She waltzed out this morning, said she was heading to the airport, to Jo’burg, to see other people.
I wasn’t too upset. She’ll be back tomorrow, mark my words. She always comes back.
And I slipped a slab of Dairy Milk into her laptop bag. So she won’t go hungry.
The cruel reality of the situation is that I have a night with the kids. Alone.
Both of them are sleeping reasonably well at the moment. Just not very concurrently.
At the moment, Alex tends to not go to sleep too quickly and he’s up early, K-pu goes to sleep quite easily and wakes up late, but is often disturbed during the night. Which is all well and good when there are two of you to spread the load. However, by crude extrapolation and use of maths and stats only a mother could love, I predict that I will sleep between 10pm – 11pm and 4am – 5:30am. Except for the 10pm – 11pm bit, because I’ll be watching UEFA Cup Europa League footy.
Should this alarming prediction prove to be accurate, I can only advise you that it would be foolhardy to cross my path in any way, shape or form tomorrow.
Yesterday evening was spent playing (and winning) a dramatic football match under peachy skies. And, as this photograph completely fails to illustrate, in gale force winds. There’s a grating sound each time I blink and I’m still crying grit. However, on the plus side, I now feel that I am in a position to recommend sand-blasting as an excellent method of exfoliation.
Just as long as you have control of the process and can halt proceedings before it gets down to the bone.
More Football Evening photos.
