My Weekend in Numbers

One. The number of glasses of wine I planned to have  on Friday night.

Two.  The number of minutes I managed to shower in peace and quiet before Little Princess Pink decided she needed to pee in this loo as she’d be ‘too lonely’ in the others.

Three. The number of grandparents who came to visit the littlies.

Four.  The number of shirts I still need to iron for work this week. Bah!

Five. The number of glasses of wine I actually had on Friday night.

Six. The number of mini shortbreads I managed to resist in Costa in favour of my weight watchers caramel wafer biscuit.

Seven. The number of times I’ve rolled my eyes at Super Daddy’s innuendo.

Eight. The number of cups of coffee I felt like I needed to get moving this morning.

Nine. The number of times I loaded, there emptied and reloaded the dishwasher.

Ten. The number I counted to before then still shouting the F word when I caught my finger in the washing machine door.

Thirteen. The number of weight watchers pro-points in the full bag of sour cream and chive party snacks I consumed whilst watching poop on tv on Saturday night.

Twenty Three. The number of times I told Little Monster Blue to move back from the television as he was standing too close (I.e. nose touching screen)

Twenty Eight. The number of candles on my little sisters birthday cake. (Happy Birthday Lou!)

Four Thousand Six Hundred and Seventy Three. The number of grains of rice I had to sweep from the kitchen floor after taking the bag out of the cupboard upside down.

Fifty Five. The number of screaming children in the soft play on Saturday afternoon.

Fifty Six. The number of times I said to Super Daddy ‘is it time to leave yet?’ whilst in the soft play.

One Thousand Seven Hundred and Ninety Nine. The number of pennies I spent on five (lovely) t-shirts for the nippers in Gap. Bargainous much. Yay to 40% off specials.

Seven Hundred. The number of episodes of Fireman Sam I feel like I’ve seen.

Six Thousand Eight Hundred and Twenty One. The number of points I scored shaking my toosh to Aha Take On Me on Just Dance 3 on the Kinnect.

Twenty One Hundred. The number of hours at which I will flop into bed, exhausted but contented, happy and ready for another jam packed week ahead!

The Concept of Time

It struck me the other day that in our house we operate to a different concept of time than other folks.  It’s not that we have no concept of time, viagra quite the opposite; our routine is very regimental, military-like almost. And it’s not that we have a lack of gadgetry that displays the time in various shades of luminous lighting (digital clock radio, microwave, oven clock, iPhones, central heating timer, iPod docking station) And Superdaddy does have a watch that he was given as a 30th birthday gift, which is still in its box by the side of his bed yet to be worn (apparently it catches and pulls the hairs out of his arms.)

It’s more than we don’t use the standard format of time telling, you know, that globally recognised form that uses numbers and the principles of am and pm? In our house, we don’t get up at 7.30am like other people, we get up at wakey-wakey time (and it’s actually 6am most days courtesy of Little Monster Blue).  The dawning of wakey-wakey time sets the pace for the remainder of the day.  Between the hours of 7.00am and 12 Noon GMT  (grouchy mum time) we have breakfast time, teeth brush time, clothes on time, snack time, play time and lunch time. After lunch, it’s nap time (as pleasant as a siesta would be, unsurprisingly, this time is for Little Monster Blue only) however nap time signals to Little Princess Pink that it’s girly time.  This is our hour and a bit in the day where we spend some proper time together doing an activity of LPP’s choosing. Girly time on Friday past saw us spending an hour in the garden, practising our skipping.

After nap time and girly time, we’ll generally go out and catch up with friends, and as of yet, that’s not managed to be specifically named anything, though I suspect we’d follow the standard time-marking convention and call it catching up with friends time.  After dinner time, we have tidy-up time, which even gets it’s own song…”Tidy Up, tidy up, how many things can you put away? Pick them up, put them back, come on everybody, lets’ get tidy today!” I have to be honest and say I exploit tidy up time in order to get our living space back to some semblance of normality before bath time.  The louder I sing, the faster they tidy!

Bath time signals the start of wind down and ready for bed. Prior to jumping in the bath, we tend to have a spot of running around without our clothes on time (again, only LMB) but this carries no formal name.  After bath time, its story time, one of my favourite parts of the day. I snuggle on the rocking chair with LMB, breathing in the smell of his freshly washed hair, and read him his three chosen stories.  We say Night Night to his stuffed dog, Sam and then its sleepy time. LPP gets to stay up a little later, and gets to come downstairs for supper time, before then having her own story time and then when the last kiss is dispensed and the last ‘night night, love you to the moon and back a million times’ is exchanged, it’s sleepy time.

There’s often no ‘us time’ and there is precious little ‘me time’, it fast paced, it’s frenetic, we squeeze in wine o’clock, then I fall asleep on the sofa. It must be sleepy time.

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