I have moved one small child into their own bedroom Sharing no longer works for me. It was working well for them in terms of all night parties but I was having to go up and down the stairs 15 times a night. So small child now in my dressing room, amongst clothes, make up and shoes and various stacked bed parts. I cam home determined to make a sanctuary of sorts for him.
This was a mistake. One spare bed needs to go upstairs, which means dismantling cot bed and selling. Discover I cannot do this as small children have used specific screws for toys and are now missing. New sanctuary/dressing room does not fit a normal bed and will have to find and buy a new one - which means trying to find somewhere to keep two cot beds and the house is so full of bits - there is nowhere.
On moving bed parts I discover the forgotten horror of a cooker cable tacked down the middle of the wall, with the requisite smashed hole behind the socket. By now I am feeling so overwhelmed that I consider having to ask 'It' to help me. then I realise that I cannot do that since he was the one that did it and he was the one that told me on leaving that he had purposefully refused to do any DIY in the house for the two years before he left.
So now I have had to staple fabric to the wall in a bid to cover the wire and to stop one offspring killing himself when he decides to poke something in the hole. Now the landing is full of bed parts and a spare mattress and I can see it is going to be like this for many weeks. this is the point that i fall over the cot bed, it breaks and I drop about two hundred nails on the carpet.
Seems like a good idea to go outside and smoke, so I do. This was a bad idea because the garden is a hell hole. Having spent weeks sieving soil with the colander - grass is growing albeit patchily. It should have been mowed about two weeks ago but still has highway fencing all over it because I have not had time. So I go out the front. This was a mistake - following the carboot sale and middle childs insistence that the seats in the care be moved - I trip over the car seat in my tiny porch and scrape my leg. This adds to the discomfort I have in my knee, which is still not fully recovered. To top it all, I now have shin splints.
I cannot fail to notice the front door which has been kicked in at least twice in the last two years and the frame and lock are held together by two nails. It is very unsafe and doesn't even lock anymore. The door does not fit and has needed replacing for about 5 years.
The ironing pile now exceeds the three baskets. The dog still needs walking, the boys will be back in an hour and I have to wash and find all uniforms by then. I have to find all the parts to the wii that they given by 'it' at Christmas and has not worked since Feb. Seemingly not intending to get it fixed under warranty, I am hoping that shoving it in his hands may prompt him. I am trying to sell things to get enough money to take the teenager to Spain, to salve my conscience that he did not get to go last year and to celebrate his venture into adult life, I need to save the money to take them all to France and to kennel the dog and I still have nowhere suitable for the dog.
'It' used to regularly remind me that going to work was very hard and that I would never manage to do what he did, but really - can it be harder than this?
It is my birthday tomorrow and in the last six years - I have had one night way by myself.
I do not feel like celebrating.