You know when you were young, and you got pushed onto a big fairground ride, and you still remember clutching to the handlebar in front wailing for the ride to stop, and then later when you were a bit older you realised that screaming and crying only made it go faster? Well today was like that.
Jumped in the car for a school run at 8.00. Came back. Did another school run at 9.00. Came back. Went to pick up kid number 1 at 10.20. Came back. Went to pick up kid number 2 at 11.20. Came back. Risked cooking 4 pork fillets for lunch, and fortunately the father bothered to show up. Drove off with two kids for tennis at 2pm. Then that's when 'the ride got faster'. Crazy Caroline showed up, and I'm about ready to knock my head through a wall. Apparently, whilst running round all day like a headless chicken, I'm also supposed to be looking after and entertaining Marie 'because she's only 9'. YES. NINE. She's not a fecking baby!! What's she going to do when she's older and doesn't know how to occupy herself? She's going to be one very bored person. Then I said we needed to go to collect the other two and then to go on from tennis to ice-skating which is already a very tightly scheduled routine as I have to get from on side of town right across to the other side. Imagine a triangle with 'house', 'tennis', and 'ice-skating' at a corner each. Then Marie moaned to her mother about having to wait for Margot and Juliette, and so Caroline said to pick up the older two and bring them back, then take Marie and her friend. STILL HAVE THE TRIANGLE PICTURE? So I went to pick up Margot and Juliette at 5. They appeared at 5.20pm with nutella crepes. By the time I returned home it was 5.32, and instantly all my fault that Marie was now late for ice-skating.
I've concluded that Marie is the equivalent of Lucifer the cat in Disney's Cinderella. Always getting me into trouble, I can do nothing right, and she moans about everything to her mother. I returned home finally at 6, whipped up some pasta, left to collect them again at 6.30, and returned with two bratty kids in the car who for some reason thought it'd be really funny to speak gobbledigook language on the way home. They decided that over the course of the evening I hadn't helped them enough with putting their skates on (THEY ARE NINE!), and that I'd told them to hurry up several times which of course just make them 10 times slower. Got home, reheated tea, started serving it at the table, when Caroline questioned 'isn't it early to have dinner?' No. It's 7pm. We always eat at 7pm, she's just never back in time for then. And, 'aren't we all going to eat together? Where are Juliette and Margot?' So I attempted to explain that her two children were upstairs in their rooms (and had been for the last 2 hours), and that yes, I would call them down for tea but first I was just serving it. She looked like I'd said the most ridiculous thing ever, like 'I'll send their plates up to them on skateboards'. *eye roll*. i felt like throwing the pasta at her and smashing a plate over my head in frustration.
And to top it off, William announced he was off again skiing on Friday. Just when I'd finally got used to him again and overcome my frustrations. Four weeks, 2 days. Four weeks, 2 days. Deep breaths. Today has been absolute hell if you hadn't realised that already. I feel like throwing something.
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