For Fucks Sake Friday

It's whine time (with a silent H, heh)

Time to air my grievances for the week and then drop them in the bin.

FFS Friday is brought to you by Dear Baby G who is awesomeness personified.

 So what's given me the shits this week?


Frog is Queen Contrary-Huffington. All. Day. Long. No matter what you say or do, she refuses on principal. I offered her a Cadbury Mini Egg yesterday and she shouted "Noooooo!" TWICE before she realised what she was saying. I feel like I'm living in the Red Zone... my day is full of random skirmishes and I just have to pray I don't trip the ITD (Improvised Tantrum Device) FFS.

 I've been trying to get Tiger to brush her teeth for the most part of ten years, doing it myself until she was five and the squirmy little shit sod darling little child could escape my clutches. One trip to Nick the Wonder Dentist and she's brushed them day and night for a week and keeps asking when she can go and have her next fluoride treatment. FFS.

 This week more than five people have blatantly failed to give way to me at one of the roundabouts, two doing so without even looking, obviously under some insane impression that they exist therefor they must go first. FFS.

 I may or may not have ranted about roundabouts and road rules until Tiger finally said "Yes, mum, I get it, nobody knows how to use a freaking roundabout. Can we put the radio on now?" FFS.

 I've been re-organising the stupidly huge pile of recipe clippings into a usable format, spent ages creating a balanced and delicious weekly menu plan, and it turns out I should have burned the whole lot to keep me warm because all my hard work has been met with such gems as "Where's the meat?" "I don't like it" "What's that green thing?" "It's yucky" "Can we have noodles?" and my personal favourite "Why did you make THIS?" FFS.

 It's a week until the Digital Parents Conference and my Twitter feed is FULL of #DPCON12 hashtags. I had to sell my ticket and give up the only two days all to myself in five years so excuse me if I ignore all of you lovely people and go and hide in my pillow fort while it's on, clutching my smarties and filling the moat with lava. FFS.

 Rant over. Please resume normal programming. Oh wait.... this is normal.... D'oh!

Arsenic Hour ran into overtime

TWENTY SEVEN TIMES.

TWENTY SEVEN trips up the hallway to return Frog to bed, after feeding bathing and sending her off at 6:30pm.

TWENTY SEVEN patience cracking, mind numbing attempts to get her to listen to those simple words "It's bedtime".

I have done precisely no housework, no washing, no dishes.

And I'm exhausted but I can't sleep.

Will this child ever let me dig my eyes out from the pits they have sunk into over the past few months? 

Will I ever have my evenings back?

Will I ever kick this damn "Bedtime" record off vocal chords.

I really hope so.

If not I'd like to see the nice nurse with the kind smile and the sedatives please.