Bad days

Today has been difficult.  If it was a test, I have failed.  I have been cross and sad and seriously lacking in patience and humour.

The above picture of the Big Bad Mouse (apparently) was etched on to the lounge wall in red permanent marker.

Similar drawings adorned the sofa, the floor, and both children from head to toe.

I don't think Sonny accounted for me turning into the Big Bad Mummy upon seeing his art work.

It's not as though it's the first time we've had this problem.

I reacted by throwing every pen in the house into a black bag and taking it to the bin outside.

I insisted that there would be no television and no planned treats (no baking, no splashing).

I made them scrub at the pen until it faded slightly - this took around an hour.

They were not happy.

I put them in the bath, which did little to erase the graffiti on them.

They argued with me thereafter.  They were bored and resistant.  They didn't want to be punished.

I put them in their bedroom for a while, and hid in the lounge.

I decided we should start again, after lunch.

Wipe the slate clean.

We would go to the soft play centre next door.

The children agreed.

Dressed up and ready to leave, I couldn't find my debit card. 

It was in none of the places it usually is.  It was nowhere I would put it.

Why?

I searched for a while, then gave up.

We went to the bank, ordered a new card and withdrew some cash.

We made it to soft play.

The children ran, like dogs off the leash.

Quickly, they became thirsty.

We went to the café for a drink and a snack.

Sonny had a milkshake and a yogurt.

Yogurt

Seconds later, he was complaining of tummy pains.

Ouch

 

When it hadn't passed after five minutes, I decided we may be better of going home instead of staying until closing time, as had been the plan. 

An hour after we had arrived, we were home, with a small pale boy and a small grumpy girl who hadn't wanted to leave.

Money had been wasted, I felt.

I made them nests on the sofa, gave them drinks, let them watch TV, after all.

I gave Sonny the last of the Nurofen and hoped for the best.

He is still pale and hot but says he feels better.

I hope this is true.

Largely because I want him to feel well, but partly because we have not been shopping yet.

We are stuck in with no milk, no Calpol, no dinner.

But we are warm and dry.

Small mercies.

Tomorrow is a new day.