- I have handed over my entire disposal income to the retailers of Lemsip.
- Every meal the Lattes and I have eaten this week has been some combination of tomatoes and carbohydrates. Pasta and tomato sauce. Gnocchi and tomato sauce. Pizza.
- My week at work has washed by in a tide of inefficiency. I have sent confident, professional emails saying: "This is the last of the attachments"; followed by emails saying: "Please note the files attached which are additional to the previous list"; followed by emails saying: "Honestly. Just this one more that I found among a load of other stuff. No more. I swear."
- I took the Lattes to have their hair cut in advance of their school photographs, because they both looked like bedraggled animals. Then I lost Littlest in New Look, and after minutes of increasingly strident shouting a load of shop girls banded together and found her by the slippers.
- Eldest told me that now I was forty, my fashion days were over. So really, who even knows why I was shopping in New Look.
- Eldest chose yet more pasta and tomato sauce for her school lunch the following day, and threw it on her uniform. So it's a good job at least her hair will look good on the photos. Littlest will just look like a child being swallowed up by her own clothes, because the only clean blouses to be found in the house belonged to a child four years older than her.
- Obviously feeling overlooked and poorly fed, Littlest sought affection away from home by kissing not one, but two of the boys in her class. She received the following advice from the ladies of the Coffee House: "Perhaps kissing is a special thing, that we save for people we love?" and "Oh, now that's just gross."
It's feeling like time to curl into a ball. But the fun doesn't end here, because this weekend I have to make a cake in the shape of a horse to celebrate ten years to the day that someone cut a huge hole in my stomach and pulled out another human being.
I'm off to have the earliest night possible. Don't wake me.
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