World War Three is still going on at my house. GOD. I just can't believe how difficult this mother thing can be. Take today for instance. Its just been exasperated me and crabby shouty small people.
Even before the end of Playschool it was falling apart, why oh why do my children have to inhabit the same fifty centimetres of space, and why do they have to scream at each other all the time?
So, I bundle everybody into the car and whisk them off to the local cafe to bribe them into good behaviour with babycino's and cake with sprinkles. It worked beautifully, hurrah! I mean the cafe was fairly trashed when we left, and I bumped into people I knew with unwashed hair, tracksuit pants, sneakers, and t-shirt covered in various substances including porridge, playdough, drool etc... etc... but we had peace and harmony for half an hour. Then I pushed my luck.
Went to the supermarket.
I should've known better.
They managed to fight about who sat where in the trolley for the full ten minutes it took me to get milk, cheese and an avocado. Then, I'm waiting whilst the checkout chick puts stuff in my bag, and with a glance at me she tosses my avocado into the bag with a dull splat. I'd had enough. Spat the dummy.
"LOOK what you have done to my avocado." I snarl, fishing it out of the bag.
"Aw, get another one then," she snarls back.
"Well you look after the children then," I say, storming off in the direction of the Avocado aisle.
She doesn't of course. They're heading for the carpark with the trolley by the time I return and I have to shriek at them to stop.
This of course when I recognise the mum at the next checkout.