Mothers Day = Morgans and coke.

So, this is my first attempt at blogging.  Fuck me.  Off we go...

Today was Mothering Sunday.  A day when all the mums, like myself, get loads of pressies and handmade cards (that you swoon over but really struggle to see what the fuck they have drawn - is it a flower? An animal of some sort? Who knows) and the promise of a long-lie with brekkie in bed.  How fanfuckintastic is that. 

So my Mother's day begins at 6am (I think.... maybe it was 5:30?) with the dulcet tones of Imogen.  The 5 month old child.  Several attempts at the dummy later and I drag myself out of bed, tutting and sighing so Tom (The Husband) knows I'm well and truly Pissed Off that I have to get out of bed. On Mother's Day. Bastard.  A short while later I'm joined by Blaine, the 5 year old.  His constant yapping begins immediately - but he's rather annoyed that his daddy is still in bed as he wanted to make me breakfast.  Hmmmm.... I suppose being up early has it's bonuses - not having to eat anything made by a 5 year old.

So, Tom finally emerges from bed, wonders why I'm pissed off and proceeds to complain about everything. The house is a mess, stop talking Blaine, why is Imogen crying, why are you pissed off.  Ugh.  SHUT UP.  Que me disappearing to the shower to block out his moaning.

I decide - in the shower - that it's a nice day and rather than waste it by being miserable I will take the kids to Brechin Castle Centre.  Of course it takes approx 2 hours to get everyone organised.  Including Tom- I did tell him to keep his miserable puss at home, but he refused.  And he drove.  Fuck sake. He drives like an idiot. 

We arrive at Brechin - the website looked fab, said it had tractor rides, animals to pet (eeeewwwww) and the promise of caffeine.  Blaine just wants to run about like a loon.  Imogen is in the sling and Tom is moaning that it's "fucking baltic".  The tractor rides aren't on.  There are no animals.  But there is a restaurant - so I'm saved.

I get my big cake.  Banana thing with cream.  Blaine has a hissy as he doesn't want his cake - oh well, I'll have to have it then, Imogen scoffed her pureed food (butternut squash then papaya) and the caffine probably saved me from having a breakdown. I then wandered aimlessly round the garden centre, wondering if a soup bowl at £6.99 is good value or over-priced crap.  I decided that I could probably get 4 for a fiver in Tesco - so it's over-priced crap. We then head home, Blaine scoffing a Wham bar in the car.

Home.  Tom goes to bed - he's night shift so needs must.  I then have to juggle the kids, make tea and stay sane.  The hours between 4-7 are the worst of my day.  Everyday is the same.  Imogen gets grumpy, Blaine moans he's hungry, Tom refuses to help (well he can't if he's asleep) and I try to keep calm and carry on. 

Steak pie got burnt.  Imogen screamed when her neep was finished so a banana was quickly mashed.  Blaine decided he "couldn't eat a lot" and had half a potato.  Tom looked glakit. 

Bedtime.  It's my "job" to deal with Imogen - well, I kinda half to as she's like a permanent feature on my boob. Which means it's Tom's job to deal with Blaine.  Imogen goes to bed at 7pm. On. The. Dot.  Blaine 7:30.

Kids in bed.  Morgan's and coke in hand.  Mother's Day? DONE.  Oh my present's - I forgot to mention what I got.  A mug and some Nivea body stuff.  Imogen got 2 new bibs proudly proclaiming "I LOVE MUMMY" which she HAD to wear to prove it to the world.  Of course she loves me, I provide her with boobs to feed from. That's the only realson she loves me I think.......Of course I got a handmade card, butterflies on it (I think - could be ants) made by Blaine with "Max's Glitter Pen" Joy of joys. 

Tom now lying on the sofa.  Complaining that I'm "typing too loudly"  "WTF are you doing?"  "Shhhhh.... go upstairs and type" 

Shit.  Just remembered - I need to phone The Mothership and wish her a happy mother's day....... double Morgan's anyone?