What to do first

I still haven’t decided what my blog is really about, just a chance for me to mumble on really, I may just call it unlabelled, I like that, it says allot.

Well, onto today. Not the best really, but I’m trying not to let the little misdemeanours spoil it.  The day started with a request from my son, “ Mummy, please can I have a bath with one of your lovely, colourful, bath balls,” the lovely colourful bath balls he is referring to are one of my Christmas presents, a huge selection on lush bath products that are ridiculously expensive and luxurious, and, I add, MINE.  Behaving like the 4 year old my son is, I just want to save every precious one for me, I even ordered a  few for him, but these are not as interesting as the bright blue or pink ones in my box, or the selection I ordered to give out as gifts. Being the grown up I reportedly am, I practice what I preach and cut it in half to share with him. This creates a lovely mess for me to clear up, as does the amazing amount of seaweed Lush seem to have packed into a very small ball, which has now clogged up the plughole and attached itself to the side of the bath. Never mind, my child is cleansed, moisturised and smelling like a lady.

We then don all our outdoor clothes to go and build a snowman, we have a great time, we both are rosy cheeked and beaming. I then suggest a walk to the park, this is where things start to go wrong.  My little man manages to bump his nose on a springy motorbike, obviously because he has his best bright green coat on, his nose, disproportionally to the little bump, decides to poor with blood. Of course I have no tissue and the blood is quickly staining his coat-I am ashamed to admit I actually think “ Quick get his coat off”, however the cold and tears register at the same time and I stem the bleeding with his hat ( I don’t have one on, I gave it to the snowman) whilst cuddling him to me and carrying him home. Halfway home he wants to go back to the park, I manage to convince him going home and playing snowballs is a better idea, so off we stumble home. Upon arriving home my little soldier is fine, he follows me into the garage so I can check the temperamental tumble drier. While I am fiddling around trying to coax the drier to work for another half hour, some little hands in quite expensive, waterproof gloves, find their way into some jelly laced with red food colouring topped off with three months worth of mould (My darling husband was meant to clean this out three months ago after I designed a disastrous party activity which stained every ones hands red, however it seems he has just replaced the cover of the play tray and left the mess for me to find in Spring). I must have looked horrified as a “I’m so sorry” melts my heart before I have chance to say a word. I am horrified, I’m a notorious worrier and my little boy has just come into contact with some serious looking mould, I’ll be worrying about this for weeks.  However, I am soon distracted as the mould topped, food colouring laced jelly has transferred from gloves to already blood stained coat in a matter of seconds. I traipse us inside, strip us off (inevitably we both stand in melting pools of snow in our nice dry socks while doing this) and head for the stain remover, at which point there are floods of tears and wails of “I’m hungry and I need a cuddle”. Vanish in hand, I look at my small child who’s crying is now making his nose bleed again, and don’t know what to do first, I opt for; hug, continue hug while spraying clothes, open washer door with screwdriver( as the handle came off in my hand several months ago, however the washer is otherwise fine )whilst still hugging bleeding, crying child, wash child’s hands and face, tickle child to make him smile again, rewash child as tickling brought on more nose bleeding. This is the point I decide to make some nice warm weetabix with raisins, his favourite food, however the bag of raisins split and I manage to spill half a kg of small but incredibly sticky raisins all over the work top and floor, we’ll be finding them stuck to our socks for weeks. I have no time to bang my head up the wall as small child is now trying to wrestle a six pint of milk out the fridge! At this point the postman arrives, so food made, I sit down with my mail while my clean child begins to cover himself and the table with weetabix. “Great I’ve been paid” I think how quick this month’s payment was only to discover I’ve been paid a very considerable amount  short! Of course it’s Saturday so I can’t ring to sort this out. I begin to panic about why and this month’s mortgage payment.  It’s snowed for the best part of three weeks and work has been snowed off lots so I’m imagining next month’s pay cheque will be minimal to top this off. My usual bubbly, optimistic, self is feeling pretty much the opposite. But then my small weetabix encrusted child attaches himself to me and says “Mummy let’s have a dance”, and I’m smiling again even more so when we jump off the sofa and I hit my head on a beam. There’s more to life than worrying about stains and problems that will come out in the wash.