Last day of the holidays comported with usual grace and aplomb

I have two rules when blogging, first, don't blog funny stories about friends and family who live close enough to set your house on fire, and second, never ever, not ever, blog when drinking.

Right now, I am not technically drinking. No. You see there is a small pissed fly going around and around in my glass of cabernet merlot, and I shall not be drinking again until I manage to move my exhausted behind from the table, toss the wine in the sink and then pour another glass.

It has been one of those days.

• Just as hubs left for work the dog started barking, he rushed outside, drank the contents of his water bowl, rushed inside, woke Miss 4, woke Miss 6 and then barfed all over my much treasured bedroom carpet.  I am so over that dog.
• Then, before I'd even had a cup of tea I get an email from my mother explaining that my pony plan was not such a good idea.  (My mother is in the UK right now and so technically she can't set my house on fire, also she never ever reads my blog - HI MUM, you know how you thought I lost my virginity to that young fellow who accidentally stayed overnight that time? WRONG, so very very wrong).  But yes.  I'm 38 years old and my mum has told me I can't have a pony.  Miffed or what?
• Then, because the last time I actually bathed my children has slipped out of living memory, and because yesterday the lady at IGA looked at the brown stain on Miss 4's arm and said 'is that a birthmark?' (I said yes) I decided to clean my children.  They both laid eyes on one small pink plastic pony bath toy thingy and WW3 commenced.  My god the howling, screaming and finally slapping (them not me) - they were so busy being horrible to each other that they didn't even notice when I pulled the plug out.  Separate baths from now on.  It might take longer, but my sanity needs all the help it can get.
• Then I fed them - an entire loaf of bread, each slice with butter and vegemite, AND it was bought white bread, no-name brand.  My utter parenting failure knows no limits. 
• Next it was into the car, the bickering had not abated with the insertion of much food, and I elegantly fell off the end of my rope in the driveway by howling 'BEEEEE QUIET' at the top of my voice.  You know that silence that falls, the one where all your neighbours have just had all their assumptions confirmed.  Yes. That loud.
• Then, after picking up the in-laws it was off to the school clothing shop to get Miss 4s kit for next year (yes early, but they like to do it that way and who am I to argue??).  Commence whirling around on the chairs, monotonously kicking tables and crawling across the floor shrieking 'I'm a puppy, I'm a puppy,' and making high pitched yelping noises.  In an effort to maintain the farce that I am actually a competent parent I first tried hissing, then snarling and then wondered if I could actually put them in a half-nelson face-down on the floor without being obvious.  
• Next on the agenda was lunch. In a cafe. A cafe filled with ladies. Ladies who lunch.  God. Help. Me.  A conversation commenced about the appalling nearby toilet.  Miss 4's ears pricked up.  "I need to go to the toilet," she said.  "I am not taking you to the toilet" I said, as she'd been recently. And so we continued for the rest of lunch, the more I said no, the more she wanted to go see the appalling toilet.  Finally it got to me.  "I am NOT taking you to the toilet," I snapped, just as the entire cafe had one of those quiet moments, when my voice rang out and heads turned to observe me denying my 4 year old child the dignity of the bathroom.  I took her to the toilet - well, actually she squeezed out a teaspoon of wee behind the car in the carpark.  It is a horrific public toilet.
• After 'rest time' - when the kids refuse to stay in their rooms and I shout a lot about consideration for others and obedience and sounded more and more like my mother - we had some outside time. Actually it was good.  Miss 4 pulled up one of my tomato plants (was hastily replanted) and Miss 6 entertained herself floating leaves on our dark green pool.  I sat on a bucket with my head in my hands and mentally relived the whole uniform buying experience.  It was all going well until Miss 4 announced she'd done a poo. In her pants.  "Look Mummy," she said. And indeed, there it was.

I tidied up that catastrophe and poured the first glass of wine. Hubs arrived soon after, bearing a Chinese take-away and I poured more wine and decided that the only thing that'd improve the day was to tell the entire internet about it.

sigh.