WHAT was I thinking?

When I was toying with the idea of starting a blog I wondered whether I would have enough to write about. I need not have worried. These days I dream of a week passing without anything worthy of writing about popping up. By worthy I don't mean significant in a life changing way; I mean worthy of writing because if I didn't channel my subsequent frustration into words I would need intensive and expensive counselling which I can't afford. So, for now, my dear therapists, you hear my trials.

I would forgive you for wondering whether I occasionally resort to using a little creative license to colour my blog. I don't. Not because I'm above it but because I don't need to. Without trying it seems my life bulges with bloggable events. Last week I regaled you with the events of just one, admittedly long, Friday afternoon. Despite that post comprising more than a thousand words I missed out a couple of highlights. Using 'highlights' to mean additional logistical hurdles which in hindsight were quite entertaining but were hellish to encounter. 

You might remember that it was 6pm before I could finally leave Westfield, on that fateful afternoon, having stumbled over every obstacle imaginable in my simple quest to fill a photo frame. Imagine how relieved I was hen we finally approached the car? Now imagine seeing Miss I clutch on to her dress in a way that meant only one thing. Bathroom. Now!! I swooped her under my arm, ran back up three travelators as we couldn't risk the lift not coming immediately, pushing the stroller with one hand, while mentally willing Miss I to hold on and myself to hold it together. Fortunately we both did.  

Anyway before I had time to wake up and enjoy more than a few hours of civility I was smack bang in the middle of another disastrous day with the soundtrack from the previous afternoon blaring in my head on repeat. "WHAT was I thinking???" 

Again, I want to go into detail. Not because I desperately want you to know my every movement but it is the details which properly convey the depth of my despair. Using 'despair' to mean my life. And as this is my therapy I can't not tell the whole story. So here I go again. 

It was Mr G's birthday on the weekend in question. A few months earlier Mr G was notified that he would be completing a compulsory training course over the weekend of his birthday. The course was being held on Friday, Saturday and Sunday, starting at 7.30am each morning and finishing around 6pm with a dinner on the Friday night. The timing was not negotiable so we decided we'd postpone a proper celebration until later in the month. Initially I assumed it was just your garden variety training course. The "Go-Along-Listen-To-Lectures-Eat-Morning-Tea-Mingle-Make-Awkward-Small-Talk-With-Other-Attendees variety of course. It wasn't. It was a variety I did not previously know existed.  Allow me to enlighten you.

Aside from giving up a whole weekend and a day of annual leave to sit in a stuffy room, they make you study in the lead up because you sit exams whilst you're there and then require a mark of 80 per cent or higher just to pass. And the kicker? They charge you more money than you can possibly imagine for the privilege. What a hoot! Would you believe there is even a waiting list for such torture?? 

Anyway. The Tuesday evening before the course Mr G mentioned that he would finish after lunch on Sunday. In a moment of incredible clarity insanity I decided that organising a small surprise picnic for his birthday in that window of spare time would be a good idea. And it was. Except for the bit where I had to organise a small surprise picnic. Because even small surprise picnics requires a good deal of organisation. There are emails and phone calls to invite friends; outdoor tables to borrow; napkins, candles and balloons to buy, alcohol to be arranged, eskys set up, food to be made. The list goes on. 

I figured an online grocery order being delivered on Saturday lunchtime would cut out the hassle of shopping with the girls and would arrive in time for me to prepare food for Sunday. Which would have been great except that I pressed 'Sunday' for the delivery so the food didn't arrive until half an hour before the picnic commenced. This meant on Saturday afternoon, barely twelve hours from my hellish time at Westfield, after realising my error, I had to take both the girls to Coles to do a mad shop. WHAT WAS I THINKING??? No really WHAT???

Because the picnic was a surprise and because Mr G was having a pretty intense old time at his course I couldn't exactly not prepare something a little bit special for dinner on his actual birthday. Before I could stop myself on Friday I even asked what he'd like for dinner and dessert. This meant that between 4 o'clock on Saturday afternoon and 3 o'clock on Sunday afternoon I cooked: a marinated lamb shoulder, beetroot, sweet potato and dukkah salad, a peach crumble, roast chicken and walnut sandwiches, blondies with white chocolate and cranberries and a lime and coconut birthday cake. All from scratch. All whilst wrangling, feeding, bathing, bedding and playing with both girls on my own. I did not do all of this because I was trying to set some kind of record for stupidity or martyrdom. I did it because I didn't think properly. Actually that's a lie. I didn't think at all. 

The funny bit is that when Mr G walked in the door on Saturday evening the house looked gorgeous, the table was set, presents were wrapped, both girls were asleep, dinner was ready to go and I burst into tears and confessed that my mental heath was severely compromised due to one of his presents and a surprise party I was organising. I'm not sure that's the ideal outcome; blurting the secret to the guest of honour - in tears - but sometimes life isn't ideal. At least not all the time. Fortunately though the Sunday afternoon picnic was.   
 As my therapists feel free to pass on constructive life advice you think might help me. Or, even better, because we're not constrained by protocol, feel free to share any of your own daily disasters in the comments. It will make me feel better. Make them up if you have to.