Most families, I imagine spend happy Sunday mornings, peaceful and perhaps idyllic and then there is us. It didn't help that I sat up until 3:00 A.M. lasting night watching Season 1 of The Walking Dead, for which I blame Lindsay because she suggested it. Fast forward to some ungodly hour this morning and Lindsay woke me up to tell me her father was taking her to the walk-in clinic because she has been hacking and sneezing for the last few days. I made a half hearted effort to get up but thought better of it. However, five minutes later my husband woke me again to give me the same message. Five minutes after that I had a cat sitting on my face. No lie-in for me today.
No sooner have my feet hit the bottom stair when Grady nabs me to remind me he needs help with his speech for school, his subject The Special Air Service. You may think because he broaches the subject, he is eager to begin - WRONG. It takes him a good 20 Minutes to gather paper, pen, and find the SAS book I bought for him. That's right, three items and twenty minutes' with me constantly chiding him along. Finally we sit down, and no sooner has he written one word, when he stops to exclaim "I think this pen may run out of ink". That was the last straw "I don't care about the fucking ink" I scream, only to have an answering shout from my husband in the next room, "Shut up, I'm on the fucking phone". You can tell how well the new "no swearing" rule is working out for us. Loud guffaws from Sid & Grady.
Back to the speech and I discover each time I mention the word Commando, (as in the SAS troops) the children collapse in gales of laughter. This is shaping up to be a long morning. Unfortunately Grady has the ability to be distracted by almost anything, and today is no exception. I am reading through two books and an internet page, throwing out nuggets of information, so that he decide what he wants to incorporate into his speech. That would work well if he didn't get up in the middle of it to fix a piece of Lego in the next room, or start playing with the cat. At each interruption I get more incensed. I am way beyond swearing at this point and getting so frustrated that I can hardly string two coherent words together. Sid is greatly amused by my agitated state and delighted announces "Watch Out! She's gonna blow", followed by more peals of laughter.
It is at that point that my brother-in-law arrives, and seeing as the kids and myself are still in our meager night clothes we scatter like nine pins to run upstairs and dress. After we were all suitably attired and sedately troop back down a few minutes later, Sid complains that in my mad dash to get to the stairs, I had body checked her out of the way. Sucks to be her.
Is it any wonder at this point - a mere 11:00 A.M. I have a pounding headache and I'm mentally calculating how long before I can take to my bed.
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