Excuses Excuses

With only two months to go – to the day – I’ve broken all of my New Year Resolutions.  I think it’s fairly safe to assume that you paid about as much attention to them back in January as I did, so here they are once more:

No Alcohol in January: This one went pretty well actually.  Until about week three, when I had The Day From Hell, and, under strict orders from a friend, self medicated with a large glass of wine. And then another.  It was actually the most memorable drink of the year, almost worth the horror of a screaming match with a van driver and – oh, the shame – public tears.

Check emails and Facebook once a day only: This one lasted about three hours days.  And then, to add to the never-ending ways to procrastinate, I set up a Twitter account.  The internet is a vile vile place, full of people who could be achieving things instead of shirking their household duties. 

Laugh in the face of Toddler Tantrums: Not quite sure what I was thinking with this one, as I still haven’t managed to get a handle on it.  It’s not helped I s’pose by the fact that I now have two toddlers and they dedicate their time to KILLING each other.  Actually, that’s not entirely true.  The Boy sets about killing the Girl with a focus and dedication which would, under any other circumstance, be pretty impressive. The Girl, meanwhile, devotes herself to fucking with his head.  And screeching when he so much as glances at her.  She’s added another word to her verbal arsenal:  “Ow” - said in the most disgruntled, pissed off manner you can imagine.  So – the Boy walks towards her;  she starts to bleat, softly: “ow ow ow ooooowwwww”.  He catches her eye;  she frantically tries to catch mine, and yelps: “Ow!” He reaches his target, shouldering her to the ground, she lurches at him as she falls, glares daggers, and roars “OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW!” before grabbing his legs and refusing to let go.  By now he’s on the floor too and is kicking and bucking like a lasooed bull, she’s got  her teeth – all eight of them – stuck into his (meaty) thighs so he’s howling, and the both of them are flailing and flapping about, desperately trying to gouge the other’s eyes out.  I do try to laugh (and sometimes, not to), but it’s hard when confronted with indisputable proof that the fruits of your womb are in fact snarling snapping pit-bulls with a penchant for drawing blood.  So instead I’m trying to work out how to monetise it – lemons to lemonade, children to YouTube etc...

And the one I’ve just broken: Post blog once a week  AAAAARGH.  I was SO close.  Apologies. We had ALOT of snot to contend with, at one point I actually found self wishing for the lurgy to hit me properly so I too could go to bed for three days’ solid.  Then I found both sense and drugs and have been feeling not unpleasantly light-headed ever since.  Then suddenly it was the Boy’s birthday – three! – and I had to adjust to the fact that having a three year old and a one year old really doesn’t garner the public sympathy I would expect. (Naturally, I am working HARD to right this wrong). His last conversation as a two-year old went as follows:

Mummy, I don’t want to be little.  I want to be big.

Really? I like you little.  Why do you want to be big? (Rub his sweet little head)

Because if I’m big then I can get a knife and CUT THINGS and then CUT and CUT and CUT...

Ok.  (Remove hand quickly) Night night. (Flee room)

(Who knew that the Terrible Twos were followed by the Violent Threes?  I really must warn the Girl.)

Then we spent a week in Ireland, and I was too busy picking dog hairs out of the children’s mouths to go online.  When I finally had a hair-picking-free moment, I couldn’t access the room where the computer lives because David Attenborough was in there filming for his Frozen Planet series.  And so I’ve skipped a week.  BUT... what I’ve missed in posting, I’ve more than made up for in excuses.  And so I have a new New Year’s resolution:  No More Making Excuses For Not Ever Getting Anything Done.  Henceforth I shall fail in silence.

Which leads me nicely to this week’s recipe.  There is none. But nor, you’ll be pleased to hear, are there any excuses.  I will leave you, however, with a photo of the Boy’s birthday cake.   (Which, it goes without saying, I didn’t make.  Cf all the unmentionable excuses above...)