Sometimes I literally can’t.

Except that I can.

So I do.

Right well enough of the cryptic crap. How are we all?

I slammed the car door on my foot yesterday morning. That would be an automatic fail on your drivers license.

*Unable to get into car safely.*

It hurt a lot and there was nobody else around to extract sympathy from so I just drove quietly to work. And by quietly I mean quietly convinced that it was broken in several places and needed plaster.

I limped around for a bit and then my colleague suggested we put together a trike we had ordered for the Kinder kids… with the kids helping.

3 minutes of the kids “helping” us assemble a trike and my foot no longer hurt but I was quietly convinced that my brain was about to explode.

4 year olds (so many bloody 4 year olds) plus assembling things with instructions, tools and small parts is literally (not literally. It rarely ever is literally) a recipe for disaster.

(In a side note a recipe for literal disaster would probably involve an explosive or a high amount of laxatives or possibly both.)

After the trike was assembled I called a halt to the session and got all the kids to lie on the floor while we listened to classical music and practiced deep breathing.

My patience had expired with 4 hours of the session remaining and we hadn’t even started fighting over who would get a turn on the trike yet.

Monday was supposed to be the hardest day of the week. Tuesday not much better but Wednesday was going to be good.

Until it wasn’t.

The small things undo you when you don’t see them coming.

It’s the little things that make and break you.

I am a little bit tired of living in my head. I’m considering renting it out and living under a rock for while.

I literally can’t even.

Except that I can.

And so can you. xx

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