Money Money Money

Today I have been crap.

Actually that’s not fair. Most days I am crap.

Today I was crapper.

Let us hope that tomorrow I will not be crappest.

I am sleeping terribly at the moment. I am still averaging about four hours of sleep per night, which would be fine if I had a new baby as an excuse, but not when all my children are sleeping through the night.  When I do sleep I have awful dreams and wake repeatedly.  I am knackered.  It is making me weepy and stupid.

More weepy and stupid than normal.

It means that mornings are more than usually gruesome too, and I can’t say I was a morning person before the insomnia reared its ugly head again.  Everything is hard work.

This morning things went from bad to worse.  I ran out of clean school trousers for Oscar. This wouldn’t have been too bad had I not been rather efficient the night before and put a load of washing in before I went to bed, which included school trousers that we could have sponged down and made do with if I had been my usual slatternly self.

The only option I had, other than to send him to school with non uniform trousers, which is tantamount to sending him to school with a sign attached to him saying: ‘Please beat me to death.’ was to take his clean yet wet trousers to my mum’s in a carrier bag and hope that her tumble dryer was being efficient.

I was cursing about trousers when Tallulah loped into view looking guilty.  She breezily said: ‘After breakfast I must finish my homework.’

I said: ‘Homework isn’t due in until Thursday.’

She said: ‘It is Thursday.’

I said: ‘Crap.’

Then I asked her why she hadn’t done her homework earlier in the week. Apparently she couldn’t. The reasons were complex but boiled down to a) being too lazy and b) being too busy trying to smash her brother’s face in.

Neither reason sat well with me if I’m honest.

Then, because she spent so long faffing about she didn’t even have time to do it after breakfast.

When we got to granny’s house I shut her in the pantry and denied her Coco Pops until she had finished it.  I went and did arcane things with the tumble dryer.

By the skin of our teeth we arrived at school with homework intact and the right trousers on.  These activities were also connected to the correct child, which was gratifying.

This afternoon I have spent hours in Sainsbury’s stocking up on school trousers and cardigans.  Oscar has lost three school cardigans this week. I have tracked them all down with the stealth and efficiency of a bloodhound, due to the fact that they cost £15 each.  I bought emergency non logo’d cardigans from Sainsburys for £3 each, which is much more satisfactory if they go missing.

Yesterday, when Oscar came out of school sans cardigan I said: ‘Have you looked for it?’ to which he shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly and said: ‘Someone will find it eventually.’

We had sharp words.  I have intimated that if he does not keep the cardigan either on his peg or on his back I will sew it to his shoulder blades.  He did not lose it today.

I also had to buy school shirts.  I thought I had bought school shirts. It transpires that I did, but I bought summer school shirts, and soon it will be time for winter. Winter shirts are an entirely different kettle of shirts.

It is all very confusing. Confusing and costly, which is not a combination that appeals to me.

Tallulah came home from school and informed me that I had purchased the wrong colour school skirts for her. I thought she was supposed to wear grey ones. The teacher informs her they should be navy.  I need to find out. I am dreading having to spend more money on school uniform.

Tallulah also informed me that her school shoes do not fit. I remember that she told me this on the Sunday night before the Monday morning they were due at school.  I melted down and after a small tantrum, chose to ignore this information.  It appears I can ignore it no longer.

She also bought home a letter about the school disco, demanding money, and a letter about the yearly shoe box for Christmas charity, which means more money.  The shoe box charity thing is where each child is asked to fill a shoe box with gifts for a child somewhere in the world so they get Christmas presents. It is a lovely idea and I usually wholeheartedly support it.  Today my pockets just wept as I contemplated another mass exodus of money.

On the school finances front things can now only get worse if Tilly comes home tomorrow demanding to go on a skiing trip or wanting to take oboe lessons.

Or become a solo oboeist on skis.

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