Fuck it Tuesday (The half term equivalent of Fuck it Friday).

Half term. That glorious week where the schools and pre-schools release the little darlings to spend quality time with their parents. Mummy has actually been looking forward to half term. Despite having to take unpaid leave from work because otherwise we cannot cover all of the school holidays, Mummy still felt very upbeat. Daddy is working, but mummy planned lazy mornings, autumn leaf printing and dog walking at the local forest.

The holiday started with the dreadful day that shall henceforth be known as mousegate. Mummy’s eddorts to put right mousegate on day 1 of the holidays went badly wrong, ending in blood gate (posted only on Facebook due to hand injuries making typing difficult). 

Today, Mummy decided to tackle the things which she has put off for weeks. Lucy needed new casual shoes, Patch new tops, boys needed haircuts etc. In a previously unwitnessed fit of helpfulness, when Mummy started muttering about the state of the kitchen, Ems started tidying up the toys. Keen to encourage this rare form of helpfulness, Mummy said loudly “Oh Emily my darling, you will get a prize for being so good!” They all mucked in, demanding prizes. Mummy decided they could each pick one item each from the Pound shop in town for their prize. Obviously, the first stop was the Pound shop. Mummy took them up and down the toy/book craft aisles. Slowly the 5 minute prize choosing crept up to 10 minutes, then 15. Ems just chose a book and stuck with it. Patch, however could not decide between the axe and the sword. Whichever Mummy said was best, he chose the other, then put it back again crying about having to choose. Ben had no problem, choosing one of everything boyish in the toy aisle, then lobbing it on the floor as he saw the next toy. Lucy sat in the middle of the toy aisle floor and sobbed vocally as there was “too much to choose from”.  Mummy’s stress levels rose higher and higher. Mummy started to perspire. Mummy also started to realise what a twattingly stupid idea it had been to undertake this sort of prize with 4 kids aged between 3 and 6. Mummy should have just gone into the emergency cupboard and thrown a bag of haribo at each of them, and they never would have complained. 

Now committed, Mummy started to panic. Ben was throwing toys like confetti, Lucy was having a full blown meltdown in the middle of the aisle, Ems was reading the books she had chosen, and Patch was stamping his feet shouting “Fine, that’s fine, I just don’t want one anyway!”. The shop was busy and as if the pressure wasn’t bad enough, a lady stopped right next to Mummy and said “Ooh, your children are really very noisy!”. Mummy fished a pound coin out of her posset and suggested loudly to the lady that she might find the earplugs in the next aisle, and she should have a pair on ?Mummy. The lady scuttled away quietly. Having issued a 2 minute toy ultimatum, Mummy and 4 kids left the shop with 4 toys and a large bag of marshmallows. 
Making our way to the shoe shop, Mummy shovelled marshmallows into the little darlings. It did seem to be soothing the crying. At the shoe shop, Lucy’s feet were measured. She tried on 5 pairs of boots, but the only ones that would do were the knee high infant black patent “prostitute boots” that Mummy wouldn’t have bought in a million years even if they did fit correctly. They didn’t fit correctly. Mummy breathed a sigh of relief, and Lucy started wailing. And wailing. And wailing. As mummy tried to negotiate with Lucy over the nice brown leather autumnal boots, she realised everyone in the shop appeared to be watching something. Looking over, Mummy saw Patch and Ben wearing the giant croc which the shop uses for display purposes, as a costume. A child eating 4 legged green croc shaped costume. The other children, parents still clutching numbered tickets, started screaming and running. All hell broke loose. Mummy did actually think about crying at this point, but decided instead to label this “Fuck it all Tuesday” and basically take it as it comes. As Mummy clutched the smallest child and ushered the others downstairs, she gave a roar for good measure and got a bloody good scream in response. 

Giggling wildly, we ran across the road to Prezzo and had the joy of a table right next to the open kitchen.  Kids were fascinated, and all was good with the world because Mummy had wine! Lunch was frankly a breeze compared to the preceding morning. As the other kids sat nicely with well groomed make-up wearing mothers, Mummy went with the “Fuck it all Tuesday” mentality. Benjy wanted to eat his food under the table, so he did. In fact, on the second glass of wine, Mummy went as far as actually feeding him under the table. The staff at Zizzis were fab. I suspect the chefs sensed Mummy’s distress, so they amused the kids by tossing the pizza bases to and from each other. 

Our hairdresser Olga is one in a million. She has been cutting the kids hair since Patch was 6 months (just picture her cutting Barbie’s hair, cutting dogs hair, then cutting hair of child pinned to the floor). It really is the one public place Mummy always felt at home taking the kids. That was until today, when Mummy turned round to see that Ben had washed his own hair in the sink and was dripping his way around the salon. Cue home.

When we got home, Lucy announced that we had forgotten to take “adventure bear” the class bear, out with us AGAIN! When Mummy got everyone into bed, adventure bear asked for a glass of wine, and Mummy obliged! Fuck it all Tuesday everyone! 

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