So far, So FML.
Today, I cleaned. After a week of Midterm Break where I, as fecking usual, ended up dosed to the eyeballs with babies also dosed to the eyeballs, the pit that is S-Mumble Hill needed some serious detoxification.
Princess goes for her morning nap. Mini-Me gets plonked in front of the Tellybox…(RTE Junior… I’m not able for Christmas adverts this morning!). S-Mum COULD pour a coffee and try to catch up on that Doll on the Train, but noooooooo. S-Mum starts to clean.
And as she cleans, she realises just how fucking DISGUSTING the house actually is. There’s nothing like cleaning one surface to show you just how MINGING the other surfaces are. So as I clean and scrub and wipe, I’m making mental notes of all of the jobs that need done…you know, at midterm.
THEN, I open the cleaning cupboard under the sink, you remember the one that The Him locked with Alcatraz style childlocks a few weeks ago? Yeah, the one with all of my lovely BLEACH and carpet cleaners and such dangerously Fablis magic potions that must be kept away from Minions, and apparently Mammy because she can’t work the fecking lock thing… and what do I see sitting pretty IN MY CLEANING PRODUCT CUPBOARD???
Fucking mice droppings.
Because the little shit that we THOUGHT we’d gotten rid of last weekend, apparently hasn’t disappeared, and suddenly Mini-Me’s dramatic mumblings about seeing “da wee meece wunning under the cooker” at 7am doesnt seem quite so ridiculous.
S-Mum has reached new level of BAT SHIT CRAZY today. I have BLEACHED EVERY SURFACE and disinfected everything in the house. I FINALLY washed the MAC Foundation out of the cream carpet… (yes I KNOW that happenend ten days ago. THAT is how UNTOGETHER this MammaBear’s shot is this past few weeks.)
Now, I’m ranting at you lot as I wait for the floors to dry and watching the clock as I drink a coffee, because in approximately 15 minutes, when Daddy Dude walks in that door, I am OUT it as fast as my bleach sparked pumps will carry me.
And guess where I’m going?
I’m taking myself off to a SPA.
YES. A SPA.
A place of tranquility and smelly stuff and quiet.
Where there are NO minions and where thereare no mouses.
Where a lovely lady will squeeze my shitty spotty dried-out skin and batter the shoulders off me and then let me soak IN PEACE in a big bath of seaweed or some other such stuff.
I don’t particularly give a continental shite WHAT she does to me.
As long as I dont have to clean said bath, I’m pretty much good for ANYTHING today.
I’m just going.
On MY OWN…YES. I have FINALLY rwached that stage of Mammyhood wherw I am a happy big saddo who is quite happy to NOT have company for a few hours.
And as I hand The Him his children, and grunt at him that “Yes, she needs fed, no there’s nothing in the fridge and yesm it is indeed true that I shall not be returning u til Him and The Bloke have managed to rid the house of the fucking mouse/s, I shall kiss him goodbye and add “Oh and she hasn’t poonamied today! Enjoy.”
Over and out Bitcheepooos.
This Mamma is done today.
I shall return a new woman, with marginally less rage and a little less swearing.