Nuclear

Maybe the reason it’s called a NUCLEAR family is nothing to do with the whole nucleus thing, maybe it’s because living in isolation with very small, very dependant, very demanding children causes people to have NUCLEAR meltdowns?

Just a thought there for you.

Since my last post i have spent two full days (that’s from 7am until 7pm at the earliest) alone with my children.  At home for the most part, although we did take a trip to The Trafford Centre yesterday and went for a walk (in the rain) today.  When i say alone, i mean, alone.  Chris was in work.  Nobody came by (although i’d probably drop dead with shock if anyone did to be honest, so it’s possibly not advisable for anyone to consider it), nobody rang, my Mum sent me a couple of text messages yesterday in response to one i sent her.  Sure we saw strangers while we were out an about.  It’s not like you can go to The Trafford Centre on a Sunday without being surrounded by hoardes of people, but it’s true what they say about the ability to feel lonely in a crowd.  We didn’t even get any mail.

It really is quite an isolated business being a Mum today in Western society.  Or it might just be that i’m a billy-no-mates.

Aside from the little excursions, the gremlins and i filled our days with colouring, baking gingerbread men (all burnt amputees sadly), reading stories, playing random games involving The Gruffalo and Toby’s Lapin and of course Cbeebies.

Today was no worse than yesterday in terms of Rudy fighting sleep/Toby having tantrums, but yesterday i was a bit better equipped to deal with it all, after all Chris was home all day Saturday so it was an even game.  Yesterday was Day One of Two Against One.  Today was Day Two.  Today, i had a little less patience, a little less energy, and a little more rage.

I like to think i am quite good at recognising my own limits, and after lunch i swiftly realised i couldn’t cope a minute longer in the house with the two of them whinging at me, so hastily started getting us all bundled up for the rainy October July day we were heading into.  It became apparent that i would need to make a trip to the bathroom before we left, and i guess that’s pretty much where it all started to go wrong.

I asked Toby to stay downstairs but took Rudy with me.
I did not put the safety gate on at the top of the stairs.
I took Rudy in the bathroom with me and closed the door.
Toby did not stay downstairs.
I remained calm and asked him to please play in his room while i finished up on the toilet.
He did not play in his room, he pushed the door open into his brother’s head.
At almost the precise moment Rudy started screaming i heard the cat doing, what can only really be described as a great big shit.  Since his litter tray is at precisely the opposite side of the house to the bathroom, i knew that the fact i could hear this Was Not Good.  I was right.
So i’m bleeding heavily (women’s troubles *sigh*) Rudy is screaming from nearly being knocked out.  Toby is crying because i yelled at him for nearly knocking Rudy out.  I calm Rudy and go downstairs and find a giant puddle of diarrhea on the mat in the hall and the cat fleeing from me.
I dump the (house) cat unceremoniously out in the rain.
I call Chris, intending to tell him to either a. Come home now, or b. Rearrange his shift for tomorrow because i can’t possibly manage a third full day and evening home alone with these critters, i haven’t decided yet.
He doesn’t answer the phone.
I call again.
He still doesn’t answer the phone, it’s almost like he’s in work or something!
I find this unreasonable and throw the phone on the floor.
Unfortunately this makes me feel absolutely zero percent better about anything so i try again.
Same result.
I throw it across the room, maybe this grand gesture will help.
No, it does not.
So i hit the phone with a hammer.

Now, in my defence, although i may be losing my marbles, i’m not (yet) so bad that i actually went looking for a weapon to destroy my phone with, we’re in the midst of DIY so it was right there next to me. Like buying gum at the supermarket checkout.  An impulse purchase.  Sort of.  In any case, hammer met phone.  I still didn’t feel in the slightest bit better.

I marvelled that my phone was still in one piece and then, quite quickly got my shit together.  Literally i mean.  I collected the mat from the hall carried it outside to the bin and disposed of it. Let the cat back inside.  Went upstairs and resumed my parenting duties, bundled Rudy into the pram and Toby on to the buggy board and out we ventured into the pouring rain.

My phone may look alright but on closer inspection it has a dent and the keyboard no longer works, or rather behaves as though it’s possessed.  Much like me really.

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One thought on “Nuclear

  1. Sammy Kitten 03/07/2012 / 9:42 pm

    And Sam wonders why some days he has 12 missed calls on his phone and comes home to me handing him a baby and telling him “I need 5minutes” before disappearing.

    You have 3 friends here: the outdoors, the TV, and pinterest.

    I rely heavily on the first two, and then use the third to magically conjure up the most simple, obvious, ideas that for some reason my brain cannot function well enough to retrieve from my memory. Playdoh, oh Playdoh, I hate the feel, I hate the smell, and I hate the resulting mess, but it can occupy children for hours. Paint! see Playdoh.

    People think I'm mad/crazy earth mother/hippy weirdo/exercise freak for going out the house every day, normally for an 'adventure' whereby we end up rambling through some random nearby fields/woods etc. but really it's because it tires Theakston out enough that he's happy to veg in front of Cbeebies after lunch, and stops me smashing up my house…

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