Keith has gone back to work with a bang. The first week back he was gone for four days, taking my computer with him - his stupid one was busted and his pesky breadwinner status took precedence over my social networking and blog-whining.
So there I was with no husband, unending days of monsoonal rain, no radio (I can only pick up a good signal by Internet streaming), no DVD player to soothe the little monsters, I mean darlings, and none of the little mini-moments I take throughout the day to balance out what can be a crazy-making lifestyle of clutter-management and ruthless behaviour-modification-training, I mean calm and relaxed parenting.
See, even my sentences are overwrought.
I have spent this week losing my shizzle in small ways. When I packed the swimming-lesson bag last week I forgot the small but critical elements of a bra and undies for me to wear once I took off my wet cozzie. I had to put on my jeans and a light, clingy sweater with nothing underneath, and go and do the food shopping. I was flying free as a bird and it was pouring with rain. Let's just say that the small number of men who found themselves in the largely female land of Bi-Lo on a Weekday lunchtime got an unexpectedly graphic little show in the melon section.
I'm tired. I'm trying to keep organised and on top of the Christmas planning, making, shopping and list-refining. I'm hopelessly drowning in clutter as I try to simultaneously redecorate Ivy;s room, pack and sort the winter clothes, cull the toys and sew Christmas presents.
PS - A word of advice. If you have a t-shirt that reads 'always be reading something that will make you look good in case you die in the middle of it', think before throwing it on, because one of your friends will ask you and you will be forced to admit that currently you are revisiting Jackie Collins seminal work 'The Stud.'**
PPS - we have nits.
PPPS - First world problems, all. I know.