Monday, Maths and M.E.

Well I’m alive so the good, or bad news, depending on how you look at it is that Monday didn’t kill me. So firstly FUCK YOU MONDAY.

Thankfully bollockchops slept through last night and there were no more spew related incidents, he has however, woken up in one of the whiniest fucking moods known to man. That said, he’s two and a half so the silver lining is at least he doesn’t have the energy having spent it all on being poorly the last few days to be a complete fucker. He’s asking for all sorts, I’m giving in because, well, Monday, and he’s looking at the thing he has just demanded and saying “no, finished Mummy” we now have many things strewn all over the fucking place. Piles of things. None of them are what he wants, even though he was adamant he did. Fucks sake…I’ll just be rocking myself in the corner kiddo you let me know when you’ve worked out what the fuck you want.

We did have a pleasant 4 minutes where he wanted to assemble his wooden dog and elephant puzzle. Christiaan and I were a bit freaked out to find that he recognised numbers a few weeks back, I mean he can say/count 1-10 no bother but I wasn’t sure that was anything bar remembering a rhyme in order. Until we were sat building the dog and I said without thinking “Eli pass me the number 5 would you”…. and he fucking did. So I tried it with a few more numbers in a random order and he got ALL of them right. I know it’s not UNusual for kids at this age to recognise them, but I also know that in a pool of 100 mums – aka “the girls” – there’s only a handful his age that do. If he ever becomes a maths genius I’m in a bit of trouble because to me maths is like a black art. I just don’t get a lot of it. You give me what looks, on the face of it, to be something quite easy and my brain goes; “Jenny has 14 raisins and Patrick has a stethoscope, how many windows are in a 12 storey house? 16 because Theresa May looks like Mr Smithers love child”. I can problem solve in real life no bother, I can write well but numbers? Maths? Nah. Not for me. I genuinely hope he gets his brains from his dad. The poor kid is fucked if he’s taken that bit from me.

After those glorious few minutes respite he started his arseholery again so in a desperate attempt to distract him I caged him in the car and then felt like kicking my own face; I’d scored an own goal. We’d have to go somewhere. I did not want to go somewhere, I wanted to have a nice sit down. There was no way I was taking him out for coffee and cake; he’s barely eating and his behaviour was fucking awful; I’d end up leaving him there so I needed to think of somewhere else. I needed to buy two things: 1 – a new washing basket, and 2 – some bread, because we got fake Warburtons toastie yesterday and it makes me want to weep. Same orange packaging, same “toastie” loaf but it has neither the size nor the girth of my usual “Monday morning treat myself because it’s weigh in” toast – Rathbones, you are pretenders and you ruined my morning.

So anyway, Morrisons was on the cards but Dunelm Mill is just a few doors along and it was just before 9am so I thought, fuck it, we’ll make an hour or of it – we’ll do BOTH. So I drove along, parked up and found my limbs were being pathetic. A big shout out to the couple who watched me struggle to get Eli out of his car seat and into the trolley because my arms gave way; rubber necking was clearly the best way to help someone who was struggling. Why the fuck the police, paramedics and fire service haven’t discovered this is beyond me. Cunts. Anyway, I got him in, we’d just walked down the first aisle and he had a paddy because he saw a Peppa Pig cushion and decreed it SHOULD belong to him. I should have given in, it was only a fiver, but it was ugly and she’s a nasaly streak of gammon that makes my tits itch so there was no fucking way he was having it. I grabbed a washing basket, caught up with the rubbernecks in the curtain aisle, clipped the females heel with my trolley deliberately on purpose and headed on my way to the till to pay. We were in less than 5 minutes. Fuck that shit.

I really deliberated whether we should go to Morrisons or not to be honest. There’s a huge temptation to just take the easiest route when you don’t keep well but I was on a mission; that bread was making me miserable. So off we went, the dismount into the trolley was far easier this time despite my shaking arms and I walked in and there looking me straight in the actual face was the very thing for Christiaan’s lunch. Here is the bounty of my shop:


Look, there’s my new basket.

“Whats that pastry cock thing?” I hear you ask. That my friends is a foot long sausage roll comically placed for your titillation. I know the joggies and cosy man slippers will be doing all sorts for you too. You’re welcome. I pulled it out the bag when I got home, his eyes near on popped out his head and he said “Fuck me, you could bugger an elephant with that”. There really is no doubt that this bloke is my soul mate.

In other news the denim tree trunk tunic sold! I was right chuffed, not only will that smug bastard be leaving home, but it’s going……. to one of my Mum aka friends “the girls” HAH! Thank you so much our Claire for bidding and not making me look like a twat. I had no idea it was her until the PayPal wotsit came through and then I pissed myself. Here’s what I did with your money toots:


In the unlikely event that anyone else wants to donate you can do it via the ME Association website. I’m not being negative there by saying it’s unlikely, it’s just I’m realistic, if we all had money to chuck about then we’d be living in fucking Disney land getting wasted on Pluto jizz. So the links there, if you want to you can, if you don’t I understand.

Eli was climbing the walls after his nap so I had no option but deploy THE OUTSIDE. That’s the thing see, no matter how knackered I am, I need to find a way of entertaining him on a Monday and Tuesday. He’s a good kid, he can play on his own, and read on his own and he’s a professional telly watcher – he’s had to be through all this but there are times where it’s really not fair on him and this is one of those times. He’s been ill and he needed a run and some fresh air. I’m not going to say I enjoyed it, I couldn’t for obvious reasons but seeing this wee face happy is what it’s all about – it’s why I push through to my very limit and why I try not to give in.

Then came the glorious moment when I handed all parental responsibility over to Christiaan and left for fat club. You’ll be chuffed to hear that I remembered to change out of my jeans this week for weigh in, although I think on reflection my anger at wearing them last week was a bit short sighted; they’re jegging things and weigh less than a gnats bollock so probably made no odds. My post weigh in shite plan stalled due to lack of coffee but I went and I’d lost 3.5lbs – hooray! I have no idea how, I’ve done nowt different – if anything that chippy tea last night should have done some damage, even if I ate a pensioners portion. I’ll take it but I cannot be smug because I don’t understand; science is a complicated bastard.

I nearly missed class, I really wanted to stay home; the allure of getting my bra off and my jammas on and cuddling in with a hot cup of tea was almost too much to bare but…. I need to stay committed to this losing weight malarkey. It’s easier to drag a lighter version of me around, so it needs doing. I’m absolutely fucked though, I know I’ve done far too much today and I hope the payback doesn’t arrive straight away because I need to get through tomorrow too; Wednesday would be fine, Eli’s at nursery. Monday and Tuesdays destroy me on a normal week but because I’m midst flare, I’m not dealing with it as well as I normally do. I’m feeling every movement and every shard of light – in fact I had the curtains shut all day in the living room. The neighbours will be aghast that my curtains are shut in the day time. I’ll either be clocked as shagging or they’ll think that someone has died. Maybe its both? That’s one busy fucking party.

It’s almost bed time for me now at 6.45pm – I schedule the blog to post later when I know you’ve all finished your tea/dinner/whatever the fuck you call it. I write in sections throughout the day until I’m done. If I left it till later in the day I’d not be able to do it; my brain couldn’t and I physically would struggle to sit at a laptop for a few hours. Yep a few hours, that’s how long it takes me… remember… everything is more protracted and often the first draft is a muddle of words. I need to walk away and come back to it a few times before I feel comfy publishing it; and even then Christiaan often finds mistakes that I’ve missed (I ask him to, he’s not a snide arsehole). I know/hope that what I write makes you laugh, if it does, it’s probably the reason you keep coming back, but please remember there’s a serious undertone too; I want you to understand M.E. and writing 1500 (actually it’s 2018 tonight don’t you know… just like the year, I’ve fucked it now, we’re on 2028) or so words when your heads a jumble and every bone hurts isn’t a walk in the park. I’m not asking for sympathy or for anyone to be grateful, the truth is, I fucking love writing these and if you tried to pat my back in sympathy I’d likely slap your chops. I love that people read them, and I am absolutely getting more from the process than you are, but I guess part of understanding my life is understanding the reality, and the reality is that this is a fantastic outlet but it takes a lot out of me. I hope I never lose the ability to type, if I do, Christiaan, you better consider moving out pet because I’ll have a fuck tonne to say and only your ears to say it to…. and you’ll know all of it already. It’ll be like having a convo with an alzheimers patient. Again.

There, that shat all over your happy face didn’t it?


Today’s synopsis….

  • Highlights
    • Eli is feeling a tonne better, slept through the night had a nap and has eaten a little, I’m hoping he’s over the worst
    • That fucking tunic will be leaving soon
    • There’s a lot of sausage in the house ๐Ÿ˜‰
    • I’ve lost weight
  • Lowlights
    • Today has been a struggle and tomorrow will be too
  • Whats on the menu Mellars?
    • Breakfast – disappointing toast
    • Lunch – A cheese sarnie on proper bread!
    • Dinner – back on plan with shredded beef chilli and rice

I’ll leave you with some pics of my wee sunshine today. I wish he was less of a twat… maybe tomorrow he will be.

4 thoughts on “Monday, Maths and M.E.

  1. Bollockchops ๐Ÿ˜€ That’ll make a refreshing change from Buggerlugs, which I call both mine when I can’t remember their names. Love your writing! xxx


    1. He gets that too but only when he’s weedled his way into my affections ๐Ÿ˜‚
      When he came out he looked like a swollen ball sack so it’s kinda stuck.. Poor wee fucker
      Thanks for reading my lovely ๐Ÿ˜˜


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