One week down and ... sweet mother of god it just kept getting worse.

Monday:  

Firstly, this week started off so well with the healthy eating and everything but, by the end of it, I was eating anything that didn't move and drinking 2 litres of gin instead of water.  Small kids are gorgeous and so fucking noisy.  Especially the smallest one.  For something as tiny, google munchkin, it's very, VERY, loud.  Also, it never stops moving.  It's a good thing she is so pretty.  Otherwise I would stand on her.  

Monday:

We're all up with the alarm.  All happy and bright and breezy.  Himself is starting his new job.  Son no. 1 is off to the army for the week.  Son no. 2 is good to go with me, Stella in back of car for our big walk and son no. 3 is off to get his lift to school.

Child drop goes well.  Dog walk goes well, even if I am soaked to my knickers.  Bloody rain.   Home and showered and ready to work by 11???  That's far too late to start working.  Had just gotten into swing of it when alarm went off to say it's time to tidy up and get #3 from school.  Did that and went to arranged spot to meet kids.  Kids didn't show up.  Went to second rendezvous point only to find S but no #3  Mild panic and all into car to boot back to school and find missing child.  Meet missing child on way.  Miscommunication between him and S.  Fed child and started to work again.  Only to have next alarm go off to collect no. 2??!!  Tidy up and head out the door.  Get child, 15 minute scheduled bonding and home.  Think about taking work out but it's time to cook bloody dinner?!?!  Where has the day gone?  I've made a bear!  A fucking bear.  That's all I made all day.  Oh, and a goalpost.  Bed exhausted at 11pm but I've been to the cinema where it was quiet.  Went to see Jackie.  She was an odd lady. 

Dinner is a delicious stir fry and all is healthy and good.  Easy to eat well when there is no one distracting you with 'fancy a coffee and a bun?'

Oh and Himself comes in and starts unloading the dishwasher and reloading it.  Prick.

Tuesday:

More or less a repeat of the day before only #2 was sick.  If you believe that.  Dog is walked, freezing today, Irish weather is so mental, floors washed and I'm still only sitting down to work at bloody 11am.  Two little girls made today so that's better I guess.  Alarm goes off for #3 but that's grand, we know exactly where we are meeting.

Home, feed him and me and then look at diary only to have next alarm go off .. but son is, allegedly sick in bed so .. all is good.

Dinner a boring mashed potato (but nice mashed potato as I use the ricer and a tonne of butter, butter doesn't count if it's in mashed potato), fish and peas.  Fiona has bought chocolate and crisps.  Turns out I have no will power. Surprise, not.

Himself comes in and starts giving out that I bought 'Giant' rather than 'Large' dog food.  Bastard.  I noticed it was the wrong food the minute I cut open the bag.  The kibble is the size of rocks.  Royal Canin is sold in the following sizes: small dog, puppy, weak puppy, mid size dog, mid size dog with weight problem, mid size old dog and mid size dog with food intolerance's.  They also break the mid size dogs into breeds!!!  Then its more or less the same for big dogs and, it turns out, that there is a giant dog mix.  Nearly all come in a purple fucking bag and the lady gave me the wrong one.  THE LADY!!!!!!

Very much looking forward to Himself learning about body language next week so he can come in, notice me hunched over the table looking pained and note to himself that it may be best to say 'fancy a cup of tea or gin love?' rather than rearrange the bastarding dishwasher or moan about moon sized dog food.

Wednesday:

Sweet fucking jesus.  I have had enough. No matter what time I get up at I still end up not getting to work until 11am.  Today had the added bonus of Stella knocking a woman into the air and winding her so badly everyone in the castle could hear the air leaving her body.

We were halfway through our walk when Stella found another dog to play with. Nothing better than a chase, eh, Stell?  Anyway, the owner of the other dog was running and she called back over her shoulder to me that Stella was gorgeous when ... her dog and Stella, mostly Stella who, while gorgeous, is fucking useless at noticing what is going on around her ... ran straight into the back of her legs.  Which meant she was flipped into the air and flat on her back.  I'm not joking when I say that you could hear the air leave her.  She lay there, crying a bit (I would have been howling), and I was hyperventilating   A lovely old man came back towards us and we helped the woman up.  She was lovely, and kept saying accidents happen and sure what can you do? etc. and I was just frantic.  I don't think I am going to see her for a week or so as I imagine she is very bruised and sore.  Shall have to take to carrying a bunch of flowers around with me every where I go for next week as .. ouch.  Thank God Stella knocked over another big dog owner.  Small dog owners are very cross most of the time.

Walk cut short as my nerves shredded.

Work like a demon and get all cakes finished.

Fiona collects child #3 and S and I clean downstairs.  Amazing how quickly one can clean up when under pressure.  Fiona also cooked dinner .. found something that most of us like.  #2 doesn't care for it (pork, chorizo and prawn pie).  Seriously, what does one have to do to get them all to eat the same bloody thing.

Mind you, think #1 would eat anything.  Army training has him exhausted.

Bed at 10.30 but too tired to read so found The Code on Netflix.  Watch it, it's brilliant.  

Thursday:

Walk Stella at the ungodly hour of 8am to avoid all other dog walkers.  Fear everyone is going to be knocked over like skittles by donkey dog.  Home, showered and text from B. looking to go for a coffee.  Bad feeling.  You know that feeling you get when someone, headmistress, boss, etc. asks to see you?  Well that's how I feel when we meet for coffee.  Never get that feeling when we go for a pint or dinner but coffee is scary.

Right to be afraid.  B has gotten a job.  Which is fantastic.  I am thrilled for her as I know how much it is needed but .. oh fuck, poor me.  I'll have to bake or fold the company or ... fuck, I'll have to bake because I need the money.  Why is it when life suddenly clicks into 'it's all going to be ok' does it go tits up so quickly thereafter??

G. and everyone else I know and love in the cake world offers to bake for me.  Even Himself says he'll bake but .. I think me and G are going to be working together quite a bit. Providing I don't break her.  

Dinner?  Can't remember but lots of chocolate was eaten, ditto crisps.  Drank lots of water (tonic) mixed with gin.  Life less grim.  Oh, we had chilli.

Friday:

No dog walking.  Am too tired.  Have had enough.  

Saturday:

Met B.work was great but she says the standard is waaaay lower than anything we have ever made.  She wants to work for them part time so, touch wood, we can keep working together to some degree.

Hung out in B's for hours.  Did not want to go home.  Had described the scene, downstairs, to Himself, whilst getting out of bed:

Picture it.... you walk downstairs marveling at how, despite numerous instructions and a map detailing the location of the laundry basket the kids, i.e. eldest and middle, are still dumping their clothes, under the landing window.  Basket hasn't been there in weeks but they still chuck their foul clothes there.  You continue downstairs and stumble over several pairs of shoes scattered about the bottom steps and in the hallway.   You glance into the playroom as you go past and discover that, yes, the blind is still down and there will be a child on the sofa, bowl balanced on arm, watching tv.  It doesn't matter which child it is that is how the room will look.  Also, said child, rather than removing anything that is on the sofa, will use his feet to push everything down to the other end. 

There will be cereal scattered all over the counter and floor and back door will be wide open.  Tv will be on, chances are nobody will be watching it as they will on laptop or DS.

Ironing and underwear that was neatly laid out and sorted to be brought upstairs will still be on the sofa but ... knocked about and no longer crisp looking.

Breakfast dishes will be dumped in sink and .....

That's exactly what I came downstairs to.  I went to B's leaving it like that and Himself came down and cursed loudly because I was right and he doesn't like that.  

Whilst in B's he threatens kids with skinning and losing everything they own.  Which is unfair on the youngest as he does clean up after himself.  #3 is so angry with the injustice of it all he cannot speak.  #1 is grounded and has phone and anything else that connects to the interweb removed from him.  He takes to the bed.  

Now it's Sunday.  I am nervous of what the week ahead brings.  Apart form small noisy girl who never stops grumbling I am enjoying having my sister here.   I even like the small grumbling girl, kind've.