We are having a rest day today.
Well, a rest afternoon.
As soon as they got back from the beach, the girls were off with their dad to London for a few days. They didn’t get back until lunch time today.
They look shattered.
Oscar has been listening to the Percy Jackson audio CD’s, well into the night – and he looks shattered.
I have fourteen years of broken nights to catch up on. I am always shattered.
So we are at home, while it throws it down with rain, and the children nip at each other like aggravated terriers.
You see, a rest day really isn’t a rest day, because, certainly for the two little ones, they’re too tired to rest. They’re over tired, and that’s horrible.
They have books by the shelf load, an entire craft cupboard of art materials, toys by the toy chest load, a dressing up box, a television of their own, a playroom of their own, an X Box, DS’s, a toy room and each other, and it’s all rubbish.
Tallulah has things from her birthday she’s not played with yet.
They are allowed to go out in the garden, even when it rains, something they normally like to do.
It’s all rubbish.
I am spending quite a lot of the day cajoling, threatening and glaring. I have separated Oscar and Tallulah twice. Minecraft duties have been rescinded for the rest of the day, with the threat that the next time I have to tell them off about it, it will be a week’s ban.
All we really need is an arena and some pointy swords. Then they could fight it out Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome style, and that would suit them fine.
On top of that:
The guttering/waste water pipes at the front of the house have become disconnected. Every time someone washes their hands in the kids bathroom, the water cascades all over the drive.
The large freezer in the utility room is dead. It defrosted itself on Sunday and has now gone to Cheezus, while the food has gone to the tip. We are debating what is to to be done with it. In the meantime, it sits there, looking dour.
The lock on the French windows in the kitchen has dropped, meaning you cannot get the key fully in – so you cannot unlock the doors.
Tilly needs new bras. The trip to the seaside has done for her old ones. I need to take her to be measured. I cannot face it. She cannot face it. The only people who can face it are Oscar and Tallulah, but they’re the ones who are making it so that I cannot face it. I know that the minute I turn my back on them they will be running around John Lewis with FF cup bras on their heads pretending to be fighter pilots.
I haven’t got the will.
And the rain continues to come down, and the children continue to bitch and moan.
Tomorrow, when they have slept properly, they will be more human. Everything will be alright again.
Today I am just counting the minutes.