After spending my day on the verge of tears yesterday and doing my best OCD/OTT thing I rushed out the door to my poor, desolate, deprived and neglected child.
My parents had collected them from school so I had to collect them from their house. I arrive at the house and find the 3 kids sprawled over the furniture happily munching on popcorn and watching a Barbie movie and ignoring their long-suffering mother. I really didn’t know whether I should be happy or sad.
Fast forward to bedtime.
We did an extra long read-and-cuddle-time, me with the girls and Etienne with Daniel and going-to-sleep-time didn’t go too badly. Normally when they are asleep they stay that way apart from the odd wet bed/fever/snotty nose/bad dream etc.
At this point you need to know:
We moved our room around recently. Since we have had children Etienne has always slept closest to the door. i.e. he generally gets up more than I do. Now I’m the one closest to the door. Which is not a bad thing as I generally sleep like the dead. (this has incidentally backfired nicely on Etienne as the dogs bark directly outside the window and Lily has taken to sleeping on the trampoline) (yes, Lily the dog)
That is, when I’m not dreaming up a storm of bizarreness as I have been lately. Really weird dreams which I know is just my mind’s way of processing, but it’s still stuck to me the next day like dog poo on a shoe. So, last night I decided to use some, erm, chemical assistance to sleep i.e. an anti-anxiety tablet. And half a one nogals as I don’t generally take anything to help me sleep.
At 10pm I was happily in bed, children checked on and tucked in, house quiet, alarm activated and drifting happily off to dreamland.
At 01h00 I surface to a doefdoef coming down the passage and the vague shape of a 3 year old looming in the doorway. It’s Isabel. “Mamma, I’m cold.” Drag myself out of bed through the haze and tuck her back in bed with a kiss and a cuddle.
01h30: “Mamma, I’m awake”. Etienne gets up and does something.
01h45: “Mamma, there’s a scary man” Etienne gets up grumbling and mumbling and deposits her back in bed.
02h00: “Mamma, I need to poo”. I get up (very slowly) and switch on the bathroom light and tell her to call me when she’s done.
02h10: “Mamma, I can’t make a poo” whilst looming in the doorway. At which point it got a little ugly and we asked her very nicely to go to bed.
02h30: “Mamma, I’m awake!” Etienne and I: “Go To BED!”
03h00, 03h30, 04h00 and so on: dogs barking. Allegedly. Because I was sleeping.
I’m getting too old for this…
And then, this morning, when we finally managed to drag Madam out of bed, she insists on wearing these shoes my Mom bought her yesterday. In 9 degrees Celcius weather. The pure fugliness of these shoes know no end. And notice the battle scars on her shin.