I feel that we're giving 'The Notebook' a run for it's money in the romance stakes around here at the moment.
I mean I barely manage any sleep at all with all the shenanigans going on, wink wink nudge nudge, and my start to Valentine's Day was a classic example.
Uughhh. Razor blades in my throat, thumping headache - and what is that chainsaw ringing in my ears??
Oh - it's just Hubby snoring.
Toss, turn, try not to cough.
Eventually doze off.
Hear baby girl squealing and rolling around in her cot.
Go and check that she's not lodged a limb and try to ignore her ruckus.
Curse dog for barking.
Hear Missi Moo start up again.
Wonder why she has started waking in the night/early morn again.
Pray she doesn't wake her poor, exhausted school boy brother.
Start thinking about how much I don't want to leave my baby girl to go off to work on Friday, guaranteeing no further dozing on my part.
Curse dog for barking again.
Say something nasty about the neighbour's cat.
Hear Hubby get up and prepare to leave for his paddling session.
Consider giving him a small gift I had bought him but roll over and cover my head instead.
He'd just get cranky if he hasn't realised that it's that commercialised rubbish day that we women claim not to give a hoot about.
Dog goes mental.
Mummy swears - again.
I silently lie in bed, wide awake, wondering if the exercise bike would wake the kids.
Try to doze instead.
Nuh. Not a chance.
Give up and log in to Facebook, read some blogs.
Think about how one day I won't be too afraid to shower, flush the toilet, boil the kettle, breathe... for fear of waking the children. And I'll miss these days. Right?
Do the math and hope that Missi can sleep until 6.30am for the first time this week so that I don't have to put her down for a nap only to wake her 30 mins later for Magoo's school drop off.
Read this post by Mrs Woog and instantly feel better about being a tad overwhelmed this week.
Am soooo excited for Lou, Jake, Sunny and Scout as they share their baby BOY news today.
Decide I can be a stealth bike rider after all.
Hear Missi squealing again before I can begin.
Kiss goodbye to my 6.30 dream.
Ignore her some more.
Give in and get little MIssi up.
Feed the baby.
Stupidy cancel a cuppa with friends because it all seems too hard today afte a sleepless week.
Inhale a piece of toast.
Make Magoo's breakfast.
Put a load of washing on.
Make the beds.
Defrost meat for dinner.
Play with Missi.
Prep schoolbag for Magoo and swimming bag for Missi and I.
Make Magoo's lunch.
Fix up Magoo's uniform.
Tell him how utterly adorable he looks - but wonder how he managed to stain that costs-a-fortune school top already.
Stubbornly refuse to put Missi down for a nap.
Get showered and dressed.
Try to entertain the whinging bub between chores.
Make Magoo a second breakfast.
Hang out washing.
Remember that the mortgage is due today.
Check the financial situation at westpac.com and try not to cry about being broke.com.
Realise that I haven't been paid and wonder if I have been fired. Think that at least my issue with leaving Missi would be resolved.
Utilise the outdoor swing and big brother combo.
Give Missi her bottle - falsely leading her to believe that I am kindly letting her go to bed.
Leave early for school in the hope that a change of scenery will perk the bubby up.
Smell something rather offensive and realise it's coming from the sweet little Miss on my hip.
Hope like hell it's not actually on my hip.
Follow Magoo around the room as he seems determined to share his sister's 'perfume' with everyone in the class.
Leave the school, allowing everyone to breathe deeply again.
Look in the rear vision mirror to see that Missi has fallen asleep.
Wake the poor love because we are home - and she is sitting in, you know.
Feed her and put her to bed.
While running through my list of tasks, I hear MIssi, after only 30 mins of slumber, letting me know that if I am going to 'stretch her out' so spectacularly, then she will do some 'stretching out' of her own - on my sanity.
Decide that she won't mind if I sit and attempt 10 mins of work prep in the hope that she resettles - and write this therapeutic dribble instead.
Receive a 'love you' text from Hubby.
Press publish here anyway!
Are you bored witless yet????
Happy Valentines Day.
Romance is well and truly alive.
And we've barely begun!
Seriously - it is a load of commercialised rubbish.
And I wouldn't want to be anywhere else but here today.