Wednesday, 3 April 2013

Welcome to the House of Fun

Oh yeah - It's just been a freakin' partay round these parts. Whoop! Whoop!

Where to begin? Well for a start - Easter - a relentless dull holiday - with no actual purpose (sorry religious folk - but it just draaaagggggggggs) and then my children turning into demons: Sproglette is teething and she has become the GRINCH. She has gone green and everything. She whines and she stamps and she moans and she cries  - and that is before she has even got out of her cot in the morning. Oh yes, no moving to a bed for Grinchy-chops. She's gonna stay in that cot prison and have her own little vomit protest - yep, she coughs so much she pukes. I may never eat cottage cheese again.

Meanwhile Sproglet is having some MAJOR testosterone rushes or something because he is answering back, stomping his feet and then adopting a stance just like the Hulk man - Eric whatsisface - before he shreds his threads and becomes all green. Sproglet wishes he could go green. He just screams and shakes instead. All very manly. So they rage and I try to keep calm and then I rage. And I drink wine, until I go green. I am sure that aint in the parenting handbook, but whatdoIcare? If I didn't drink at this point - I may run off with the circus. Or anyone.

So Easter passed - with everyone I know seeing family and mates and posting jolly photos on facebook - while I felt lonely and frustrated. Funny, I'm having a party in a week for 100 people - and yet, yes, I can still feel lonely. Something is rotten in Denmark - but I'll have to sort that out another time - because I have other fish to fry.

Husband rings up on Monday evening. Picture the scene: I have cooked a roast - my best mate came over and declared after 2 hours that my kids were doing her head in. She is godmother to them, loves them - but even she, the most patient of folk, was ready to string them up. I served up and Sproglette refused to even LOOK at my roasted sweet potatoes, creamed leeks, garlic lemon chicken, sugared carrots and peas and corn. Sproglet - all MANLY - asked for the leg. Then kind of sucked it and spat it out. 'A bit too slimey' was his declaration. So my best mate and I tried to jolly along through this dinner, and then the phone goes.

Husband announces that the wheel has come off the car. But it is ok - it just gave a massive pop and then a crunch and then the car went one way and he pulled over and was now holding up a lane of traffic and being honked at. It took many phone calls and much stress to get a tow truck to him - he got home FIVE hours later. Not a happy bunny. Reminded me of someone - oh yes, our kids.

And so began our journey into the land of insurance hell. Oh yes - the 'we'll pick your car up today and then when we have ticked a million fucking boxes and stressed the fuck out of you, we will ask more questions and then maybe, just maybe we will sort a courtesy car for you.' Except they (once again) brought the wrong tow truck to collect our car - and so this further held up the 'estimate.' They promised to call back and never did. So today - when they said it would take hours as the 'initial' estimate was in - but not a decision on whether or not the car was 'a total loss' I went all Grinch like myself. No, more Hulk. I screamed, I raged, I cried. Then I got some manager woman on the phone and finally a hire car arrived at 4pm.

But it turns out that once we pay our £400 excess and they take off 8 months insurance (as we have a contract until Dec) there aint much left... Joy! Oh, and the even better news - is that when I pay the excess on some other excess on the hire car - and more stuff - then they will come and take the fecking car back 48 hours after they pay out. And boy do they want to pay out quick - because gawd forbid you have the hire care for the 21 days you are obliged to in your insurance. God forbid insurance would EVER work in your favour.

I keep thinking of that scene in The Incredibles where Mr Incredible helps the old lady as she has so many freakin' clauses and what nots she is entitled to, well, nothing. I am that little old lady and no one is being my Mr Incredible.

So Saturday - the one day I was planning on ditching the demons and having some much needed me time - the week before the big 4 0 and all that head fuckery it brings - Husband and I now have to go to the seventh circle of hell - no, not a soft play area - that is in fact preferable... no, we'll be off to some car warehouse trying to get a cheap deal. Last time I went to one of those it took 7 hours. I can't wait. 7 hours with Husband and his frayed nerves. It'll be like a date, but with no hope of a smooch at the end.

The stress of it all is quite unbelievable. No one wants to help you when you call up Admiral - am naming and shaming -  unless you end up a stressed sobbing mess. Meanwhile, as I have been writing this Sproglette (Grinchy) has been sick twice. Once all over Husband. He is near breaking point.

I remind myself that we are all here and well and healthy. Well apart Sproglette and her cough and teething and nappies from hell. So you know, it's all good. No, really it is. Welcome to our house of fun - wanna visit??

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