Tag Archives: Crazy Days

Notes from the trenches: 2

You know when your husband sends you his PayPal login details and tells you to delete the text message once you’ve used it, and then you are distracted by a small boy trying to eat a large battery and remember about it three months later?

Here are some of the other text messages I found while that thing totally, definitely did not at all happen to me.

10 July

H just discovered smoothie. Has a whole new GIVE ME MORE sound he made up especially. He did not even know that fruit comes in liquid (mind blown).

7 Aug

I bought a PD James for £1 in a charity shop today and read it all. Then had to go check the whole house for murderers. You’re welcome.

11 Aug

All I have to say about this morning is: please never die and make me a single parent.

21 Aug

I just cannot buy him a pair of crocs.

29 Aug

Coolio, fit-head. H is pretending to sleep. He has a temperature and is exhausted, but apparently has SONGS TO SING.

3 Sept

Is it too girly to put the cloud and rainbow stickers on Henry’s car?

– Yes. Flames, and go-faster stripes only.

It didn’t come with any. We put the face on though, because the empty eye sockets were creeping me out.

5 Sept

So, Tesco decides which coupons it sends according to what you buy most often.

Our coupons this month are all for chocolate milkshake. Good times.

11 Sept

I am seriously thinking about a bedtime scone to use up the leftover clotted cream.

Had it. Just half. NO REGRETS.

25th Sept

Another Houdini poop morning here. Joy. I think I found it all.

27 Sept

That’s great. I am making dinner…very slowly. While also doing this.

Sadface Henry does not believe in dinner making.

1 Oct

Hey, you!
Did you tell me that I had devil breath this morning, or was that a dream?

He claimed it was a dream, but I have my doubts.

And now, there are approximately 72.5 things on my living room floor (the 0.5 is the bit of pork Henry flicked off his spoon yesterday while practising his Wingardium Leviosa), so it’s time for the Quick-Before-Tim-Gets-Back tidy. Henry is pretending to sleep but actually throttling the life out of his baby monitor. Since the monitor was halfway across the room on his rocking chair, I’m intrigued.

Welcome back, Monday – we hardly missed ye.

Notes from the trenches

I had to search through five months’ worth of text messages to Timothy this morning, looking for some bank account information I’d forgotten.

Henry and I have had an interesting five months.

2nd March:

Kamikaze baby just took a head-first dive off the sofa. I was on the other side of the room and managed to catch him before he hit the ground, but ended up in some very painful splits. Next week I am putting him in one of those inflatable sumo suits, and that will be the end of it.

29 March:

FYI. Henry plus Dyson Air Blade equals Armaggeddon. John Lewis was startled.

11 April:

You know, we always start off breakfast so neat and tidy. And then somehow, by the end, we’re always here.

19 April:

I have fallen out with tantrum boy for the day. I am running away to sea to be a ship’s monkey. We can Skype. They have Skype on ships, right?

30 April:

Put Henry in his room while I took my call, and paid for it with an hour of hysterics. Took me 20 mins to persuade him to sit down long enough for me to use the loo. By which point things were rather desperate.

8 May:

Btw I had a whodunnit dream in which you were the murderer! O the betrayal. You must be extra nice to people today.

11 May:

Guess who just pulled the monitor off the wall, wrapping the wire round his neck as he fell and bringing the picture frame crashing down with it? He’s fine, I am not. UNFUNNY.

15 May:

Got your £5. Had to be very nice to the cashier.

Did winks and everything.

No, not really.

17 May:

Just had the biggest lol of my life feeding H an olive.

20 May:

H just found out that the fridge magnets come off. Caught him eating Richard Hammond’s head.

23 May:

H just did the biggest, mankiest sick all in my hair. I screamed and frightened him so he screamed, and now we both smell. Good times.

27 May:

The batteries in Henry’s walker are running down. She sounds like she’s had hormone therapy and/or too many beers.

29 May:

An astonishing proportion of that rear-ended deluge was raisins. That is all.

5 June:

I had a sad dream about you last night. Try not to catch cancer today!

7 June:

These aren’t scratches from Henry dropping my iPhone, I’ve just realised. These are tooth marks. Dude.

Ha! I love these ridiculous, hair-raising days. I want to trap him as he is so he can’t get any bigger.

I suspect that one day I’ll look back and wish for the simplicity of clearing up sick and keeping him still. For now, we need more disinfectant.

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