off to the movies with a friend and her kids, which I’m now considering to be a really stupid idea, given Chippie hasn’t had a sleep, the other two are being obnoxious and I’m so tired I can’t find my MUG.
Finally psych self up to pass work off as a bad idea, just wanting to finish a teensy job as toddler screams at me and climbs up onto lap. It’s bad enough that he’s up there, screaming – screaming – for no apparent reason. When he wees and it leaks through his nappy, that’s the last straw.
And my last pair of clean jeans.
It’s just gone lunchtime, I’m in pyjamas and supposed to be taking the kids to a movie that I now no longer want to take them to, and have nothing but pyjama pants to wear.
Hrm. I just love the school holidays.