falling asleep mid sentence

In between the lovely baby gazing and cooing and the hours spent breastfeeding and changing nappies and rocking and shusshing a writhering red faced baby I am faced with the rest of my children. I am surprised they even get a look in given the above. Housekeeping, cooking, cleaning, nappy washing, general laundry and skivvying - normally my forte, have fallen upon The Man. Who is out of the house 10-12 hours each day. I am not sure when we last had a conversation. Or even brief chat. I think it may have been the other night when I fell asleep as he was talking to me. Well I was in bed. I can't be certain what the subject was, but I remember it being vaguely important. Which means it was either to do with a) money or b) one of the four offspring. Our talking seems to bounce of each other in questions neither of us know the answers too: Why does Iona have green poo today? Why does Felix still not know where the spoons are kept? Why has Isaac left his homework until 9pm on Sunday night? Is it our failing not to nag him? Or his shoddy organisation? Why oh why do sodding schools torture us with homework? Why is Esmé screaming again? What happened to her Barbie she left in the stream? Who's turn is it to wipe her butt? Who's turn is it to walk the dog? What's for dinner? Everyone is always asking everyone else that last one. No one ever seems to know. I am always shocked that it's 5pm. Again. Again! I am having this Groundhog Day feeling way to often. Like in the beginning of the film when he is all mad and trying to kill himself, not at the end when he is at peace with living the same day over and over.

I am not getting much done. In truth it's never the aim of the day to get stuff done. But I found myself up in the middle of the night, ghostly nightlight glow on baby's suckling face as I panic'd all guilt ridden and inadequate over what 'home educating' we have done since The Birth. None. Really. I forced everyone to make 'art folders' and I ordered a massive pack of A4 size excercise books for 'projects'. Projects number zero thus far. I made a big list for each child and things they wanted to do this Autumn in big thick magic markers and stuck it importantly on the fridge where it falls off every time I open the door and makes me feel more inadequate than ever. I yell quite a lot. And get irritated. And just want to flop on the sofa watching The Great British Bake Off with nursling baby and cup of hot tea. Oh why oh why is it over? I did not discover that it existed until episode eight. I watched all in a jagged row and then bit my nails and bounced in sleep deprived excitement over the final rounds of baking. The Man wondered what did I get out of it being gluten free and all? The human failings and weaknessness! Don't you see? I quivered. The fragile nature of success and tormenting failure all pared back in the makings of the perfect Fondant Fancy. Riveting stuff. And a distraction from home education (dog walking, sweeping up dog hair, emptying the bin.....). Although the offspring have been very excited to bake. Isaac is keen to star in series 15 or what ever it may be up to when he is adult enough to compete. Yesterday Felix made an Italian potato flour cake and Esmé made Mary Berry's basic sponge which she jazzed up with blueberry jam.

And so this is our education. That and xbox'ing Lego games, playing Rome Total War on the computer and learning that babies take up a lot of adult time and energy. Isaac is very good and bouncing on the excercise ball and lulling Iona off to sleep, Esmé can sing for how ever long she is asked (not long, if you were wondering). I would quite like to cry and ring up another adult some days tell them I am lonely and say come over please. But I find (and this is the depressing bit) that the only adults who could do that already have commitments and responsibilities and are either miles away or it would be an imposition of me to ask. Double depression. Really.

My mind is scrambled. I forget my point. I don't think there is one. Which feels like the subject matter of my days too. I have to remind myself that of course it's not really like that. But usually I am too tired for the pep talk.

Highlights and gratefulness of last week (just before I go and round up the troops for something 'educational'... does watching Toy Story 3 count? Or walking the dog?): ~Smiling baby, odd little chuckles ~Beautiful sunny autumnal walks ~Local honey, I am addicted to it in my chamomile tea ~Finding I can now add chopping up someone else's food one handed to my CV should I ever need too (one word: scissors) ~watching a whole episode of Downton Abby with only a few iplayer pauses whilst I policed arguments ~finding I am now strong enough to both drive and hoover (sort of backhanded highs of the week since they mean I have more to do) ~kind husband who brings me hot water bottles, hot tea, glasses of water and dry breast-pads every single night while I feed guzzle monster baby. Then he goes and reads to the other three. Then he goes downstairs to his laptop where he works to fit in stuff he couldn't do because he had to dash home. Yep. Pretty grateful for him. Especially when he squeezes in washing up duty and dog walking too. Then I thank him to the moon, or would if I saw him enough to say so. Or didn't fall asleep mid sentence. Photos that make it look like my week was brimful of beauty. It had its' moments and all but y'know, it all had a coating of dog hair and baby sick too. No one with babies need wonder why I have ceased posting much. The occurrence of time free, hands free, a laptop with cable plugged in or battery charged, phone and or camera handy all at the same time, have equalled zero times until now (but wait I have sleeping baby in arms and cannot see camera). Who knows when I will have such a time as this again. I have become lurker and forgetter. And forgiver too, for I am deep in the knowledge of early baby days again, which I had truly forgotten. A million congrats where I have misplaced them, and thank you's too and hellos and heads up. It's not on purpose. Honestly. It's just for now (my new mantra, on repeat).

...and she said 'I love screwing things up!'