Don’t read this post while eating soup. AKA Tuesdays suck

When I was a teen I didn’t like Sundays.

Sunday signified the end of the weekend, the end of fun, the start of a new week and OMG I have so much homework and I have to get it all done today with a hangover after such a fun filled weekend of partying feeding the homeless and knitting afghan rugs for old people.

And I had it in my head that seeing it was ‘God’s day’ it must be the devils day too cause people worship him as well and all mythical creatures deserve their own day.  Kinda like Fathers Day.

But now that I am older I know that the devils day is Tuesday.

I dragged my sorry arse out of bed yesterday morning, tiny little knives piercing my throat.  Hello Tuesday.

Moo and Too, not made of as strong stuff as their awesome mother, taking the day off school because they simply cannot MOVE and are dying…  Hello Tuesday.

Boo running around the house like a madman and then farting in the pantry… Hello every freaking day.

So I do what I do, write a list of things for the girls to do while I am at work and then laugh like a madwoman, my Auntie does it perfectly the whole lift your head up in the air and open and close your jaw really fast while saying arr arr arr – I guess you have to be there to see the hilarity of it all – and Boo looks at me strange like I am the weirdo and farts in the pantry again.

Day-um.

I should have seen this as a sign.

So I fly in the door at work, knowing today is a going to be a particularly difficult day cause it is my turn to deal with the Great Unwashed.  Particularly arrogant highly paid fuckers that need references and points of law and examples and precedents to explain why they have to wipe their own arses.  Hello Tuesday.

I am sitting at my desk, fantisising about wandering over to a cafe in half an hour or so to buy a bucket of double shot skinny latte and reading a poorly written procedure that keeps changing tense (kinda like this post) when my mobile phone rings.

Everyone falls silent.  Cause they want to hear the latest clamity that has befallen me.  Cause when my mobile rings it is ALWAYS drama filled.

Boo’s Aide C:  Hi Kelley!  How you doing?

Me:  Oh GOD!  What now!  It is his first day back!  (Boo has been home sick most of the last week with the flu.  I got a similar call last Friday when he seemed OK but ended up falling asleep on the concrete outside his classroom)

C:  Um, he has had an accident and is complaining of a sore belly.

Me:  What sort of accident? (visions of blood or him pulling out his own teeth – again – race through my mind)

C:  Kel, he has pooed himself.

Me:  Shit.

C:  Exactly.

The whole office is leaning forward, trying desperately to hear what is going on.

Me:  I will be there in 10-15

C:  OK, we will meet you outside.  He is kinda strong.

Fab.

I get to school just in time for him to say ‘I need to go to the toilet’ and OMFG who knew that one person could have that much liquid in their body?  It just kept going and going.  And going.  And the smell?  Well I really didn’t need to go and get my eyebrows waxed the other day.

I take him home and strip and shower him, beg the girls to keep an eye on him and race back to work just in time for a phone conference, the stench of shit still in my nose no matter how hard I blow.

And no time for coffee.

Hello Tuesday.

Do the grocery shopping and stop home for an hour or two to do washing and tidying and throw some food in the general direction of my darling little bastards and OMG my head feels like it is going to explode and who put that crushed glass in my throat?  Before going to an appointment.

I am gone less than thirty minutes when the phone rings.

Too:  Hi Mummy!

Me:  Oh God WHAT NOW!

Too:  Well Boo just shit himself so I put him in the shower and went to check my emails and I heard a crash and Boo was standing in the hallway saying ‘I didn’t do it!  What Happened!’ and there is a big hole in the wall.

Hello Tuesday.

I got home to find Boo running around naked, the entire contents of his wardrobe in the laundry cause he had smeared shit all over them AND all of his bedding.  The stench almost overpowering.  Boo still adamant that it wasn’t him, no obvious bleeding or brusing, plaster all over the floor and hanging from the wall.

Like my super handy woman skillz?

This is to stop Boo putting his fucking HAND in there and playing with the wires from the light switch.

Hello Tuesday.

I eyed off a bottle of wine, but seeing I was going to be on fucking concussion watch, I just blew it a kiss and promised ‘you, me and a straw on the weekend baby’ and started cleaning the aftermath of another Tuesday while Boo was softly singing in his room.  The door barracaded.

Me:  Boo!  Get that stuff away from the door it is dangerous!

Boo:  I know, I know, Just let it go.  You gotta pick your battles.*

You are so right Boo.  I choose to fight for the ban of Tuesday.

*direct quote from Homestar Runner.

BTW – I still have some amazing guest posting biatches to come, my laptop is still fucked – spraying ants on your keyboard with flyspray is apparently not a good idea, who knew? – but at least I can access my blog properly now and I am still fucking awesome.