I spuddle.

I am going to give you a brief summary of my week.   Why?  Because I can.   I have a blog.   I have a story.    Well, sort of.   I mean, it’s not an actual story because the plot doesn’t move along and there is a whole big fat lot of repetition, which in an actual story one would try to avoid.

Here goes!   Are you excited?

We went to the library.   The Bun had a meltdown.  The Birdy ran away, laughing.

We walked up the street.   The Bun had a meltdown, complete with screaming and tears coursing down his cheeks.   I’m surprised no one called the police.   He was doing an excellent impression of a child being kidnapped.   Hilarious, right?   The Birdy ran away, laughing.

We went into a store to buy milk.   The Bun did not want MILK.   The Bun wanted cheese.  The brick of cheese that The Bun wanted was $15 and the size of his head.   I did NOT want the cheese.   The Bun had a meltdown, complete with threats and fist pounding.   Old ladies suggested that perhaps I was doing a lousy job as a mother and I ought to tell him to stop.    REALLY?   YOU DON’T SAY.   DO YOU NOT HEAR ME, IMPLORING HIM TO STOP?  NO?  REALLY?   The Bun ran away.   The Birdy ran away, too.    In the other direction.    Laughing.

We went home.   I ran away.   Oh, I jest.   I didn’t run away.    I REALLY REALLY WANTED TO RUN AWAY.

We went swimming.   There was no parking.   We were late because the ten minutes in which we could have been early were absorbed by me repeatedly saying, “PLEASE PUT ON YOUR BOOTS” in gradually increasing volume until I just about blacked out.   The pool had fourteen thousand other kids swimming in it.    The Birdy kept sliding under the water and the teacher was too busy to notice.   I had a panic attack.

We quit swimming.

We went to dancing.   The Birdy fell off a chair backwards and cracked her head on the concrete floor.   The Bun had a meltdown because a girl in his class looked at him funny.    I went in to the classroom to rescue The Bun.   The Birdy had a meltdown of epic proportions because she couldn’t see me through the floor to ceiling window.   The Bun ran out of the classroom.   I tried to cajole him to go back in, punctuating my message by accidentally whacking his eye with the door handle.   In my hurry to kiss the black eye better, I slammed the door on The Birdy’s fingers and didn’t notice for long enough that everyone else in the room came sprinting over screaming, “HER HAND IS STUCK IN THE DOOR!”

We went home.

The Bun had a meltdown.   The Birdy had a meltdown.

Rinse.   Lather.   Repeat.

Word of the Week:   AWESOMETASTIC.

Sometimes you have to laugh.   Because if you don’t laugh, then you’ll just walk around crying all the time and people will judge you.   They won’t HELP you.    Trust me.   But they WILL judge.

Here is a picture of The Birdy and The Bun, entirely belying their behaviour of EVERY DAY THIS WEEK.    (I don’t take pictures of the meltdowns.)(Or the shocked, disapproving stares of onlookers.)(But maybe I should.)  Uploading this picture has made me realize that I’m more than six months behind on editing and uploading pictures and that I FORGOT TO TAKE PICTURES ON CHRISTMAS DAY and am now having a massive panic attack, complete with breathing into a paper bag, because when you are me, getting behind means that OMG I WILL NEVER CATCH UP AND WHAT AM I GOING TO DO AND OH NO I NEED TO GET SOME WORK DONE BECAUSE I’VE JUST WASTED HALF AN HOUR LOOKING FOR THIS ONE PICTURE AND HALP HALP HALP SOS I WILL NEVER HAVE FREE TIME FOR MY HOBBIES AGAIN!!!!!  Or, you know, something like that but with more screaming.

Filed under: Kids