I got french kissed by a neighbour today!!

Shame he was only kissing me in the french way of a kiss on both cheeks.  It doesn't sound nearly as exciting.  My lovely neighbours and friends Jill and Phillippe (and their three, quite big, kids) were over (from Paris)  for a visit and a quick catch up.  It was great to see them.  Shame we didn't get to talk much as we were hooking up at our charity coffee afternoon.  Still, am sure will see them at the weekend.  Will make sure I see them at the weekend.  Miss my friends. 

As for the coffee afternoon.  Not sure how much we raised but we raised a heavy box of money.  A heavy box of money that I picked up and the bottom fell out of thus sending lots of money all over the place.  Never a good idea with so many kids about, it was like a grushie for them.  A couple of swift kicks up the arses and all was fine once more.  What was mental about the afternoon was that the Daisy Killer lady came in for coffee????  Daisy was my friend's dog.  The woman was driving through the Grove too fast and hit the dog and that was the end of Daisy.  Am quite positive that if Daisy was still alive L&G et famille would not be moving to sodding Australia.  Anyway, yer woman comes in, sits down, has a coffee and a bun and . . . . nothing.  It's like she doesn't remember that she is DAISY KILLER to us.  Perhaps if she had ever knocked in to L and apologised for being a DAISY KILLER today would have been a lot less stressful for those of us who know her for what she is.  A dog killer.  She's mental.  Actually, maybe she is mental??

Funny thing is, another neighbour came in just as the DAISY KILLER was leaving and we all started 'blahblahthenerveblahdaisyblahwow' etc. and poor F, the neighbour, was sitting there panicing as to who Daisy was!!  She was going through the names of everyone's kids in her mind trying to work out who the fricking hell Daisy is, sorry, was.  Brilliant.

Got back to my house at 6.29 only to get a text from him on his way back from golf to say #1 has footie practice and needed to be there now.  Got him there a little after 'now' and by the time him who was golfing got to me I had worked myself into a proper state about how unfair my life was.  And how I had to do EVERYTHING.  And how I was SICK of wiping piss of the toilet seats when I DEFINITELY don't miss EVER!!!!  How, in my eyes, all I did every sodding day was exactly as I had done the day before.  With minor variations of course e.g. cleaning windows (once a month), making up beds (every 2/3 weks), wiping piss off the toilets (2 toilets EVERY day) etc. etc.  And how I wasn't an idiot I was simply in too much of a rush trying to do EVERYTHING.   How there simply wasn't enough hours in a day to do all the things I needed to do.  How all I ever wanted was to sit down in a clean bloody room. 

Ref. Idiot!!  I put my hand under the quooker boiling tap. . . again today.  Aaaaaaaaaagh, it hurts so much, it really does.  I don't care if it shoots water out in a jet or in a gentle frickin' spray it still hurts the fucking .. . .  oooh, you know that pain you get when you stub your toe or something?  The pain that seems to shoot straight up your bum too?  Well that is what it felt like scalding my hand today.  Rang Darren to see if he had any idea where the burn cream was?  "Why, what happened?" he says.  "I put my hand under the bloody tap again!!!!"   "Aaah, child proof but not idiot proof" he says.  I laughed at the time but it stung.  Yeah, yeah, I sound like a petulent child but it bloody hurt.  Both the remark and the fucking tap!!!

So, D. eventually calmed me down and I went home to my sister and two very hungry boys.  Boys who had been waiting for dinner for hours now.  So, legged it to the chipper to get everyone a very healthy meal of chips and battered sausages only to meet a mum from the school doing the exact same thing.  This mum has 5 children, the youngest of whom is just one.  She works.  She is involved, very, in my school and she is always on time.  The kids always have their jumpers on the right way around.  She always looks perfect.  And I admire her (actually I'm envious as sin that she is superwoman's every bit as capable sister) but she was buying chips too.  She too hadn't enough hours to cook a meal for her kids.  Yayayayayay, happy days.  Okay, so she'd been swimming etc. whilst I was just making and eating cakes but nevertheless, she was buying chips too and that made me feel, like, totally better and in control. 

Memo to self:  Accept you are Niamh.  You are Niamh of the impossibly high standards.  Niamh of the impossibly high standards that are rarely tipped upon.  You are Niamh , so chill the fuck out and breathe!

p.s. Re. me doing EVERYTHING.  Well, that's not quite true.  It just feels like that way sometimes.  I am very lucky to have a husband who cooks (yawn food mostly but he does a mean roast dinner and an even meaner breakfast) every now and then, cleans, baths kids, reads to kids, plays with kids. Washes floor and is becoming a dab hand with the ironing board.  My husband is great.  Promise he's not behind me making me type this but credit where credit is due.  My hand was sore and I was surrounded by mickies and it got too much for me.  One woman and four males in one house can drive that one woman mad.  Darren, I love you.  And I know you do lots but I'm SURROUNDED by willies and sometimes it gets too much xxxx