Boys and their toys.

As I type this, I am blissfully alone. It's wonderful. No baby, no BF, and Jeremy's popping round with his rather colourful friends at 9.25 (don't be all posh, you know who I'm talking about!)

Like any other mummy, I am enjoying a bit of "me" time, but I am enjoying it even more since I have been going solo with HRH for the last 2 days. When you're used to it, it's fine. I used to work part time (happy days) and Thursdays and Fridays were reserved for HRH and Scummy Mummy to do lovely wonderful things like playgroup and painting and I loved it. However, since I started back full time (fool) the residual tiredness from the working week meant that I felt like I really struggled. It doesn't help that she threw 3 massive screaming fits for various reasons; a sign of the well documented terrible twos methinks.

Anyway- the title. The reason I am flying solo is because a certain person decided to book their Module one bike training (2 1/2 days) for Sunday, Monday and most of today. He didn't even tell me before he booked it, and as usual all childcare arrangements were left up to me. I had to get a taxi to Nursery with HRH this morning! What?

Sometimes I am just so bloody frustrated with that man's lack of communication, it's unreal. He doesn't need my permission, just knowing what's meant to be going on so I (yes, me again) could get organised. We'd booked the week off for God's sake to spend some time together. We've been nowhere as a family over the weekend, and this week is just going to disappear in a haze of taking the Love Bus to the garage (the rear shocker's gone) and various other rubbish jobs. I am not a happy chappy, and meanwhile BF is flying around on a bike having a gay old time.

Well, I'm sorry, but the Glee soundtracks on CD aren't going to buy you out if this one, baby.