Wooden spoon therapy

First I must apologise for recent posts with typos littered throughout. All blame is pinned, not to me, but to this useless piece of shit keyboard connected to my tablet Surface PC. I have to hammer at the letters to get it to make sense and as for the spacebar….either I have unusually small and light thumbs or it was built for men with hands like shovels.

Nethertheless I will attempt to do a btter stop-check of my work – oh dear.

After having left the toilet yesterday and overcome the worst of the bug, I jumped back on the treadmill an attempted a last minute Christmas shop with my 2 year old boy. After an hour of apologising for daring to bring my child and buggy along for the Christmas retail ride, “oh sorry was that your foot?”, I regretted the number of layers I had dressed in that morning as I was slowly being boiled alive by the combined elements of ridiculously high shop heating, too much body heat and a growing feeling that things were working against me that morning, “I’m sorry that toy is out of stock”. If someone had recommended to me at that point, that the only way to de-stress is to rip all your clothes off and dance up the high street using buggy and baby boy as a performance prop I would have taken them up on their suggestion.

At school pick up time, I help my daughter search for her football boots. I am surprised that they are not lurking in the depths of the lost property bin (it literally is a bin). Rather they are directly outside the PE changing area – that is what a 7 year old considers to be a thorough search. I then felt I was on a winning streak and would find yet more items that have been lost along the way (hairbrushes, cardigans, a bit of my sanity) but no.

However my daughter’s teacher did put me one step closer to madness, by adding to the task list of the last week of term and Christmas prep the requirement to ‘make roman food’. So earlier I prevented baby boy from tripping up the elderly in the supermarket by keeping him entertained collecting the ingredients off the shelves for a recipe, thought to be roman, that my daughter discovered on the internet. Unfortunately she saved the web page on my husbands laptop. He is crap at sharing – pictures of him and his friend’s when he was a boy display him in mid-tantrum over sharing anything – from a toy to the attention of his pet dog. So when he came in from work and saw me frantically trying to rustle a shepherds pie together with a packet of quorn and a ridiculously spicy Lloyd Grossman sauce (because that was all that was in the cupboard) he threw a wobbly when he saw my daughter studying his laptop for the recipe surrounded by flour eggs and lots of honey. I meanwhile was desperately trying to make the bizarre spicy shepie work by being even more clever and adding a ton of mashed potato (owing to an internet food order that went disastrously wrong we are surrounded with bags of potatoes).

As hubby started to have a go about his laptop, I did what any sane women who is a little on the edge after a crap couple of days and awaiting time of the month – I threw a wooden spoon into the air – it did the trick. I instantly felt better because I channelled my anger into a spoon and not a loved one and for once my hubby got the message that he needed to back the hell off. The only person who didn’t quite get it was my daughter, “Mummy, that was a perfectly old spoon you just broke”.

I am blogging every day to raise money for Unicef – read more here.

Thanks for reading.


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