I’m not even joking when I write any of this.

I’m sitting on the couch having a Pinot. I know it’s only Tuesday, but I’m blaming Tuesday for it. It started off pretty well … but then I got out of bed.

Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed. I’ll give you a hint: it wasn’t mumma, Beary or Bella. Nothing I did was right or met with any form of agreement – this kind of makes getting out of the house on time without losing your mind a little tricky.

Work was busy, which is always good. But then the bully who attempted to derail me a number of weeks ago thought they would have another attempt, having had absolutely no response to their first attempt.

Dear Bully: My actions will speak louder than the malicious words of a stranger. Please make peace with whatever is upsetting you, for your sake and mine. Hiding behind anonymity will not help resolve whatever is upsetting you. 

The kindy pick up began with a full on the floor melt-down about wanting to stay there and not wanting to go home. This continued in the car park; buying food for Bella and Beary; and buying wine for mumma. Refusal to get in the car, refusal to get out of the car, refusal to get into car seat, refusal to get off the floor of the car. Wanting mumma to lift her into the car seat, not wanting mumma to lift her into the car seat. And on. And on.

Finally home and I could hear Beary howling as soon as I got out of the car. He wasn’t pressed up against the front window or door, so I started to worry. Only Bella greeted us when I opened the door, and with less than her usual gorgeous enthusiasm. A few more steps and I was greeted with the reason why {my nose really should have alerted me to it}: stuck inside, somehow the latch of the door had released, she had been sick. And not from the snout end either. Enough said.

I opened the back door to a very upset Beary … so upset that he’d vomited a couple of times.

But this is not time for me to remove focus from Love Bug. Apparently. Keeping everyone’s feet and paws out of puddles of vomit and diarrhea, I managed to clean up the messes, give everyone cuddles, check snouts, gums and tummies and get the smallest human out of her clothes ready for her shower. Except that she wanted to do the last of her clothes and told me to go away.

Where’s that bottle of wine? Not yet mumma, not yet.

I went into the kitchen {4 steps from the bathroom} and put the filter tap on to fill the fridge water bottle. At which point I heard a scream from the bathroom, so I ran back in. No emergency, just that she wanted me to put her in to the shower. Then wash her. But not wash her. She was cold so I said I’d close the bathroom door and just sit on the mat and chat to her while she finished washing her legs.

Then I heard running water.

Yep, the filtered water tap. And the jug. Which had overflowed and was feeding the river of water pouring across the bench, down the cupboard, across the kitchen floor and heading for the back door.

**EXPLETIVE EXPLETIVE, CAN TODAY JUST EXPLETIVE OFF?**

It was only water, I know, but isn’t it always the littlest thing that eventually breaks you?

Dinner. Whingeing about no television. Brushing teeth. Whingeing about book selection. Reading books {thankfully two of my favourite Dr Seuss ones!}. Cuddles. Sorry I was so naughty mumma. Love you. Lots of kisses blown.

Couch. Wine. Soon to be bed.

{Bed lasted about an hour. Until poor Miss Bella was sick again. Up with her for an hour: bed again. Worst sleep in a long time.}

Wednesday is on notice: a better day ahead please!