Designer bags under my eyes...

Today I'm surviving on three hours sleep, and three squished-up-pushed-out-of-my-bed-by-the-toddler-hours at that.

I'm cranky.

I'm down.

It's been a long week.

I'm in pain because I think I've done something to my tail bone and sitting down for more than two minutes makes me feel like I've got a broken arse.


I started last weekend with a visit from my niece because I was feeling bad about how tired my mum was. 


I should realise by now that when I do something for someone I'm going to get nothing back. Except a lot of bullshit, and a whole heap of tired.

I learned that you can't sweep faster than a crawling baby. They want that broom and they can move like lightning when they want it! Now I remember why I always vacuumed when Frog was small....


It was pure madness having three girls in my house and only one pair of eyes, ears and arms. Frog carted her dolly around and copied every move I made with the baby. Which at least kept her distracted from trying to pick up the baby every five minutes.


On the weekend I ran around between mum at work, dad at home (he has a car seat... how hard is it to put the baby in the car and drive half a km and buy a paper? HARD apparently....) and the things I had to do. And I still forgot to go to the craft shop before it closed, so the things I wanted to do on the weekend had to wait.


I mowed the back lawn... which was well and truly overgrown as I had kept forgetting to buy petrol for the mower. SO it was mow a corner, empty the catcher, mow a corner, empty the catcher, smash my arm on the throttle and mow a corner.

Sunday I discovered the bruise I had left on my soft white arm and why it hurt when I rolled over in bed. That fucker was 4 inches long and BLACK as night. OW.

Then I mowed the front lawn, taking care to bash my bruised and agonised arm on the mower as much as humanly possible, and my shins multiple times as well.


I got out the whipper snipper I gave WonderMan for his birthday.


I was a grinning weed splattered mess after playing with that for an hour, and there were no more feature weeds or scraggly lawn edges.

Thirty seconds into my shower my phone rang. It was the MIL, who was at the bus stop on her way back from Queensland and would I like to bring the girls down to see her for a bit, with all the passive agressive "If you are too busy I completely understand, I've just missed the girls so much" crap thrown in.

I bundled the kids in the car to zip down and see her for what turned out to be two minutes, with the bus driver tapping his foot at me. 


Cue smushy phone call from WonderMan to tell me how much it meant to his mother that I made the effort etc etc, and I was starting to get the prickly stabby feeling behind my eyes.


So I baked. 


And I cleaned.


And I decluttered.


And I scrubbed.


And in between I have run around after every man and his dog.


But not my $1000 dog because he's with WonderMan and I miss him. Especially when things go bump in the night.

It's the week before my ballet concert and on Monday we had the program rehearsal. Heaven help me I really hope a bad rehearsal means a good concert. In which case our concert will be FUCKING STUNNING. 


I am practicing my steps every day so I get through my dances without falling over/crashing into someone else/dying of embarrassment.


I am going to bed late at night, after mopping floors and dealing with Frog who thinks that bouncing on the bed is the new sleeping.


And who quite often misjudges and needs a Boo Boo Buddy for the latest tumble.


I'm searching for a house and a job, organising school enrollment and trying to get WonderMan to get off his butt and sign the damn forms I sent him two weeks ago - all from 600kms away.


I'm providing emotional and physical support to my parents, my children, my partner, my friends.


I've realised it's about two weeks until Christmas and I haven't even written a list, let alone booked a day to go shopping.


I am about to go and fight for the most heartbreakingly beautiful little girl who deserves to be here with us, in the safety and security that is our loving family.


I'm desperately scared of what may be required of me but by all that is holy I will do what it takes.


I'm. So. Tired.


But ask for help and a deafening silence engulfs me.


Where's my family when I need them?


Oh wait... they are over there, telling me to get over it and could I do this while I'm about it?


My parents are the king and queen of undeserved guilt trips.


The ones who promise all the support in the world and whenever I, rarely, have to ask for that offered support, I am made to feel like the worst person in the world for making THEIR LIVES SO TOUGH.


Well bite me, bitches, because this weekend I'm sleeping in. The kids and I are going to make origami Christmas decorations and sing Let It Snow until we lose our voices.


And Tiger and I are going to dance in our final concert with the Divine Mrs D. And I'm going to try really hard not to howl my eyes out when it's finished.


And I'm not getting off my broken bottom for anyone.