Need to vent because I’m about 3 minutes from turning into a human scream. DH offered (big generous word, that) to “give me a break” and “take the kids to the park for a bit” this afternoon. Great, right?
Except… he took two of the four children. DS1 and DD2. The easy ones today. The ones who don’t throw a fit when you zip up their coat the wrong way or dissolve into a puddle because their banana snapped.
Guess who got left behind with DS2 (mid-sugar crash and refusing to nap) and DD1 (who is 12 going on 35 and in a mood because I wouldn’t let her buy £18 toner at Tesco)?
Meanwhile, DH is sending me pics from the park like he’s Father of the Year, with DS1 smiling on the swings and DD2 feeding ducks like something from a bloody Boden catalogue.
Back here? DS2 bit me (gently, but still) and DD1 just told me I “don’t get how hard it is to be a tween.” I am actively hiding in the downstairs loo with half a bag of Haribo DS1 left behind.
I love them. I do. But why do men get points for showing up late to a game we’ve been playing since dawn?
Please tell me I’m not the only one.