110 days….

Today was complete shit.  I’m exhausted.

I woke up cranky at the world.  Only getting a few hours sleep a night for weeks on end does that to you … especially when you have to wake up early on Saturday which is the only morning I get a chance to catch up on any sleep.
I just couldn’t see how I was going to make it to the school fete and do all the things I was asked to do.  Leave alone the housework or grocery shopping.

The last fete, two years ago was horrible.
You, in your infinite wisdom had decided that you were *needed* at the farm and that I could chaperone the kids (then aged 3 and 5) around the school fete by myself.  It was a complete shermozzle and I said that I wasn’t going to the next fete unless you came as well.

Well nice way of getting out of it, you bastard.

But those bloody words like “obligation”, “duty”, “expectation” kept popping into my head and I knew I HAD to get there even though my heart was repeating “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t” and screaming at me to go back to bed.

So I cried into my cereal. I scared the kids.

I knocked a door off its hinges.

Stupid flimsy hinges that can’t take a good slamming.

…..and then I couldn’t fix the bloody hinge which just goes to show that I can’t do this shit by myself.

But then… I sucked it up, got the kids ready and got in the car.  We walked in with Mrs W so all was good – she put me in a better mood straight away.

Then off to the first stall I had to help out at.  All OK.  Then Mum came up to help me get the kids to their allotted meeting places for the year level performances.

The kid’s performances which were cute … apparently.  Of course, I couldn’t actually see them for the parents standing on the seats (in the new hall) because they HAD to video their precious’ first moments of fame.  Sit down FFS – the rest of us can’t see anything!

I let the kids have a couple of rides each, then lunch, then onto the art show …. where I we discovered that K’s picture had a “sold” sticker on it.  WTF???  She’s in year 2 – only the PARENTS of the kids are expected to buy the pictures.   My spider sense immediately started wigging out – which one of these “purveyors of grief”* had sunk so low that they had to buy a picture drawn by “the sad girl”???  Thankfully we discovered that it was actually a little boy in K’s class who liked her picture so much he *had* to have it.  Fair enough then.  That I can deal with.

I’m so tired tonight, I can’t think of a good memory … or type apparently … so I’m off to bed.

Love you Buddy Roo.

XA

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*”purveyors of grief” – my term for the people on the fringes of my life who just want to know the gossip, while pretending to care about us … they are the ones who barely know me, and  to be honest, the ones I’m pleasant to just because it’s not socially acceptable to be rude to idiots.   Yet they seem drawn to the grief we are going through – the drama of our lives must appeal to some need they have for “excitement”.  They come up and ask me if I’m in therapy, and if so, how it’s all going ….whether I’m “getting over it” now.
I feel like asking them if they are in therapy too, and perhaps they might take a course on manners while they are at it.  Since when is it acceptable to ask someone you barely know if they are in therapy???  Arsehats.

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