The boy woke up at eight this morning. This is obviously (more than) fine, but I do tend to become a little nocturnal/drink two glasses of vino of an evening, rather than one, during the school holidays. So this morning, we both just seemed to be chugging along at a leisurely pace.
I had a doctor's appointment at eleven. I made it during the last couple of weeks of term when I was feeling utterly broken and looking like a knackered old pit pony. The GP's verdict was I need to eat more and 'watch things' at work. I'm assuming she wasn't suggesting turning teaching into a spectator sport, and I explained that (despite my tiny frame), I do actually eat rather a lot.
Anyway, I felt it was acting on doctor's orders to pop along to a local deli on the way home and buy an enormous sandwich and flapjack, which I devoured when we returned home. The boy is still working his way through Daddy's banana muffins.
I put Dexter to bed at about quarter to one, and feeling a little sleepy myself, sidled into my own bed with a book.
Three hours later, we both woke up. I had snoozed away vital cooking/cleaning/marking/watching old episodes of Jeremy Kyle time. Consequently, my plan to make one of Ms Karmel's cottage pies for dinner had to happen whilst simultaneously trying to entertain the boy. He spent a lot of time 'walking' around the kitchen, clinging to my legs. He also spent quite a lot of time whining, probably because he was bored. In trying to create delicious, home-cooked food, I was probably behaving like a bad mother.
The 'easy family dish' ended up taking the best part of three hours to make, during which time I also had to load and unload the dishwasher twice due to all the pots and pans used. I also managed to somehow 'break' the kitchen sink tap, causing a slightly alarming spraying and leaking situation. The book I fell asleep reading this afternoon is called 'I Don't Know How She Does It'. I am considering writing my own sequel: 'I Don't Know Why She Bothers'.
When we eventually sat down to eat, the meal was fine, and there seemed to be enough to feed a small third world country, so I've chucked it in the freezer as it will do for us all when the madness starts again next week. I'm hoping the doctor will approve: trying to ease the stress and thinking about my stomach.
It is now nine o'clock. The boy will not settle because of his teeth and I suspect we are in for a long night. Perhaps that three hour nap was a pre-emptive strike...