Jumble sale of words. (aka reality worth a show?)


Fly by.

We’ve got pincer grips, we’ve got fucking blueberry goop stains on just about everything in the house. The only thing I have not managed to get the blue tinge from is the babies. They look like Smurfs.

I just put up a pop up tent and tunnel in our shared back garden. I am too sweaty and huffy and puffy to even think about getting the babies all dresssed to go out, because Coconut is due a bottle at any time, and Snort is due in about 45 minutes. (Yes, we feed completely on demand – but their demands are generally predictable.)

I HAVE THE COOLEST LOOKING BACK GARDEN in the neighborhood, and I am sitting on my ass blogging because I am too lazy to go enjoy the sparkling sunshine and gentle breeze.

To recap: Yesterday was such an awful day, the sort of day I think other twin mums have a lot but thankfully I do not, that I slept for like 11 hours last night. I went to sleep in the same clothes I wore all day, including my bra and glasses. I woke up this morning and kept all the same clothes on, but DID change my knickers.

I am getting through today by pretending that a reality tv show film crew is living with us and taping every minute of our day for a kick ass show that will demonstrate how fanfuckingtastic I am as a mother.

Just looked up and the fucking tent and tunnel have blown away!! I ran after them in my socks, dragged them back to the grass behind our patio door, and then did not weigh them down so no doubt this will happen again.  Oh, the home viewers are merrily laughing as they reach for their popcorn. I smile beatifically, glancing down at my blueberry stained nailbeds. I look at the camera and give a rueful grin, then scoop up my babies and kiss them. The audience cheers.

A week later, a letter comes through my door, offering me a salary to just shoot these five minute ‘life as a twin mother’ blurbs for Parenting TV. I decide I don’t want to exploit my children, but then they offer me a six figure sum per show. I capitulate and smile even more beautifically.

And back to reality.  We have hootchie music playing in the background, I just applied deodorant over my not-showered-since-Monday-night-armpits, the tent is still beckoning. I may just buck up and put the babies in it. At the very least, it will stop it from blowing away again.


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