“It’s the weekend!!!” I hear people shout.
Yes, it is. Well done. You know the days of the week and their order.
Here’s a sticker.
Because the weekend makes a difference to my life how exactly…?
Yes, I have no school run to do, but there’s still clubs, meals to make, chores to do and the dreaded homework (which usually results in me and my children having a battle reminiscent of Peggy Mitchell and Pat Butcher in Eastenders because they’ve correctly sounded out the word, POND and then when you ask them the word they say something that sounds nothing like the word they just sounded out, like, “CARROT”. How the hell does P.O.N.D sound like Carrot?!)
So sadly, in the world of the mum, there is no ‘weekend’ that most of the land speaks of.
In my house, it goes a bit like this…
Husband, as he walks in the door from work: “Yes, it’s the weekend!”
(Gets beer, sits down, puts tv on, asks what’s for dinner and how long it’s going to be, falls asleep during another re-run of Top Gear on Dave, wakes up goes to bed).
Wife: “It’s Friday. Right, what am I doing the kids for dinner, what am I doing us for dinner, “can you get your reading books please kids?!”, changes toddlers poo nappy, fetches juice and snacks, does reading (has argument with kids about reading and that “if they could look at the words in the book it might help a bit”, cooks dinner whilst listening to children ‘playing’ in case it suddenly turns into a WWE reenactment, dishes up kids tea, feeds toddler, folds a weeks worth of washing and arranges it into relevant owners piles on the bed in the vain hope it will magically put itself away in their drawers, throws kids in bath, asks them to get pjs on, asks them to not put pj tops on their legs and the bottoms on their heads, reads numerous bedtime stories, puts them all in bed, cooks grown up dinner of fish fingers and waffles (it’s Friday…I’ve given up, a sprig of parsley on the fish fingers will smarten that up in a jiffy), pours gin, asks husband how his day was, gets no response as Top Gear is on so talks to herself, eats dinner whilst doing stair shuttles because the toddler is an insomniac, sits on floor outside toddlers room with a Gin because it still won’t go to chuffing sleep, falls asleep on the landing).
And that is why I don’t care that it’s Friday.
Once the kids catch up and learn the importance of the last working day of the week, I may change my tune.
Come have a read of my blog in 2040 when that might have happened….
Happy Friday all 😉🍸🍸😴