I’ve been in a mood, this makes me swear. A lot.
It’s my house, and you know that it is, and if you don’t like it, you get the fuck out. I don’t give a fuck. I pay the mother fucking bills in this mother fucker, and, hey, kiss my ass if you don’t like it.
It’s not that I haven’t had a good week. I’m just tired. Possibly hormonal. Possibly mourning my 20’s because I enter a new decade this week. I blogged about it awhile back, and here it is, the week I turn 30. I’m pretty sure I feel fine about it but my mood suggests otherwise.
The boys love sandwiches, but we didn’t have any fucking bread now did we? M took my car to work, so there was no popping out to get some. I figured it was all good, we’ll walk to the bakery, some fresh air and sunlight to lift my mood. Then it fucking rained. It. Fucking. Rained. The thought of hearing them cry about how they didn’t want pasta or eggs they wanted sandwiches was making me want to stab myself in the thigh with a chopstick. So I did what all moody mums do when there’s no bread and no car and it’s raining and the children want sandwiches. I made some fucking pancakes. BOOYAH.
Mum: 1 Universe: 0
Breakfast at lunch time, what a novelty. Especially from a Mum who constantly tells her children that too much McDonalds, chocolate and chips will make you sick and fat. And they loved it, of course. I let them get anything they wanted to put on those pancakes, peanut butter, margarine, jam, honey, nutella and 2 kinds of syrup. We ate like Fatty McFatFat’s smothering those pancakes with the spreads and inhaling them like a Biggest Loser contestant after the Finale. I even let A try a pancake *gasps* Then there was only one pancake left. My plate was empty, J was eating his last, and H, with a mouthful of pancake, batted his big browny/greenish eyes at me...
"You want nuvver pancake Mummy?"
*sigh* You eat it my little piglet, gone are the days where I get to eat the last goddamn pancake.
And then the world was peaceful once again. Thank fuck for pancakes.
And comedians... Especially Eddie Murphy; because a little Delirious or Raw always gets me giggling, and those endorphins are great for ridding the house of the foul mouthed moody Mum.
Comedians and pancakes, yep, that’ll do it.
What are you thankful for?