The WiFi is down. I repeat: the WiFi. Is. Down.
I have four children. Four. They were watching something wholesome (lies) and vaguely educational (lies) on Netflix while I tried to cook a dinner that at least one of them won’t fling at the wall. And then, black screen. Frozen. Buffering wheel of doom.
Within 30 seconds, all hell broke loose. DD1 is accusing DS1 of “killing the internet.” DS1 is swearing blind it’s DD2’s fault because she was “sitting too close to the router with her Barbie.” DS2 is now trouserless, spinning in circles shouting “No wifey! No wifey go!” while clutching the TV remote like a grenade. Honestly, feels about right.
I’m now in the kitchen trying to boil pasta with one hand while googling “how to reset router” with 4G and the speed of a dying snail. I’ve had two messages from DH. One says “Any chance of tea being ready when I get in?” and the other is just a gif of a monkey covering its eyes. I may kill him.
Send me wine. Send me noise-cancelling headphones. Send me a new identity in a quiet seaside town where no one calls me “Muuuum” 397 times an hour.
This is not a cry for help.
This is a battle report.