Only 2 sleeps to go

Industrial toe nail clippers are ready.  Veet hair removal cream stands staring at me, ready to attack the forest of doom and those little crevices that is home to the nest of curliness.  Misty my faithful yet crusty cat senses we are going away.  Her deep stench morning purr has been accompanied by a 360 degree turn unto which she places her ass on my torso and rubs.  I feel abused and brush her off roughly.  Carolyn snores rhythmically, deeply, and wetly.  – I have no witness.

On Tuesday she (Misty) vomits on my duvet, on my pillow and on the carpet.

On Wednesday the girls are over excited, each day they ask the same question. How many sleeps to go.  I tell them. They don’t fecking understand, so they ask again, and again.  For Fucks Sake – we go on ruddy Sunday.  Today it is ruddy Wednesday. Hold out your ruddy fingers and ruddy count.  (I say this coldly in my head).

On Thursday evening I discover the lice.  Crawling in their hair. The screams could be heard in Reading as I run the metal lice comb through their red locks trying to comb out the little feckers.  Glass in one hand, comb in the other, I ran the metal combs down every strand. Sweat pouring down my cheeks, Misty rubbing her ass along my ankles, and the girls sobbing.

At around 9pm I start to itch. Holy Fuck, I have an appointment with Marc Antoni hairdressers at 09.30am on Friday – surely not?

At 10pm I was pouring the left over lice shampoo into my hair. It stunk.  I cursed the metal comb and groaned as I pulled it through my thick hair, in the hope it would reveal dead lice.  It revealed hair, lots of it.  I combed and combed until my scalp hurt. Please God don’t let me have lice.

I turned in at 11pm. Misty my faithful yet crusty cat was already curled up next to Carolyn’s head. I purposely jumped in and slammed my head on my pillow – Misty flew up and meowed angrily. Carolyn grunted and then nothing.

I could feel a pointy finger on my head at 6am, followed by the sound of slurping and children’s television. Hurrah – my day has fecking started! My head hurt, my hair stunk, and my stomach felt odd. Misty trotted in and jumped on the bed, with a glint in her eye she jumped onto my shoulder and meow purred into my face. The smell of Gourmet Duck in Jelly hit my nostrils like a hammer and I retched as I pushed her away.

As I sat in Marc Antoni my stomach was not good.  It was one of those, do I need a number two or a good fart moment.  I did not risk either.  My head still hurt and my scalp itched.  Please Please don’t let ‘skinny Nikki with the dodgy eyebrows’ find lice. My head thumped, as did my bottom,.

The coffee sent my stomach into spasms and as I had a long wait for my colour I asked where the toilets were. They’ve had work done to the salon and I assumed they had new toilets built.  Alas not, it was the same small windowless toilet situated smack bang in the middle of the ruddy salon.

As we call it in our family, I POP POPPED for England. No window. No matchsticks. No air freshener. I jumped from leg to leg – what to do, how I can camouflage this most disgusting smell.  Somebody tried the door and I gasped. I did what I’ve not one since I was a kid in school – I began to waft the smell away – I looked like Kate Bush dancing to Wuthering ruddy Heights.  In desperation I covered my hands in liquid soap and then put on the hand dryer in the hope the dryer would waft the smell of soap around this small room.  I legged it. Head held down. Florid. To my seat and did not look up until I was done.

Job done. And no nits (to my knowledge).

So we leave on Sunday – our annual trip to sunny Spain where I sip my cool beer and swim in the pool of piss.  The POP as I call it is the children’s pool – where I have to stand idly and make small talk to Mothers  about their kids.   I hate the Pool of Piss, I have no time for  small talk, and I rarely like other children apart from those I know.  And to top it all, I hate having to see my own belly protruding over my antique bikini bottom.   But on the bright side, the POP is very close to the beach bar, when one can get a chilled beer.

Only 2 sleeps to go

Adios.

 

Two out of three aint bad?

I’ve never been good with vomit or shit, or bogies come to think of it. It seems whatever protrudes from any orifice of one or both my children makes me retch.

Last week I helped with bath time whilst Carolyn popped out. As I lay on my bed urging both children (4 yr old twins) to sing loudly and frequently so I was confident neither had drowned, I sat bolt upright when Ruby stopped singing Let it Go and shrieked in horror. My toe nail clippers flew as I jumped off the bed and landed on my knees in a sea of reptilian toe nails. I could hear Vivien whimpering softly.

I flung myself into the bathroom to see Ruby standing in the bath, tears streaming down her face, pointing her little finger towards Vivien. Vivien sat in the bath looking at Ruby. In the water around her were various plastic toys and mermaids, Peppa Pig boats, balls, bubbles, and a dirty brown turd.

I was in shock and jolted back with my cupped hand upon my mouth. The dirty brown turd was floating alongside Grandpa Pig’s boat, but bits were breaking off and heading towards Ruby, who was shaking and pointing.

I tried to calm her down as best I could, I  hummed Jerusalem loudly and with meaning, I sang Its all about the Base, but to no avail. Misty my faithful yet crusty cat crept in to watch the commotion.  I threw a small box of panty pads at her and she darted out.  I grabbed Ruby by the shoulders and pulled her out. She was slippery and wet, I suddenly thought of an old Whitesnake song I used to love, but this was not the time.

Vivien was trying to push the turd away from her, but the waves from Ruby being pulled up directed the turd back to Vivien. I ran out of the bathroom with ruby under my armpits wrapped in a towel. She still had soap in her hair and dirt on her arms and face. I threw her onto the bed and sprinted back to the bathroom and stood still for a second as I surveyed the picture before me. Vivien sat surrounded by bath toys, a big brown turd, and a scattering of smaller turdettes that had broken away from the mother ship and were heading in Viv’s direction.

I jumped to the left, and then jumped to the right. I looked back and forth. I retched. A turdette had now touched Vivien. She screamed. I screamed. The cat meowed loudly from outside the bathroom.

I pulled out the plug, picked up Vivien and placed her on the carpet. I quickly grabbed a nappy bag and fished out the turd and large turdettes that had attached themselves to the dissolving mermaid, which had not fully dissolved, as it’s a cheap fucking toy from Tesco’s! I turned the nappy bag inside out and the turd fell into the toilet.

Vivien stood soaking in the bathroom as the water slowly disappeared down the plug hole. Small primary coloured plastic toys lay scattered on the bath, some housing small turdettes, others just covered in bubbles. I hosed down all the toys, put them in a plastic bag and binned the lot. I then cleaned the bath.

Viv I noticed had turned blue; she was freezing to death and shaking violently. I put her back in the bath and hosed her down as well. I then washed my own hands, twice, and swallowed the bit of sick that had risen to the back of my mouth.

As I lay on the bed, sniffing my fingers to make sure there was no turd lingering. Viv and Ru lay silently beside me, clean, dry, watching some weird blind girl called Melody and drinking their milk. I could see from the very corners of my eye that Ruby had her finger up her nose. In slow motion, I turned to face her just as she pulled out something so large it wrapped itself around her finger and stayed there. She pointed the finger to me and said, Mama, can you wipe this away please.

Carolyn walked in as I ran out with my cupped hand over my mouth, swallowing quickly and trying not to retch too loudly in her face.

I guzzled greedily from a bottle of Bordeaux that I had kept for cooking. I cared not.

A night of Pooh, bogies and very nearly some vomit!

Some say 2 out of 3 isn’t bad.

I say 2 out of 3 is a fucking disaster.

Flip Flops

I awoke to find Misty my faithful yet crusty cat perched upon my shoulder. With a wet nose, a purr so deep and breath so disgusting it brought back vivid memories of my trip to Cransac with Jolyon, my brother. We had consumed far too much wine and as I staggered through a passage of piss towards the hole in the ground I stumbled upon some used toilet tissue and fell into what they called a ‘toilet’. I called it a bloody French disgrace and with a hand against the wall and the other pinching my nose, I did what I had to do and legged it.

Since that trip I have been advised not to return. The locals did not take kindly to my blog it seems. To be frank, I never want to return again. Except perhaps to meet the cough mixture lady. She was a small round woman who resembled Susan Boyle. She drank up to 4 bottles of bronchial cough medicine daily. Her constant deep-throat wet and phlegmy cough was usually followed by a ball of phlegm being spat onto the pavement – this caused me to retch frequently. But I kind of liked the woman. I just had to avoid her phlegm balls hitting me.

But this morning as I lay in my pit, instead of cough mixture, I hear my twin girls guzzling their milk and watching Pippa Pig. I flick off Misty and sip my Earl Grey. I feel good. Rumour has it the sun will be out. And if that is the case, so will my feet.

I continue to sip my tea and catch up on Facebook. I can hear the girls screaming that they do not wish to go back to school. They hate it. Carolyn is trying to catch them, feed them breakfast, dress them, give them their reading lesson and then take them to school.

It’s tough being a parent I sigh and sip my tea once again.

All is quiet and I tip toe downstairs into the sitting room and pull out my treadmill. With a holiday on the horizon I need to exercise. A 30-minute power walk. After ten minutes my legs wobble. As I reach out to grab my glass of water my right leg gives way just as Vivien pops her head around the door to see what I’m doing. I didn’t mean to swear so loudly, in her direction, but I did. Her bottom lip dropped and quivered as she slowly turned around and left the sitting room. My water had dampened my tee shirt and my ankle hurt. I switched off the machine and pushed it back against the wall. I limped out. The girls were ready to leave. I helped get them dressed, brushed teeth and waved them goodbye. My work is done. I limped upstairs.

Misty was on my bed. My pillow. She was stretched out in full with her back legs slightly parted. Her head was tucked in her paw. She was snoring loudly. Like Cato I crept over to the bed. Her eyes were open yet she was asleep. She must have been as she did not move until I trod on Ruby’s Barbi doll and screamed so loudly Misty nearly crapped herself. As I fell to the floor I saw Misty back flip off the bed and run past me – her eyes wide, her tail so fluffed up it resembled my duster. She cantered past me meowing angrily.

I slowly got up. My foot was now throbbing. My head was throbbing and I was late for work.
No time to fuck about I needed to be in Reading for 9am this morning and it was nearly 8.30am. I found my white top and threw an iron over it. Trousers, make up and FLIP FLOPS.

I arrived at my work relieved. As I turned off the engine and placed one leg out of the car I noticed my feet.

Dear ruddy God in Heaven the sight caused me to shriek. My feet had not seen daylight for some considerable time. My nails had turned somewhat yellow and instead of perching upon my baby toes they wrapped themselves around each reptilian toe like a claw! They were not human. To top it all the skin on both feet had become hard and flaky and where I had fallen on my treadmill and again on the Barbi doll – my right foot was bruised, red and purple.

My feet were Horrid. They were alien. And I was in fucking flip flops for all to see.

Merry Christmas

Christmas Day Morning (belated)

As I sit alone in a sea of cardboard and wrapping paper the gentle breeze of Misty my faithful yet crusty cat’s stench breath assaults my nostrils and forces a quick but lethal sneeze! As I leap from the sofa clutching my front bottom and cursing loudly I trip on my Ped Egg hard skin remover! It’s not even 10am yet chaos surrounds me. Misty stinks. Carolyn is ill and I am in need of a Bloody Mary. I love this life! Merry Christmas darlings xxxx

Misty

Misty my faithful yet crusty cat has stepped in her own shit. My morning thus far has been spent locating and cleaning the shit paw prints that adorn my duvet, carpet and ruddy sofa trying to catch the furry fucker before the children become diseased! What fukkery is this?

Vomit and Bumble Bees

My week to date.

Vivien has had the rotavirus. I have found the experience rather revolting in so many ways. But after a week you become immune to the stench. I then had a funny tummy and vomited for England. This morning I was awoken at 6am by Misty my faithful and crusty cat vomiting in our bedroom. At 06.45 Ruby came in to our bedroom and projectile vomited all over our bed. I felt a bit odd and rushed to the toilet, opened the window and perched upon my throne. Relief was replaced with horror when a queen Bee flew in and scared the Bejesus out of me. It’s 07.50. Help.

Misty – my crusty faithful cat

Picture this. Late last night Misty my crusty faithful cat decided to lick my eye. I rolled over, kicked off the duvet and my big toe found something wet. I disregarded this a fell back to sleep. I awoke to kids screaming. It’s 6am. I jump out of bed and notice the cat vomit on the bed. My big toe is brown. I rush to the girls room and skid on another small brown puddle of vomit. I get up and head to the girls room. Vivien is drowning in snot. Ruby is screaming. My life has become a sea of cat shit, snot, baby poo and vomit. Good morning world!!