1. I'm getting uncharacteristically cross about how much chain coffee shops charge for soft drinks. I purchased an orange juice for my two rotten children yesterday in a well-known Coffee house that had sticky carpet. It was £2.20. It's extortionate. There's no way my kids are worth that investment into thirst-reduction.
2. If I was more organised, I would bring my own drinks.
3. If I was more organised, I wouldn't bring the kids.
4. I went to a local nursery "show-around" day yesterday for my oldest child's impending commencement at pre-school. I rocked up there with my rotten children who had a most splendid time showing me up. I jest, of course, there were supremely behaved and had a lovely time at this delicious estate primary. I do hope we get in there. They had the *whole* range of Peppa Pig figurines which firmly confirms to me that their education investment is paramount and uncompromised.
5. I'm not very good at packing shopping whilst at the pay-bit in a supermarket. I was in the leading supermarket today and I had purchased some groceries. I chucked them onto the conveyor belt hastily, because there is no way I will say "Yes" if the cashier asks me if "I want any help packing". Saying yes to that feels the same as saying "Yes please, I'm a total tosser". In hindsight, I should have accepted. My carrier bag packing is terrible. Nothing fits in the gaps in the carrier bag as I wanted them to. My packed carrier bag resembles a game of Tetris played by a toddler.
6. This rather sporadic and ineffective method of organising also renders the already-paltry carrier bag to split, meaning that on arriving home, I have to do the wanky "fast-walk" up the driveway with all the bags, because they are all on the teetering edge of disintegrating and spilling my goods all over the place. I can already see that the polymer is strained on at least three-quarters of the shopping bags, probably caused me shoving 6bottles of wine into one.
7. I had a fail moment today. I deserved it. I was storming around Tescos with my shopping with my toddler strapped to my back like the fantastic superior mud-woman that I am. Check me, buggy brigade. This is how I roll. Halfway through my shopping, my son woke up and realised that we were in the place of dreams. He displayed his excitement of being in the confectionary aisle by, stupidly, sticking his whole fist in his own mouth. I don't know why he did that. He doesn't probably know either. Anyway, it made him gag and he brought up some spick (sick/spit). It went all down my back. I could see the reflection in the freezer cabinet. I was most annoyed. Everyone was looking at me and no doubt wondering why I had a child crucified to my spine in the first place. Especially one that could competently walk. Even the buggy pushers guffawed a little. I was cheesed off with my son. I could have strangled him with my tie-dye. I flip-flopped home with a buttery shoulder and vowed to muzzle child next time.