Extreme tiredness

Extreme tiredness comes in all shapes and sizes. For me it either comes in the shape of one massive grumpy lump or in the shape of a small, helpless child who just needs wrapping up in cotton wool.

Today was the turn of the child.

Welcoming hubs back from his golf game like a lethargic sloth stuck to the sofa (he's such a lucky man!), I barely had the energy to get excited about his four par threes let alone console him on his double bogey on the 17th! (Seriously, can anyone ever summon up that much enthusiasm!?)

Just then, hubs spotted one of the 'friendly neighbourhood cats' in our back garden. Friendly and neighbourly they are not! Why, oh why do cats insist on using OTHER PEOPLE'S gardens as their personal toilets? If I wanted pooh all over the my lawn I'd buy myself a dog and be done with it.

So, knowing my aversion to having cats ablute outside my back door hubs tried to scare the cat away. Only this one was having none of it. So I bounded (as fast as my exhausted body would carry me) to the back door to fling it open and scare the little *grits her teeth* darling away. This didn't work so I dashed out into the garden to make sure it didn't come back only to skid (cartoon style: picture the arms and legs flailing like the sails of a windmill, artistically, in opposite directions), slip and land *splat* right on my cushioned behind.

Hubs immediately came straight to my rescue, hauling me up as if I weighed around the same as a feather (for this I love him endlessly!), and bundling me into his arms as I allowed the hot, stinging tears of a toddler escape me into his awaiting shoulder.

How is it that I'm so easily reduced to this blithering mess? All because of a little scrapey bump bump.

My pride was hurt more than my bottom (although I think I feel a couple of attractive bruises forming) and I do have a little 'ouch' on my finger.

When extreme tiredness attacks...

A slightly bruised and embarrassed Potential Mummy B

Drippy Valentine's Day

Valentine's Day 2010, the most romantic day of the year. Hubs and I have a low-budget day planned (having already spent a small fortune on ingredients and wine for our special meal!) and everything's going according to plan.

The angels of love surround our little home like a swarm of wasps - only much more friendly and a lot less stingy.

Then we discover our boiler is leaking. And I don't mean a gentle drip, drip, drip to act as percussion to the music of love... oh no! I'm talking a miniature Niagara Falls leaking. Now, to many that may conjure up romantic images of sight-seeing, arm in arm, gazing lovingly first into one another's eyes then out into the glorious misty furore that is the Falls...

No, not in this case.

In this case it's a beautiful scene involving a badly (done before we owned the house) boxed in boiler, leaking from place unknown on the underside, with crappy washing up bowl (already seen better days, but hey, it's for washing up in right?) perched precariously underneath to catch the roaring torrent.

Surely plumbers will be available today? Surely they'll be falling over themselves to come out on, not only a Sunday, but Valentine's Day? Wouldn't they be clammering to arrive here first to charge us a call out fee, plus a Sunday fee and Valentine's fee on top?

Nope. Can't get a plumber to come fix it! Not for love nor money (surely for love on today of all days?).

So, our special day is somewhat thwarted by the fact that we have to be around every two hours to empty the emergency basin for fear of further flooding.

Still, at least we won't need mood music during our lovely meal... the sound of running water will help us imagine we're in more glamorous climes, eating in the shadow of the great Falls...


All we need now is a couple of those fetching hooded waterproof jobs and we're the picture of love and romance!

Happy Drippy Valentine's Day darling!