well, I hadn't realised I turned into the Empire State Building overnight.

I think Jack has finally dropped the whole "can I have a bike?" or "can I at least have a monster truck?" shit, thank God. I don't think I could have taken much more of that without grabbing a spoon from the kitchen drawer and spooning my eyeballs out slowly for Jack to watch. That's how fucking evil I am. Get used to it ;)


Now, my main focus is on Daisy, who's just started kindergarten. She actually started on Tuesday, but I didn't get round to posting until now (I bet you've all been waiting in suspense). 


She enjoyed it this week. On her first day I took her there, my heart in my mouth and spilling out onto the steering wheel and windshield. Well, it didn't, obviously, but you get what I mean - I was fucking bricking it.
Daisy seemed fine. I think she just thought we were going on some pretty outing to the butterfly maze and Dairy Queen or something, so she was singing random theme tunes to her TV programs. 


We stopped outside in the parking lot and got out. 

"Mummy, what is this?" she asked as she hopped out of the car with her little bag on her shoulder. 


"Kindergarten," I replied. "The place you've wanted to go for weeks. Remember?"


It took her a while but she finally nodded and grinned, baring her small teeth. 


"Come on," I said, holding her hand and walking beside her as she skipped merrily through the doors. 


There was a polite-looking teacher standing by the doorway in a black skirt and white blouse, with matching lace shoes. 


"Hi, I'm Miss Green, the kindergarten teacher," she said, smiling. "And who are you, little one?"


Daisy grinned. "Daisy."


"Oh, right! I've been expecting you! We're just having a little play in the sandpit {thanks very much, love, but I'd rather she learnt here at SCHOOL than play in a sandpit. She can do that at home.}. How about you say bye to Mummy then go inside and play?"


Daisy kissed my cheek, waved and ran inside the classroom. 


"What time do I pick her up?" I asked, realising I was towering over her like the Empire State (and no, I wasn't even wearing fucking heels - she was. Something weird is going on) and trying my hardest to avoid that situation and looking down at her. 


"3pm," Miss Green replied, looking up at me awkwardly as if you would a giraffe at the fucking zoo. Way to keep it subtle that I'm a giant. 


"Okay," I said, and turned to leave. I assumed that was it - she'd play in the sandpit all day, maybe go outside to play in the sandpit out there, have her lunch and juicebox that I packed and I'd pick her up at 3pm to go home.


"Wait. Where are you going?" she asked. 


"Um... home."


What was I supposed to say? I didn't know kindergarten came with a package deal of a questionnaire - it didn't with Jack.


"I thought you were helping out."


Whoa, whoa. Rewind. Help out? When had I agreed to that? I sure as hell didn't agree to it over the phone or when I'd gone to the meet and greet at this school, and I don't think I signed a law agreement about it. 


"Um... am I?"


I was beginning to sound like a record stuck on playback. 


"If you would like to."


Well, no. Not really. I don't like kids apart from my own or my own's friends. That's about it. 


"Um... well, I'm quite busy today. I'm doing the laundry. And work. From home. Sorry."


Miss Green smiled and dismissed me as if I were one of the kids.


As I walked out I realised how awkward that was. Well. At least I had 6 hours of peace before returning. 

he's got more chance of blowing his brains out with my electric mixer than surviving a skateboard.

Jack is finally back on his feet, and his leg is no longer hurting him anymore, which means I don't have to waste any more paper writing notes to his PE teacher. 


The only bad thing about the fact that he is fully mobile again is, well, that he is fully mobile again.


Don't get me wrong, I'm over the moon that he's better again, but that also means that he is probably going to make me suffer now. I'll give you an example of what happened last night after school.


"Mommy, is it Friday today?" he asked as he glared at the bike which was situated in the hallway. 
"Um, yeah, it is... why?"
"Weekend!!" 


At this point I was like, 'okay...' 


"Yeah, it's the weekend, honey. What do you want to do tomorrow?" I asked.


Jack thought about this for a moment.


"Mommy, please say yes..."


Oh, God.


"That depends, Jack. What do you want me to say yes to...?"


Jack held my hands, kissed my cheek and hugged me (suck-ass) before saying, "I want a skateboard, Mommy."


SHIT.


"You want a skateboard? But you just got a bike."


"Bike is evil. I want a skateboard. Please Mommy!"


I actually considered it, which is pretty weird of me.


"Sorry, Jack, but I'm not getting you a skateboard."


"Why not?!" 


I could see a tantrum emerging.


"Because a) you only just got a bike, which cost hundreds of dollars, and b) if you hurt yourself on a bike, you're going to probably re-e-e-e-ally hurt yourself on a skateboard, honey."


Jack thought about this. If he had a beard, he'd be stroking it.


"Okay..."


He got up and walked out of the room.


Finally, peace. I turned the volume up on my Nurse Jackie box-set and relaxed back on the couch. 


Then Jack's head peeped round the doorway again.


"Mommy, what about a motorcycle?"


Whoa, back up the truck. Did my son just ask for a motorcycle? I hope I'm just fucking hearing things, otherwise I'll go freak-o. 

cos I'll happily change your schedule if there's a problem..?

Jack is a little better on his leg now. 

He tried going to school today, no matter how many times I told him to go back to bed and obey the doctor's orders. 

"Mommy, I feel better now," he kept saying as he grabbed a t-shirt from his closet. 

"Are you sure?" I was asking, panicking slightly. I was worried about how his leg would feel if, say, physical ed. was on the schedule today.

Jack kept nodding so hard I was beginning to think he was imitating a bobble-head. 

"Okay, okay." I finally gave in, and told him to go and find his sneakers. 

When we got to his school, his teacher was on yard duty. 

"Hi, are you Miss Harris?" I asked, as Jack went to join his friends.

"I am," she smiled. She wore glasses, and had a smile that just leaked kindness. 

I told her the whole bike story, and she nodded her head at every word. I asked her what was on the class schedule, and none of her vocabulary included the word 'physical', so I mentally wiped my brow. 


So I kissed Jack goodbye, waved to all his little buddies and left him to have fun, without having to strain his leg in any way.




The day went well (Daisy and I played arts and crafts most of the time), and when I went to collect Jack he was as right as raindrops. 


"Mommy, my day was great!" he exclaimed as soon as he saw my face. 


"That's great!"


"So was my day!"


Ah. He'll never change.

somehow, I don't think "the evil bike" chronicles will make the top 5 novels list.

I knew I shouldn't have let Jack force me into buying him a bike. I didn't want either of my kids learning how to ride a bike until they were at least 10 years old, so they'd understand fully and be able to remember what to do, instead of it all pouring out of their minds as soon as a new thought came along.


He was fine when I'm with him. I run by his side as he rides along the road in front of our house. He was getting so good that I decided to take off the stabilizers, and Jack was really excited. 


He was great without them too, I was so proud. When we had to go to the store across the street, he'd beg me to let him ride beside me, and I'd say yes because he was so confident. He'd ride beside Daisy and I, ahead of us slightly, and by way of knowledge he'd stop by the crossing guard and wait until we got there, getting off the bike and holding the handlebars until on the other side of the street. 


We'd all cross together, and he'd then hop back on and ride to the store. 


It was great. 


But, yesterday, it all went wrong. 


Jack was finally confident enough to ride up and down the street on his own.


"Don't go anywhere near the busy street, okay?" I warned, as he strapped his helmet on.


"I won't, Mommy."


I was a little nervous. He seemed confident, but what if something happened to knock it? What if he had a little scare, and he was never the same again? I pulled up a chair to the window and watched through the drapes, keeping my eye on him the whole time. 


I turned my gaze away for a few minutes, I had to check on the range for lunch. As soon as I turned to go back into the living room, Daisy came running up to me from outside. 


"Mommy, Mommy!" she was yelling, pointing at the front door.


I was a little confused. Usually, she just squeals when she sees a bee, wasp or even a ladybug. 


I followed her outside and found Jack, lying on the ground, underneath his bike, groaning.


"Jack!! Are you okay?"


He obviously wasn't. He wasn't crying, but anyone could tell he was in pain. 


"Honey, it's okay, Mommy's here," I kept repeating, pulling the bike off his quivering body and laying it against the yard fence.


I picked Jack up. He didn't seem to have any cuts, and his helmet was still in place, so his head was fine. I tried brushing down the dirt off his jeans, and that's when he winced. 


"Honey? Does your leg hurt?"


Jack nodded, in too much pain to actually speak.


"What happened?" I persisted.


Jack paused for a second, catching his breath, before saying, "Fell. I hurt my leg, Mommy."


I needed to know more. Had he fractured it? Sprained it? Broken it?


I drove Jack and Daisy to the emergency room, and Daisy was as good as gold. She waited patiently, not uttering a word. 


The doctor checked out Jack's leg, pressing down and mentally recording his winces and sharp intakes of breath. 


I felt so sorry for Jack. I felt it was all my fault. Luckily, he got away with only a slight sprain, with orders of bed rest and no school for a few days until it heals. 


Jack doesn't blame me, he doesn't blame anyone really - just the bike ("Mommy, can I get a new bike? That bike is evil."). 


But, obviously, we all know the bike isn't evil. I just can't help feeling it is all my fault - I took my eyes off him for literally 2 minutes and in that short space of time he fell off and sprained his leg. I feel so guilty...

would you like some rose-tinted glasses, too?

Daisy, my gorgeous little Daisy, will be starting kindergarten in just a few short weeks. 

She's been looking forward to it ever since I told her. 

She has been chanting "yay!" every minute of every day. It's gotten to the point where I have to wear earphones when in the same room as her. 

"Mommy, kindergarten?" she asks, tugging on my arm as soon as I so much as brush past the front door. 

Today, we went to buy her some cute little clothes for her to wear. I haven't taken Daisy clothes shopping many times before - I usually just buy her things as I see them, trudging through the mall. 

As soon as we set foot in the store her eyes lit up. It was as if she was seeing things through a new light. 

She raced down the aisles, clinging onto tops she liked.

Jack, however, just lurked, staying behind and just making random noises when I asked for his opinions on the pink top with the sparkly butterfly, or the green top with sequins.

In the end, I ended up buying Daisy six new tops, four new pairs of pants, all cute, and two new pairs of shoes, to go with her collection of 'colorful shoes' as she so beautifully calls it. 

The outcome of this story is, try not to buy your over-excited daughter some clothes a few weeks before kindergarten starts, otherwise she'll go absolutely insane and will be more excited than ever (and I didn't think that was humanly possible). I bear the consequences of my silly actions, now.

wake up in the morning feeling like P Diddy.

Well, to be honest, I don't really know what waking up and feeling like P Diddy feels like exactly, but I couldn't think of any other title to go with this post. 

Cause, surely, P Diddy must feel like shit when he wakes up every morning. 

Obviously. 

Well, that's certainly how I felt this morning when I woke up. My eyes were all blurry, I could hardly see what was in front of me (which I later found out was my son, eager for Pop-tarts and milk), my head was spinning, and my body ached all over. 

I tried to think of all the things I'd done the previous night, all the things I'd done that could possibly result in feeling this bad - had I overdosed on tequila? Had I passed out due to something random and been used as a punchbag by my kids and husband?, cause I certainly felt like it.

"Jack, get off me," I growled, my voice having not yet kick-started.

Jack, as obedient as a dog, leapt off the bed, allowing me to rub my eyes and sit up properly. I still felt like shit, but with a little more room.

I got out of bed, put on my slippers and shuffled out of the room. 

"Mommy, can I have my pop-tarts now?" 

"Wait."

I placed one hand on the counter and rested against it, waiting for my vision to be restored. Whenever Jack piped up I'd pipe him back down again, with two simple words: zip and it. 

My vision just didn't seem to restore. I'd wipe my eyes, close them for a few seconds then reopen - I even tried to stretch them open with a couple of pegs from the laundry basket.


"Mommy."


"..."


"Mommy."


"..."


"Mommy."


"..."


"MOMMY, PLEASE MAKE ME MY POP-TARTS NOOOOOWWWWWWWW!"


"NYAH!" 


He scared the fucking hell out of me. I leaped up, eyes wide, limbs flailing. 


I thrust the plate of pop-tarts at him, and he smiled in satisfaction and gratitude, before walking into the living room to watch Spongebob Squarepants. 

So, I suppose you're wondering what the outcome of this pleasant story is? Well, it's advice, if anything: If ever your eyes are blurry and won't restore your vision, get your son to scare the crap out of you. It seriously works.