I've had shit sleep in the past few weeks. The last week in particular has been bad.
Last night I was awake until 330 am. Tonight I was wretched tired, drifting off even as my delish dinner was cooking (baked potatoes added to which was cheese, sour cream, dairy-free butter and Paul Newman's South-wester sauce).
Then ... I got my second wind. It's here now. It's near 2 am and second wind I am blessed with.
Yay! I guess it's off to bed to read more of my Time magazines and Post-war history of Europe since 1945 by Tony Judt (thanks to Morton T Fogg for the recommendation). The latter I've been struggling with for a few weeks given my short attention spa-SQUIRREL!
I had planned to go in late y'day morning given how blargh I was feeling except I was prevented from doing so.
I woke not at the late set alarm but when my three year old son, a smile splitting his face, yelled from two centimetres from my own 'I DID A POO!'
Yes, sure enough he had. He'd woken up, let himself out, taken off his onsie and nappy, turned on the TV -though alas to the analogue signal so fuzzy crap - then done a poo. Then come and woken me up to tell someone about it.
The glorious poo surprise was such I was pretty much up so I helped wrangle and made it to work on time. Even if most of the day I was drifting in and out of a twilight state. Twilight being a description of that state you get before your sleep as opposed to the hideous sparkling melange that is the Vampire series (though all credit to the author for writing it - because actually doing that is harder than it sounds believe me - and for winning the author's lotto to become the next JKR).
Still, I got to leave early to go to a Wobs event for theNoo's daycare. I got to guess numbers of jelly beans in a jar; watch theBoy tackle the Jumping Castle - which as I texted to Casso pointed out should really be a Jumping ON Castle since the former implies it is the castle which is jumping; watch him get face-painted ("I'm a Tiger -RAAAAAAAAAAH"), and his head spray-painted. The last one looked fun so I signed up for it.
I had no idea just how cold the spray would be on my bald, bald crown. I screamed in an effeminate manner. Then I got my beard done, half silver, half green. I looked like that piece of bread I toasted when I ran out of money in second year and I was living in my friend's mother's house while she was on sabbatical.
Still, that was pretty sweet even if the residue was sticky and dried unpleasantly upon my fuzzy face.
Then after more outside work it was off inside to the "Disco". As theWife was bailed up with questions about if we were going to have another - we're not BTW - which apparently was designed so the mum could then launch into her number one gold standard "This ... is me" tale of a four day labour, I got to lie on the carpet and watch theBoy dancing around.
The DJ was the only male childcare worker I have ever met - a lovely guy in his early 20s that has an exceptional rapport with the kids, especially the boys. They love him. He had some disco light work going and, while the music was of the tott's variety, he did sneak in this little number.
I demanded he play Boom Boom Boom Boom* next; he laughed and instead returned to the kids' music with Waltzing Matilda.
I never noticed how much the lyrics of that song inferred that the Jolly Jumpbuck had more on his mind than just eating it before...
*PS if I was going to crank myself up the Kinsey scale I would totally go the cowboy.