The weekend BC (Before Childers)
Friday: Finish “work” at 5.30pm. (Who knew “work” could be so easy? And that you’d get paid for it?) It’s Friday so a bus ride home is in order. Sit on the bus and relax, look out the window and think about what’s for dinner. Decide on a take-out ordered from the convenience of home. Another Friday treat.
Get off bus. Stop off in local convenience store for a bottle of red. Get into apartment. Open the wine to let it breathe. Change out of work clothes. Hang them up. Throw on a pair of jeans and a really, really nice top. No need to check if arse looks big in this. It doesn’t. Looks fine. Check anyway.
Plug in the GHD and whilst that is warming up, touch up the day’s make-up and check that fake tan is not streaked. Go back to GHD and straighten already perfectly, frizz free straight hair. Faff about until doorbell rings. Cousin is here. With another bottle of red. Let her in. Have a look at the take out menu and call in order.
Pour the wine. Bitch and moan with cousin about the crap week just gone and how tiring things are. Have long and lengthy chat about how long it takes to make cous cous. Discover were making it wrong and also that risotto does not work with ordinary rice. Lessons learned.
Takeout arrives at same time as Mister Husband. Both are just in time for Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Start on second bottle of wine. Buffy over in no time. Decide to go to pub. Only up the road. Just as well as bit shaky after wine. Also got red wine moustache and red teeth but don’t care. Still think look gorgeous.
Call the troops and make arrangements to meet in half an hour. Get there first. Order more wine.
Lots of shite to talk about so stay there until closing. Suddenly bouncer is ushering us out the door none too gently. Pizza or taxi? Fek it, decide on both and suddenly it is 3am.
No idea how got home afterwards. Don’t care. Fall face first down onto bed. Stay there until early morning. No choice. Can’t move.
Saturday: Nnnnnnggggghhhhhh! What time is it? Early afternoon? Crap! Look at Mister Husband for confirmation. Yes, way too early to be awake. Face stuck to pillow due to last night’s makeup which has melted.
Stumble to bathroom and get glass of water on the way back. Remove last night’s clothes, crawl back under the duvet and sleep some more.
Woken later by raging thirst and ravenous hunger. Eat remaining slice of last night’s pizza. Put on immersion for shower. Head still tender so decide on cinema for quiet night in.
Get bus into town. Don’t really care what’s on so just pick something and sit in the dark for 90 odd minutes. Feel surprisingly better afterwards and decide to go for a nightcap in pub down the road from apartment. Sit up at the bar and order drinks.
Something odd happens; must be time warp. Or alcohol. It is time to go home and feel very, very drunk. Curry chips on the way home. First proper meal all day and really very nice.
After third attempt, manage to get key into lock on apartment door. Fall face down onto bed. Stay there until early morning. No choice. Can’t move.
Sunday: Nnnnnnggggghhhhhh! What time is it? Crap! Didn’t do weekly shop. Didn’t do laundry. Didn’t clean apartment. It’s Sunday, will think about that tomorrow. Day is almost gone anyway.
Hungry, need food. Get up, throw on clothes, throw some water at face, hope for the best, grab keys and leave apartment to go for some pub grub somewhere. Decide hair of the dog might not be a bad idea. Start off slowly but soon find our pace.
Hey! Have a great idea! Why not ring in sick in the morning? Never do it so will be piece of cake. Yeah, let’s do it. Sunday night drinks are lovely, may as well enjoy them. So we do.
Ring in sick the next morning and the following morning too.
The weekend With Childers:
Friday: Forced out of bed at 5am by a wide awake child looking for breakfast. Feel strong need to oblige as ensuing shouts and roars of said child will waken the others.
Feed child whilst propped up against pillows and half fall back asleep until a small finger is poked up right nostril.
Small child is left to fend for himself as clothes are found and donned from the laundry basket. Didn’t get round to third wash yesterday. Scoop up baby and head to kitchen.
Put on one of the three washes. Tidy away stuff on sink from the night before. Start on school lunches. Leave out uniforms. Get vegetables ready for dinner. Pack up school bags. Take out bowls and cereals for breakfast. A quick nappy change. On the way, pick up clothes trail and random toys from the floor.
Change nappy and back to kitchen. Other children wake one by one and appear demanding that the telly is put on. Too tired to argue so just do it. Plus excellent opportunity to keep them quiet for a half an hour while hot press gets emptied. If there are 6 minutes left, might slap on some tinted moisturiser and take a quick swig of coffee.
Shouting and roaring begins as all of a sudden it is 8am and teeth need to be cleaned before school.
Only 12 hours to bedtime.
Even if wanted to go to pub, would be too tired.
Saturday and Sunday. Same shit different days.
Going to the shop for some milk. Alone.
Get into the car. Drive to shop. Pick up milk. Hand over 75c or €1.20 depending on where I have to go. Get back into car and drive home. Door to door approximately 15 minutes.
Going to the shop for some milk with kids.
Hunt them down. Spend several minutes forcing coats onto them. Spend another several minutes getting them out of the house, away from the telly, and into the car. Smallest Boy will not travel without his tights so have to go back inside to find them. Remember to lock up dog.
Go back out to car. Two of them have escaped and are chucking stones into the puddles. A third is out of his seat in the car. Lots of shouting and roaring and issuing of empty threats follow.
Finally, drive car in the direction of the shop. Get there. Pick up milk. Hand over €2.20 or the best part of €3 depending on where I have to go. Life will not be worth living if I go back to the car without four Freddo bars. Get back into car and drive home. Door to door approximately 45 minutes.
Having a shower BC
Lovely warm, fluffy towel hanging on the rail. A long and leisurely five minutes shampooing hair with shampoo that promises to entice butterflies and other pretty insects to come and live in it.
Smooth on a conditioner that matches the shampoo. Leave it on for ten minutes whilst lathering up the loofah with an exotic smelling concoction.
Take time to get in between each toe individually. Rinse out hair and wrap carefully in towel. Wrap body in aforementioned warm, fluffy towel. Take time to pat body dry and apply moisturiser. Dab on face cream.
Brush out hair and squirt on this’ll-make-your-hair-so-shiny-it’ll-take-the-eyes-out-of-your-head absolutely amazing anti-tangling, anti-frizz, anti-heat damaging serum. Line up the hair dryer and GHD.
Having a shower with kids. No, I mean, with kids.
Hard, cold, rough towel with suspect dried snot on the corner hanging on the rail. Shove child hogging the shower hose out of the way and allow approximately a cup of water to wet hair.
Slap on some shampoo or other from a bottle and scrub like mad. Rinse out most of the suds. Apply conditioner whilst using foot to prevent another child from getting in under the water.
Toddler decides he wants to play Catch the Boobies. Use elbow to flick him away. Use conditioner to wash face and body. Decide job is done, three minutes is long enough. Get out of shower and leave the troops to play.
Get half dried in a towel that could double up as sandpaper and notice that de-fuzzing should have happened at least two months ago. Pull on clothes over still wet body and remember to slap on some face cream. Using what is left on hands to rub over body.
When I look back on those weekends spent in the pub, I don’t regret them for a second. Even if I was drinking a week’s grocery bill.
All the television I watched. Hours and hours wasted doing nothing. I cannot remember most of those shows; the ones I thought were so important. And who needs a shower that lasts longer than 5 minutes? Sometimes I like the company. *whispers* But the odd solitary one would be nice.