The mad house

Before I start, I should probably give brief mention to the shocking rioting in London and across the UK. I wont pass opinion on it as it wouldn't be appropriate given my occupation but I will say I have had a small involvement (in the policing part not the looting) and that its one of those times that I'm really proud of the people I work with. We all pull together in a crisis and I have found some of the scenes and reports I have heard in relation to the police service truly upsetting. Its the individuals that make it work and some of them are pushed to their limits, yet they get on with the job in hand. Just saying.

Thursday started at around three in the morning, when my other half began his impressions of a wild animal being suffocated, otherwise known as snoring. Its a pretty common occurrence and something which I have become fixated on to the point of obsession. Indeed the second he breaths slightly more heavily than usual or I hear his nose becoming slightly 'fuzzy' I am compelled to shake him violently and proclaim "YOUR DOING IT, ITS WOKEN ME UP, YOU WILL WAKE THE CHILDREN!" etc etc. Truth is I am already awake 'monitoring the situation' and were I not so obsessed id probably be asleep and wouldn't notice it anyway! After around six or seven jabs to the ribs I eventually drift off only to be woken by my son striking something against his cot and shouting "muuuummmmyyy", "daddddyyyy", "mo-mobot", (his current favourite toy).
I sigh heavily, hoping its enough to spur my other half into action but as there is no reaction relinquish and go and get him. Its 6.32 am.
06.33 I am greeted by my son, beaming smile, half naked, rubbing momo bot in what appears to be a pooh on his bed. No sign of the implement used for banging.
06.37 Step daughter runs out of her bedroom and follows me back to my own room where jumping on bed commences. Its only broken up when step daughter jumps on 'something squashy' and other half flies out of bed angrily. (ouch) Secretly pleased because he will now make me a cup of tea.

The rest of the morning is taken up by my other half trying to get ready for work while my step daughter (shes 5 by the way), empties out the contents of her draws onto the floor and proclaims she has nothing to wear as if she were Suri  Cruise. Eventually she squeezes into a pair of shorts aged 2-3 that show her bottom. I tell her id rather she at least wear leggings under them as 'she will catch a cold' (not what I'm thinking, which is something like 'what will the neighbours/her mother and any paedophiles in the area think' ) and she claims that its ok because "mummy lets me wear them". I doubt it. Actually... I don't.

By 1300hrs the pair have left and normality is resumed. The rest of the day is made up of 'feeding time' Son: "mummy biscuit", me "no biscuits, I've made you a banana sandwich", son "biscuit biscuit BISCUITTTTTTT". me "mmm lovely sandwich" son: "AAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHH", as I shove a biscuit in his mouth to prevent the neighbours from calling social services.
Nappy changes: son "no mummy", me "its ok, just want to give you a change", son "no mummy", rolling away into half removed nappy across the carpet and then running out of the room leaving a trail of.. erm.. crumbs behind him.
And Playing with the garden hose, for which my son currently has an obsession akin to me and the snoring. Ive given up on that one and find that letting him soak himself and everything in sight until his lips start to go blue gives me time for cup of tea.

Tea time it is... 1700hrs is my favourite time of the day. My son starts to get tired and suddenly wants to kiss and cuddle me rather than throw balls in my face of wipe his hands on my jeans, we spend an hour with cbeebies (although I wanted to watch peppa pig) and then he has his bath, which he loves. By 1815 he is laying on my lap and he is my baby again, he smells of baby bath and he drinks from a bottle of milk while drifting off to sleep. I place him down in his cot and then RUN FOR THE HILLS as he struggles to get up before I have left the room and mutters "down", indicating that he wants to go downstairs. On this occasion I win the race and get out of the room before he is on his feet. A few mins later I put my head round the door and he is asleep. For a moment I miss him and am tempted to wake him up but instead I wander downstairs to the kitchen, passing the hallway mirror and make a mental note to wear make-up tomorrow or at least to dress better.
Other half texts to say that he wont be home until at least midnight and while I will miss him and all that I breath a sigh of relief that this evening I may sleep through the heard of Wilder beast and go into Friday feeling refreshed. Who am I kidding.