Why we have wine

Yesterday was a bit of a bastard.

The girl had her first school trip, and so the usual morning madness was a little bit more mad than usual.

I had cake to make. I like making cake, but the boy is being a bit of a terror at the minute, so anything that takes me away from giving him full, undivided attention is not going to end well.

So yesterday went something like this:

Get up, rush around trying to get everyone and everything ready. Be ready to tear my hair out by about 8.30am.
School run.
Home, put telly on for the boy and rush off to ice cakes for the school fete, and to make cake for the yard (I had promised)
Try to clear icing sugar off every single surface and kitchen appliance, while keeping the boy's grubby little fingers off the cakes.
Give in and let him have a cake.
Play pretend food with the boy (this mostly involved tipping dry pasta onto the floor and cajoling/threatening/pleading with him to at least help me pick it up again (this didn't happen just the once)
Have lunch.
Argue with the boy over anything and everything.
Hope the boy may nap (we need a break from each other)
He doesn't.
We do the horses together.
He then trashes my car.
I no longer care.
The girl is back from her trip early due to bad weather, so rushing back to get her and drop cakes off for the fete.
The kids are happy and having a nice game (involving the dried pasta) so I decide to have a bath. I have been feeling a bit crappy, hope a nice hot bath will help.
Nearly get brained by a Gup-A (toy submarine, for those of you not familiar with the Octonauts) as the boy has come to help.
Get out of bath, take kids to pool where the girl has a swimming lesson. Boy behaves (mostly)
Go to Hell on Earth, also known as school fete. But at least they had a hog roast and a fire engine.
Get the kids home around 7pm, wonderful husband puts them to bed while I escape to the yard to finish the horses and ride.
9pm wine.