Get in car. New “Bob the Builder” story CD not arrived. Put in old “Bob the Builder” CD. Want to shoot myself. Arrive at fancy Farm Shop. Trade children for holiday flat keys with Grandparents who own said holiday flat. Look like parties in a divorced family handing over kids “for the weekend”. Arrive at holiday flat. Go out for meal. Wear heels to elongate leg and thin the thighs. End up with blister and transvestite-walking-manner. Feel uncivilised pronouncing Scallops as Scallops (not Scullops) until Waitress brings over husbands “Caber-nat”. Feel better. Talk about the kids. Take photo on smartphone to send to kids. Argue with husband “Why are you ordering paella, Han. You don’t like most seafood?”. Digs heels in “I want to. I love all seafood”. Don’t like paella or baby squid that looks like that alien Will Smith delivers in the back of the car in Men in Black. Leave it on side of plate. Go home. Discuss how deaf I am/ need ears syringing. Husband points fiercely (without using words) at volume numbers on TV. Harsh. Went to sleep. Had bad dreams.
Woke up. Told husband bad dream was about him divorcing me. He puts down his paper. “Oh dear” he says. He picks up his paper. Should I be worried? Prepare for 7 mile HIKE. Husb says “I bet you didn’t pack a drinking bottle for the walk?” I snap “No. But I packed every f*cking thing ELSE for the weekend”. We both sulk. Go on 7 mile HIKE. See some Canadians who tell us angry cows with babies were up on path ahead. Are patronising to Canadians (look at husband and give each other our “we both grew up in the country” smug face look). Go up over hill to avoid cows. Get followed by cows. Cows are angry. Go over brow of hill into a herd of baby cows. Cows are angrier. Run down the other side of (steep) hill and seek safety by barbed wire. Get palpitations. Find tarmac. Find pub. Find wine. Find out we did not win on Grand National. Discuss at length our bravery and tactics. Husband repeatedly tells me “I didn’t abandon you by running up the hill first – I was seeking out our escape route”. I was not suspicious before this. I am now. Wake up next day and read Walking Magazine – “How to avoid being attacked by cows”. Bit chuffing late.
Desperately try to have lie in. Can’t manage it. Go for 4 mile HIKE. Drink too much cheap wine at pub. Get bloated. Look pregnant. Insist on taxi home, not walking whilst pregnant, and wax lyrical to taxi driver about mini break and being attacked by cows. He doesn’t care. Get home. Notice this on our holiday flat block.
Laugh at this.
Watch “Marley and Me”. Fantasise about how I will one day be BFF’s with Jennifer Aniston. We will have sleep overs and swap friendship bracelets.
Wake up. Missing the boys. Phone the boys. Ed asks why we have to pick him up today? Can’t we wait until tomorrow. No. Get in car. Husband asks how many ibuprofens he had yesterday. I snap “I am A mother. Not YOUR mother”. We both sulk. We tell each other we love each other. We make up. Arrive at fancy Farm Shop. Swap kids and holiday flat keys. Grampy says he had a fabulous time but his ears ache. We all laugh. Because it is true. Both boys punish me for leaving them. Both boys run to father and hug him hard. Get home. All play football/rugby hybrid game in kitchen. Ed want’s me on his team (result)_. Alex cries when I leave the boys to their bedtime story. Go back. Cuddle Alex. Alex kisses me. Go to bed.