God this week has been mental. This one came with the added stress of it being Sam’s first A level exam week. Sunday was a bit frantic as he had to work (HOW do these kids do it? Studying and revising, learning to drive, holding down a part-time job AND attempting a decent social life too?) and didn’t feel that he’d got much revision in. The Dude was knackered after an all-nighter at a friend’s house the night before, so we’d all hit the sack pretty early.
The highlights of my week included:
Ninja attempting to eat my toe through the 13 tog duvet. Pretty painful, but a very effective alarm clock:
Being traumatised on the school run (Sam’s now insured on my car at vast expense and regularly TERRIFIES me by driving me to school):
‘Sweetheart, you need to come in a bit towards the kerb – you’re kind of in the middle of the road’
‘I DO NOT! STOP FLAPPING!’
Call from Sam: ’erm, we got the date wrong on the calendar. The exam is tomorrow’. I guess all I can take from this is that 1) our calendar system is wildly inefficient and 2) thank goodness we got it wrong that way round and hadn’t missed it completely. Honestly, how we all function I’ll never know.
Call from school: did you know that if you type a rude word into a school computer it’s automatically screenshotted and a copy taken to send to parents? No? Neither did The Dude. The word was ‘dildo’ if you’re interested. The explanation? ’I was trying out find and replace, so I set it to find every time in my coursework that it said ‘to’ and replace it with ‘dildo’. Ohhhh. That’s okay then.
Getting home and unloading the shopping: placing the wine in the garage fridge (a really nice bottle of rosé that has been recommended to me – Petit Rimauresq if you must know – and that I was looking forward to sharing with the Hubby) when I realised (or more accurately smelt) that I had forgotten about the mouldy cucumber that had been languishing there since Sam’s 18th and that had leaked all into the bottom of the fridge. As I turned to fetch a cloth I lost grip of the wine, tried to break its fall with my knee, then watched helplessly as it smashed all over the floor. I didn’t know whether to cry over my spilt wine or my bruised knee. Finding no carpet cleaner and, hey, as it’s only a scrappy bit in the garage, I mopped it with a bucketful of hot water to which I’d added a Bold Liquitab. There was swearing.
Another call from school: this time involving the illicit shredding of a school tie in the house office shredder. Innocent faces all round.
And so it goes on really… next will be better right? RIGHT?