I was going to write a post about how much I hate Daylight Savings. About how I hate that it is daylight well into the night and my little melatonin deficient terrorist needs at least 2 hours of dark to even think about winding down.
I was going to bitch and moan about the fact that now he won’t fall asleep till after midnight (on a good night) and is an utter bastard to wake in the mornings and how it fades my curtains and pisses off the cows and just generally sucks arse and is now six months of the year…
And then I was going to love on my peeps that wrote the most awesome ‘I rock’ posts. Cause they were rockin’.
Oh, and reply to the terrifying stories in the comments of last post. I am still gunna reply in the comments once we get over the ‘shaping’ and I can slow my heart rate down a bit after reading them. And apologise for not being around much of late, due to the shapage, and my all round general bad fucking mood.
Day four hundred and fifty of no fucking sleep. Or a week. Dunno. Whatevz. It is a lot and not enough.
Aaaaaaanyway. I was going to post about all of these things and more, dude there is shit loads of crap floating around in my head just screaming to offload on you all. But then something happened.
I did something stupid.
Something so monumentally stupid that even I am amazed at my utter idiocy.
I mopped the floors.
It is the end of the school holidays here (and who the fuck was it that had the bright idea to start daylight savings the day BEFORE back to school? As if we don’t have a hard enough fucking time getting the kids up for school on the first day back WITHOUT the added insanity of an hour earlier? Fucker.) and with all the extra children flitting in and out of my house the floors were disgusting. Even me, the
lazy bitch environmentalist conserving water, couldn’t handle the state of the white tiles any longer. The wiping over with a wet towel treatment just wasn’t cutting it any more. I needed a bucket and a mop and disinfectant and shit.
I never EVER mop the floor when Boo is home. The kid is on permanent fast forward. He never ever stops moving. My legally blind father calls him ‘The Blur’. He also has a very short attention span. So wet floors and Boo do not mix.
I sort of over looked this tiny detail in my sleep deprived state.
So I set Boo up in front of the computer, getting his funk on with Michael and the Thriller zombie dudes and I mopped the floor in a delirious frenzy. Stopping to take a breath after finishing the family room, kitchen and dining. So roughly half the house.
Then I heard a thump, MPS later said it sounded like furniture falling, and then blood curdling screams.
He tried to walk carefully. He tried to walk slowly. He got distracted.
Boo slammed head first into the tiles. I spent the next hour or so freaking the fuck out, making sure he was OK. Googling concussion symptoms.
So for the next hour or so I was in a state of well, hysterics, watching him closely for like brain to start oozing out of his ears or his nose, the kid decided he needed to get the fuck away from the madwoman crying and pumping Nurofen down his throat and staring deep into his eyes to see a blown pupil or whatever,
and he couldn’t walk.
His foot was swollen. In my oh-my-God-he-is-gunna-die hysterical haze I didn’t notice his (slightly) swollen foot. He could wiggle his toes but not put any weight on it. After the emergency room debacle when he broke his foot on the first day of school we decided to just watch him closely.
Which the kid lapped up.
‘Mummy, I need a sandwich. It will make me feel better’ the words I said to get the Nurofen down his throat coming back to haunt me.
‘Mummy, I am thirsty.’ ‘Mummy I want to watch The Wiggles’
The fucking Wiggles.
I suffered through. Guilt eating my insides.
I tried to ask him how he fell, to get some idea of how he hurt his foot. Did he bend it, fall on it, hit the wall? He thought he was getting into trouble. I told him that it was because Mummy mopped the floors and I really shouldn’t have, so his slipping over was not his fault. Mummy should have waited till he was asleep.
‘It was not my fault. It wasn’t your fault Mummy. I was Dad’s’ and he laughed.
Kid is well trained. And day-um he can hobble fast.
He gets the first day of term 4 off school. At least I don’t have to try and get him up an hour earlier tomorrow.
Suck on that Daylight Savings!