The weekend

Those of you who have followed this tale of rampant fertility and the red hot mess that is my life may faintly recall that a few years back weekends were the bane of my existence. A treasure trove of demanding kids, a pesky mother and an absent husband. Oh how they challenged me.

Then there were the halcyon days where Chef was only working Saturdays or even better, Saturday nights so he would not disappear until the early afternoon.

But those days have passed. The positive is that Chef is somewhere he loves, working his butt off as people queue – QUEUE! – to eat the sublime eggs he prepares, the remarkable omelettes, the incredible chicken sandwich, the delectable beetroot salad and everything in between.

The negative is not so much a negative but a weekly challenge. A quest if you will. For me.

Stay positive!
Watch your tone!
Get out of the house!
Make plans!
Be spontaneous!
Say yes not no!

And so on and so forth.

It is getting better. I am re-adjusting to the solo parenting gig. I am consciously just ‘being’ with my kids, ‘hanging’ with them on the lounge or out the backyard.

But lordy me it is exhausting. Good, funny, exhausting, brain-snapping, anger-management case-study materialling, rewarding, did I mention exhausting.

There are episodes like last night, when our beautiful neighbours invited us over for pizza. The boys had a ball playing with their mini fire-pit thingy, collecting leaves and twigs and basically creating their own smoking ceremony.

And then we came home. The coming home bit was fine, it was the having to have a shower (Jasper had not had one since Wednesday and his arse-crack odor was rivalling that of his father after a 14 hour shift at the height of summer in front of the burners) that saw them unleash the fury of the dogs at the gates of hell (is it dogs? or some three-headed beast or some such?). Seriously, people walking by may well have thought some serious domestic violence shit was going down. The screaming kept up as I man-handled them into their beds and lasted all of about 45 seconds before they both fell fast asleep.

But that shit is draining and emotional and all that this-is-what-being-a-parent is all about.

Or the hour and a half like this morning when Grover went from being perfectly happy to Screamy McScreamy Pants due to Jasper waking up and taking up some of the three-seater lounge he had been occupying. OH THE HUMANITY!

The screaming over the lounge then spread to not enjoying the show on TV (don’t worry Little Buddy, I HATE as in H.A.T.E. those hideous kids TV hosts too. ALL.OF.THEM.) and then, THEN to the fact I had made him a (fluffy) pancake (as he’d requested earlier before the screaming started) claiming he wanted the same sort (crepes) that Jasper had.

Yes yes, I make two versions of pancake batter. Get over it.

So then I made him some crepes. All while remaining calm. All while telling him to stop screaming, to use a nice voice, that I did not appreciate him yelling at me, that that voice was unacceptable and so on and so forth.

Then the crepes were all wrong because, from what I could gather, I placed them on the dining table as opposed to the lounge.

And so on and so forth.

That sort of sums up the weekend – and so on and so forth.

Everyone was having fun then someone got hurt/embarrassed/reprimanded and so on and so forth.

Everyone was fighting and then something funny happened and they all forgot what they were fighting about and so on and so forth.

Mummy was happy and then she was cranky and so on and so forth.

Today I am taking them to the nursery and we’re going to do some gardening.

And so on and so forth.


Oh, and in other news, I never really got the follow box either but everyone else was doing it and I thought it was something you were meant to do so now I’m taking it down because it annoys me in terms of making me worry about something that doesn’t matter in the slightest.