You see, I can hold my tongue. I hold it when my city friends say something along the lines of ‘Can you believe it, Dave couldn’t put the children to bed tonight because he was playing indoor soccer. Can you believe him?’ At the risk of alienating half my readership and my dear friends, I just have to say; for the love of Jay, when Dave is finished putting the kids to bed tomorrow night, could you send him up to give me a hand?
Don’t get me wrong, love the farmer, love the life but hate the timetable. Picture the scene. Stage right; Enter almost 37 week pregnant mother (I know, I do go on) with two cups of hot chocolate. Five year old complains that his chocolate is too hot while the two and a half year spills the contents of his cup, albeit accidentally, over the plug socket. I try to remain calm but it gets harder as child number one who is looking for the longest book in history for me to read spills his milk all over his sheets. And exhale into the downward dog, if only a). I could breathe effectively b). kneel.
So while the plan was not to have to go downstairs again, I now have to change the sheets and find replacement sheets for a single bed in an overcrowded hot press. Back upstairs, change sheets and now time for reading books. I love reading, I love that my children love reading but I’m getting too near to the labour ward for imitating Tomas the Tank’s irritating friend Percy and for fielding questions on Fionn Mac Cumhaill; our latest obsession. To boot, I have to explain why replugging the bedside lamp into the wet plug socket is not such a great idea. Meanwhile, number three (in situ) is enjoying the antics and decides to kick me in the ribs, apparently loving my Percy impersonation.
Outside, I hear the milk machine work away while the farmer dials me up to remind me to tape Match of the Day. And back downstairs. So if you’re reading Dave, and herself is driving you mad, I do a lovely cup of tea, have match of the day taped and the kids are just lovely. Just saying…