Thursday, April 28, 2005

I'm applying to go on Big Brother

Yup, that's it. I'm wanting to go on big Brother. I need a vacation. I need a break from the busy, busy monotony of my life. I need to be away from my family for a bit. Big Brother isn't long. Twelve weeks. Twelve weeks of lounging in the sun, hot-tubbing, camp-style games, sleeping-in, isolation from crap television and news, and meeting new people.

Sounds Great.
Sounds like Bliss.

Why do I want to be away from my family for twelve glorious weeks? Here's a breakdown of my day. The morning is spent chasing after my daughter to hurry up and eat your cereal, hurry up and brush your teeth, hurry up and get dressed, hurry up and stop fooling around, hurry up or you'll miss the bus. She eventually starts telling me to shut-up and leave her alone. I have to ground her and yell at her for being so rude, I feel like the worst parent in the world; how could I have raised such a sassy-faced witch. I end up wanting to throttle her, but send her off to school with a kiss instead.

The Baby is moaning. She's tired. She wants a bottle. She's tired. She wants a cuddle. She's tired, but God help me if I put her in her crib; then the screaming begins. I make her another bottle. She finally goes to sleep.'s up. She's asleep...she's awake. Finally. She's asleep. Is she? Yes. Are you sure? Yes...yes...I don't know. Yes. Better go check. She hears me on the squeaky landing and cries. *Sigh*. Finally she's asleep. For real this time. I need some breakfast. Coffee.

I get some blogging done, some laundry done, some dishes washed. Order groceries online. Book my driving test (£42, how outrageous! Lord help me if I fail!) and some research for my writing. I'll need to fold and put away some laundry.

The baby wakes up and wants her lunch. She spits out far more than she eats and we both end up frustrated and gritting our teeth. She's covered in turkey casserole, I'm covered in turkey casserole, and I have a mess to clean. I'll also need to change her clothes. Off goes my television shows and on goes Teletubbies, Fireman Sam, Tweenies and other brain oozing kiddies shows. I figure I'll get some paragraphs in, but every time I get near the computer, the baby toddles over and bawls in her fake manner, wipes snot on my thigh and bites at the seam in my jeans. I must sit on the carpet with her, and watch the Teletubbies. I'm longing to get my fingers on the keyboard...but I'm held hostage on the carpet. Two hours later we have played with all the toys, and I've watched about as much tots TV as I can cope with. She screeches at me as I walk away. I'm only going into the kitchen for a cup of tea. Screech. Screech. Screech. My ears are bleeding.

Afternoon and it's time to pick up Sassy-Face from the bus-stop. I wait, it's windy, a bit spitty rain, but we wait for her. When the bus finally arrives I can tell from the expression on her she's not had a good day. She gets home and complains about everything from having to change out of her muddy school uniform, to my suggestions for snacks which, to her, do not include candy or potato chips. How dare I suggest a banana or apple for a snack! I've decided to not talk to her, if she wants to talk she will and I'll not respond unless it's something nice. Two hours later...

Hubby comes home. He's had a hard day. He's not into chit-chat right now. He needs some quiet. He plays with the baby for a few minutes, has a quick hello with Sassy, sneaks some candy into his face and kisses me on the head. He goes upstairs for a lie down. I would kill for a lie down, but I go and rattle and bang every pot and pan I own in my attempt to cook dinner instead.

The baby and Sassy are playing "Catch-me" and running back and forth in and out of the kitchen. The baby decides she's now hungry and doesn't want to play anymore. She wants to hang on my trousers and scream at me to feed her. More biting on my jeans and then she resorts to eating onion skins she finds on the floor, pulling the clean laundry out of the basket and sucking on the labels, or pulling the assorted filth out of the trashbin. She also opens all the kitchen drawers and spills barley all over the floor that I have to stop and vacuum up. I'm shouting, ranting, saying "Naughty baby!". Hubby naps on.

Dinner is ready, The baby spits out more than she eats, Sassy picks at the various greenery and makes faces, trying to hid things under her napkin, or suddenly feigns illness. Hubby gulps his down and puts the TV on to watch his favorite shows. Baby moans, Sassy grumps and soon they're all falling into tears. Hubby complains that he only wants to watch these two shows. I sigh and take the grumpkins upstairs for a bath. Bathtime is usually painless, they both love it and don't mind sharing the tub (We've never had a "Floater" incident, not yet anyways). Baby is pajama-ed up, and given to Hubby to watch while I finish with Sassy-Face. Once she's all washed, she's left to get herself in P.J.'s while I get the Baby, now called "The Wriggler" from Hubby. She gets a bottle and is taken up to her room for the "Wind-down" I get her off to bed without a struggle *whew*. Sassy-Face is next, story-time, brush teeth, hugs and cuddles for me, hugs and cuddles for Daddy, more for me...she's not letting go...she's climbing into my bed...get out of my bed and go to your bed...stop whining...go now...I'll get Daddy to come up and put you in bed...she's finally in bed.


Yes. Twelve weeks of sun-bathing, lounging around, hot-tubbing will be worth having to eat the occasional raw fish frappe or walk through manure. I'll be tolerant of the more outrageous personalities in the house, I'll have a picture of my family with me to remind me of why I'm there.

Actually, that wouldn't be a good idea. A picture. I would start to miss them, after a week or so. Then, maybe all that Sun would be a bit boring. I'd probably start Mothering the other housemates, cooking and cleaning up after them. I'd miss that other body in my bed at night that steals the covers and snores. I'd miss the baby smell on the baby's head. I'd probably even miss Sassy-Face's pouty lip.

Crap. I guess the sun in the back garden and the Baby's paddling pool will have to suffice for now.


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