As with all my entries it is important to remember that I love each and every one of my beautiful family from the bottom of my heart so when I talk about them in perhaps not so glowing terms it is all said with love.

Today not so much.

I have no idea what time it is, it’s still dark and my phone is charging on the floor. Before I have a chance to check The Bearded releases a noise that can only be likened to the mating call of a fucking rhino. It is so loud it makes me jump and makes The Baby cry. Not a grizzle, not a “where’s my Bastard Dummy” but a real upset cry. 

I instinctively rush to pick him up and tuck him into bed with me. Shit, still haven’t picked up my phone, still have no idea what the time is. That’s ok, I will Bear Grylls it and use my surroundings to give me a clue. 

My parents live in an idyllic location, beautiful countryside and hardly any noise. Except some animals. 

A side note at this point, dinner time in my family has always been an event and hugely important. We have always sat down to eat as a family. Now we are all grown up we sit down to get pissed as a family. So… I may have over indulged slightly last night. My family however were very impressed that I put my hand over my port glass to indicate “I am a responsible parent” and wouldn’t be partaking any further. It had bugger all to do with responsibility, I just couldn’t face another day long headache. 

Anyway, as I said I over indulged last night and part of the indulgence means my head is fuzzy and words have escaped me. Such as what the fuck is a male chicken called??! You know the one that crows at bloody o’clock in the morning. God this is annoying – anyway moving on.

I listen out for the boy chicken as that means it should be early morning. The Dog is bound to start wimpering for his morning toilet and breakfast time but that could be any time from 5am onwards, finally The Baby does his Dummy dance around 6am so I have lots to work with. Except…. I can’t hear a fucking thing over the rhino snores. 

The Baby is sparko next to me when it occurs to me that we may have all overslept. Then a worse thought hits me. Oh my god what if The Dog woke up my step mum! What if it’s 7.30am and I haven’t heard The Dog crying, what if Net has had her own interaction with a piss puddle. Oh Jesus, here come the Terry Wogan sweats. (I will explain those in a school run related entry another time).

My poor long suffering step mum has been a victim of my Dads snoring for years so is familiar with sleep deprivation. However this does not mean that any other reason for waking up is acceptable. I’m pretty sure this is why The Baby sleeps through the night, he just knows better than to wake up his G’Ma. 

The night before, my darling husband was serenading me like a fucking yeti when I finally decided (having laid there for half an hour in a mood kicking him) to get up and make a bed from the sofa cushions downstairs at 3.30 in the morning. In the process I woke up G’Ma. Shiiiiiit. 

Luckily I was met with totally sympathy and a big cuddle. I have also been victim of Dad’s snoring in the past but in comparison to my hubby he sounds like a piglet hunting for truffles. Not. A. Patch! Net understood. Rolling our bleary eyes and shaking our heads, the universal wife code for “my bastard husbands bastard snoring” has been said and we head off to bed. 

That was the first night. It happening again  for a second night and I doubted whether it would be met with the same sympathy. 

I roll The Baby into the middle of the bed and check my phone, 5.43am. Ok I can live with that, I’ll call that a sleep through. I can get a head start on everyone. I try to creep downstairs to deal with The Dog and I set all the dogs off. Every dog that is apart from ours who is KO’d and sprawled across his bed. I look at him as if to say “are you kidding me?” The ONE time he decides to have a lay in and I’ve come down to wake him up. I can’t work out if I’m angry at him or feel sorry for him. 

Wee’s completed, I panic make a bottle realising I didn’t do it before bed, stuff 2 Jaffa cakes in my mouth washed down with yesterday’s stale pink lucosade to line my stomach (my mother in laws influence) before I devour 2 ibuprofen and back up I go. 

I am now greeted by both my husband AND my son snoring. Fan-bloody-tastic. It gets worse. I hear G’Ma get up. Shit, bollocks, arse. Luckily she goes back to bed. 

As I lay down to squeeze the last few drops of bed out of the morning I start doing my “Mum lists” in my head. I need to wash The Baby’s new clothes, I need to order that present for The Bearded One’s birthday, I promised The Middle One I’d sew the hole in his tracky bottoms, must speak to car insurance people, oh and I need to order the food shop. 

The rhino is at it again so I’m kicking and elbowing him begging him to roll over. Laying perfectly still he says “I have”. The Bearded One has always said when I’m pissed off even my hair gets angry. Think of the venom spitting dinosaur in Jurassic Park and you get the idea. Telling him he hasn’t even attempted to roll over and he is in fact just laying there, he responds with “I said in a minute”. I feel my hair rage. Channeling my best Kim Woodburn circa Celeb Big Brother 2017 I respond “don’t you start with me lovie” or words to that effect. He rolls over.  

Rage subsiding and I start creating the food shopping list in my head when it occurs to me…. A boy chicken is a rooster! Thanks Albert Bartlett! 

It also occurs to me that the beautiful “I’m sorry for snoring scarf” I picked for myself from The Bearded One yesterday will look fabulous with “I’m sorry for the two nights on the trot trousers” I will be buying today.

Hmmm with my wardrobe improving maybe I can live with the snoring after all. 


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s