There comes a point in the working day when I know I’m no longer going to be productive. Today that moment was around 10.12am.
Today we must run some errands, this will require me teaching my facial expressions to use their inside voice. My patience and tolerance are worn down.
I thought I was in a bad mood, but maybe this is just who I am now, seeing as it’s been a few weeks?
Shall we just say it? Maybe it’s the weather. Honestly, am never happy. Here in the NE of Bonnie Scotland we complain it’s too cold, too wet, too windy.
What’s the phrase? If you don’t like the weather in Scotland just wait 20 minutes?
And when the sun finally shines, the whole infrastructure breaks down and we can’t cope.
Literally every person greets me with the phrase ‘Ooh, hot isn’t it?’
The inordinate amount of people in supermarkets wearing less clothing than general decency dictates, complete with mask, has increased exponentially and let’s not even start on the empty ice lolly section of the freezer aisle.
Are you even a parent if you haven’t spent your days off putting up a giant paddling pool, which takes two days to fill with water, for it only to be used once (by the dogs) before the thunder and lightning brought torrential rain with it?
One chore was to go to the local DIY store to buy another fan for work.
Arriving only to realise every other person within a 20 mile radius had the same idea and we’d now be cheaper buying gold bullion to waft our staff with.
Any other 80s kids reading this who remember being taken to B&Q on a Saturday afternoon to be babysat by the doorbell aisle? This memory always makes me smile.
The perils of parenting in the heat
My current-day parenting – text me when you get there, text me the names of who you’re going with, text me when you arrive and when you’re coming home.
My parents in the 80s? Here’s a row of very annoying buttons to press while we shop, we’ll see you in an hour, go wild.
Next chore was to set up furniture to allow us to sit in the sunny garden.
Being on chemo, as well as a blue-skinned Scot, I must wear a hat and diligently apply sun cream.
Without fail I always miss a patch and spend the next week with part of my anatomy glowing so brightly it can be seen by passing space stations. This time was no different.
Our new spot encouraged a little cheeky cocktail, acceptable at any hour when it’s sunny no?
When the kids asked the mister why I was in such a good mood, he just replied ‘it’s called day drinking’.
They were most amused especially as I needed to nap for most of the evening.
Have you ever slept so hard you couldn’t work out if it was morning or evening? It made me wish I was little so I could take a long nap and they would just be proud of me.
Baby it’s warm outside…
One minute I was 18, carefree, sneaking out of the house, sitting on rooftops and doing sketchy stuff with my friends THEN in the blink of an eye I woke up and am 45, asleep by 9pm and I can’t do any sketchy stuff because I have three teenagers and apparently I have to be a freaking good role model. Sake.
Notions of future day drinking sessions abandoned, booze is swapped out for a soft drink and ice cubes.
If I close my eyes, the clinking noise sounds almost as satisfying and lets face it, here in Scotland the next 72 hours are probably going to end up being our entire summer.
The kids no longer ask for permission to devour ice lollies after I snapped and called them unrelenting instruments of torture for persistently asking.
It’s not even midday and they’ve already had four ice poles, a FAB and a magnum white each.
Am past caring as I whip the wrapper off my third Callipo.
I have to choose what to do today. I could stay in and boil to death. I could go out and boil to death.
Or I could spontaneously combust concentrating whilst trying to choose.
