AWOL dog and #1′s big night
Now usually, dear reader, I try not to post when I’m a bit grumpy because I think it makes for a depressing read, but today I’m so p*ssed off I’m going to break my own rule. Firstly, our usually sweet and good natured B has turned into a furry goblin and no mistake. She’s bloody run off again. Not content with making me want to barf again by trying to wrestle another mouse off me (it was a dead one and I was trying to get it out of the trap, which is a less than pleasant job anyway, but she was just determined to eat it – it was extra nice because it still had the Fruit Allsort I’d baited the trap with in its mouth – kind of the dog equivalent of a stuffed olive I guess) AND sneaking off and doing a big poo on #2′s bedroom floor at 7.30 this morning (thank God for wooden floors), she has now compounded her naughty streak by making a run for it and sodding off when the electrician opened the door. AND yesterday when we came home from the school run she’d managed to open the cupboard under the sink and had shredded an entire pack of brillo pads all over the kitchen floor (and had weird pink froth at the sides of her mouth) plus she’d ripped a brand new pair of rubber gloves and #2′s swimming bag to pieces and she’d knocked Hubby’s electric razor to the floor where it had broken into two pieces and both of those were secreted in her bed too. I tell you, she’s really testing my patience at the moment. It’s almost as bad as having a toddler.
Anyway, back to my whining…so the electrician was here (a nice surprise – he was only supposed to be here two weeks ago) and although he was doing his best to keep doors shut, we were all having a chat and got distracted and she snuck off.
Oh, and tonight is #1′s big night, so if she doesn’t come back by 3.30 she’s had it because we’ve got to go to Dublin to watch him sing a solo (oh yes, really) in a ‘Choral Evening’ at some posh place called Dalkey, which is, apparently where Michael Jackson lives (I mean, we’re not going to Michael Jackson’s house obviously, we’re just going to the place where he lives. So they say.) Their school has a fantastic choir, lead by a very talented choir mistress and he’s been feverishly practising his ‘Pie Jesu’ for weeks now. Weirdly for someone who likes the Foo Fighters and Fallout Boy and plays a mean ‘Ace of Spades’ on the guitar, he really does have the most beautiful voice. Think Aled Jones crossed with..er..Billy Jo out of Green Day (Hubby calls him Billybob to wind #2 up). I’m so excited I think I might pop and I know I’m going to cry. My one regret is that his Grandparents won’t be there to see it – they’d be so proud.
So although we’ve now got an immersion heater, a light in the toilet and a doorbell, we’re down a pack of brillo pads, a pair of rubber gloves, an electric razor and a dog, but I’m sorry, I can’t care because in a few hours I’m going to be too busy telling everyone in the audience that will listen that the little boy standing up on that stage singing a solo is MY son!!!!
