I’m going to just launch into my diatribe today because it’s nearly bedtime, there’s a lot to get through and I could be on a clock, but more on that later.

February has been eventful and some might say, ‘trying’, but I like to look on the bright side and therefore I’ll describe it as a perfect month – for blog fodder.

Now let me begin:

• A couple of weeks ago and for the second time in two weeks (that’s three times in 6 months), the children managed to drain the car battery by leaving all the lights on in the back seat, yet again.

And then as my Italian friend and neighbour was kindly restarting the battery, no. 4 managed to lock himself in the car with the engine running. A stressful few minutes ensued as the lovely Mr Campani tried unsuccessfully to explain to my dopey 3 year old how to unlock the door, while I frantically stripped the contents from a kitchen cupboard trying to locate the spare keys.

Consequently, nos. 1 & 2 were comically late for school (that’s a pink slip, with bells on) and if that wasn’t enough trouble and strife for one morning, when we got home no. 4 promptly spilt a big glass of milk all over the kitchen floor and into the narrow gap under the dishwasher.

By this point I was sharpening a razor blade and trying to locate my biggest vein, until I reasoned that I’d only end up having to clean up that mess as well.

But moving on, because that was just a taster of what February had in store for me.

• A few days later and another embarrassing incident at the grocery store when some filthy creature-of-Walmart (i.e. a fellow shopper) unselfconsciously belched out loud at the milk counter – much to the intense amusement of nos. 3 & 4 who then felt the need to shout out what he’d done, to me and our fellow shoppers. I walked away at speed, desperately trying to bat down small arms in vigorous ‘point’ position.

You’d think I’d be used to it by now, but alas, every hot humiliation still feels like the first.

• Last week, discovering much to my horror that no. 4 has been scoffing the sugar lumps from the coffee and tea cupboard and horror of horror, snacking on frozen chicken nuggets straight from the freezer.

I’d wondered what the mysterious bright orange crumbs were that I kept finding on the kitchen floor when my back was turned, but it never occurred to me what the source might be. These nasty little morsels are my emergency stash for swift, non-nutritious dinners, not some illicit and ghastly canapé. Thank heavens they are pre-cooked before frozen or what you’re about to read could have been ten times worse…

• And then five days ago, the world literally fell out of no. 2’s bottom… and whatever bug was to blame, swiftly worked its way through the rest of the tribe resulting in mountains of puke-covered bedding, clothes and a projectile vomit all over the back seat of my car.

I’m hoping this mini cholera epidemic may have peaked today as the laundry pile is finally beginning to subside, but if it hadn’t I was seriously considering doing a runner in the middle of the night.

These last few days I’ve felt like a prisoner on permanent slopping-out duty, except in jail I bet you only have to deal with your own slurry, and there’s someone else to do all your cooking and laundry.

Anyway, I’m sure you’ve got the picture by now so I won’t go on, but thanks to all the above I missed out on my run with the Peninsula Runners this week so took myself out yesterday and ran as if my very life depended on it.

God knows how many times I legged it around the South Surrey athletics track but by the time I got home, I could barely stand and my lungs were on fire.

None of which sounds healthy except that this manic wave of negative energy bubbling away inside me needed a good purge and a jolly good run salvaged my sanity – for one more day.

My husband pointed out over breakfast at the weekend that he thinks my blog could be turning my life into a self-fulfilling prophecy, and I really think he may have a point.

Life does somehow seem to be more eventful now that I force myself to recollect the high (and low) points of parenting four children and then committing them to print.

But I like to think of it more as a lazy mother’s gift to her children for when they’re older. Lazy, because I have to do very little except make a note of what they get up to and then merely document the very real effect it has on my long-suffering marbles. A sort of cause and effect report if you like, but passed off as a lovingly-created family biography!

And before I venture to bed with a mixture of fear and trepidation at what may be in store tonight thanks to my midget firing squad (but firing chunder, as opposed to bullets), here are a couple of funny/ shocking stories I’ve read in the news recently:

I thought I was a bad mother, until I read about this woman sending her child to school with a Smartie sandwich…

A Willy Wonka-inspired packed lunch

 

But my favourite article has to be this one which had me cringing in sympathy for this poor emotionally-traumatized teenager who’s probably been praying for a dose of amnesia ever since!

Teenager sees ‘swinger’ parents doing the wild thing on TV