I'm pretty sure that I'm scaring Chai for life. FFS.
I spoke to his teacher about how he's coping at school and she said that he's doing really well. Not FFS.
Then she went on to say that he gets quite anxious but he has good coping mechanisms. FFS.
He'll get upset then he takes deep breaths and tells himself that mummy and daddy love him and that we'll be back to pick him up soon. FFS.
He also gets anxious when they go to do music or sport and his main teachers don't stay with him. FFS.
They both think he's doing really well, I think that he shouldn't have to be dealing with this. He shouldn't be worried about where Tiger and I are or where his teacher is. He's too young to be feeling like this. FFS.
Pretty sure letting my child go through this is failing as parent. FFS.
It's my job to shield him from things like this, not to place him in situations where he feels this way. FFS.
This supports my case for taking him and running away. I just have to convince Tiger.
The pool saga continues. FFS.
Last Friday they were supposed to be fiberglassing the patches. I left the gate unlocked for them and just for a change they didn't show up. No phone call or text message. Nothing. Fecking useless. FFS.
Saturday night I got a text message asking if they could come and do some work on the pool on Sunday. Naturally I said yes. They actually turned up Sunday and Monday and Tuesday! By Tuesday the pool was finished and by Wednesday evening it was ready to swim in. Yay!
Every now and again Eljay likes to start our day by singing me the song of his people. He figures that waking me up before 6am isn't torture enough, so he adds to it by singing me the song of his people to ensure that I'm blasted into consciousness. Last Friday was one of those days. FFS.
He woke up, told me to get up, slid out of bed and when I didn't immediately acquiesce to his demand, threw himself on the ground and started crying. FFS.
I hadn't even managed to pry my eyes open. FFS.
Have I mentioned I'm not a morning person? Well I'm not. Never have been, never will be.
I stumbled out of bed and into my room to put on my dressing gown. For reasons unknown to me the boys started fighting and Eljay emptied the contents of his water bottle all over the bathroom floor in protest. FFS.
I mopped it up as best I could and stumbled out into the kitchen to start my daily duties. Normally in the mornings we'll chat, I'll get the boys drinks and breakfast whilst they play and the tv isn't turned on. Friday I turned the tv on and started making their morning drink as quickly as possible so they'd stfu. Just as I started making their drinks I got the urge to do a poo. FFS.
It was a dilemma. FFS.
Either I gave in to the urge and had them both in the bathroom with me screaming and fighting, or I held on long enough to make their drinks which would hopefully mean I'd get to do my poo without an audience. FFS.
I held off long enough to give them their drinks, by which time I was busting, so I ran to the toilet as quickly as I could. I managed to land my foot in the one tiny bit of water that I hadn't mopped up, my leg gave way and I fell down, boob first, onto the half wall the separates the toilet from the bath. FFS.
It fecking hurt. FFS.
My boob throbbed for three hours and for the next three days it hurt every time I moved my arm. FFS.
It's still sore and is now a lovely shade of yellow. Pretty. FFS.