You know you're in for a bad day when it starts with The Toddler attempting to kick the shit out of Thing One, again and then decides to practice pole dancing up a siblings leg.

I'm doing a mighty fine impression of Rudolph with my nose oh so red.  I'm temporarily dying from illness.  I want to pummel myself into unconsciousness just to have a break from sneezing.  If my nose doesn't quit running I'll be tempted to punch it off my face.  My head feels light and spinny whilst my limbs feel laden.  Everything feels slurred.

At least I have new socks though.  Christmas socks even.  Ha! Take that oh Bah Humbug Husband o'mine.

Christmas shopping phase two has been completed, granted mainly online.  Only two more phases to go, neither of which can start until next month.

The Toddler appears to have graduated from watching himself poo whilst on the loo, gazing between his legs to a rather obscure position of leaning over so far that his head nearly touches his feet, yet still not actually falling off the precarious perch his little cheeks have on his seat.

The was a catastrophic disaster.  The Husband decided to use The Witching Hour (the time after tea yet before bath) to run an errand.  Upon asking Things One and Two to tidy the front room, The Toddler decided to fix an unbroken window with a toy hammer which in itself was fine, pick your battles and all that jazz however I had to act when he decided to trash the room, whilst his siblings attempted to tidy it.

Having carted him upstairs to run the bath, he commenced operation screamathon which consisted of me sat by the bedroom gate whilst he attempted to destroy it, first with his body, then his mind and finally with his volume levels.  Seeing as the gate refused to submit he then decided to destroy me, or my hearing at the very least as he screamed directly into my left ear.  It's still hurting several hours later.  I remained sat on the floor, calmly reiterating exactly why he wasn't going downstairs whilst he continued to shout...and scream.  A lot.  Obviously this was the perfect time for Things One and Two to fall out rather tremendously.  Give me strength Gin.

We're the conker-ers

The Kitten evidently hates me.  Seemingly terrifically displeased that I remove her shit from the litter tray she has decided TWICE today to substitute logs for pebbles and to bury them all amongst the litter, separately. Buggersticks.

Thing Two started the day in a tremendously bad mood as I had the audacity to ask her to pick up all the pieces of paper of hers, little ripped pieces, that were on the floor.  Obviously I'm an incredibly awful mother.  Thing One and The Husband started the day, as usual, with tantrums.  Am never quite sure who tantrums most, Thing One, The Toddler or The Husband.  Thing One's object de tantrum this morning? We dared to insist he wore his school sweater.

It's only October, early October at that and yet already the shops are brimming with Christmas paraphernalia an absurdity that is not lost on Thing Two who seemed terribly flummoxed as to why they'd possibly have Christmas stuff when we haven't even had Halloween or Bonfire night yet, yes wisdom of a seven year old speaks volumes.

Yet once alone, I'll admit to silently procrastinating as to how to best strategically organise the Christmas shopping on a budget that's tighter than a nuns arse, involving shopping in monthly segments to ensure it's all done in time, starting this month. Shitzles.

We've been on the mandatory conker hunt, the first being somewhat of a huge failure resulting in a divaesque strop from Thing One yet the second indeed proved plentiful.  The assault of heavy rain and heavy winds tore the conkers from the trees.  People emerged with bags like greedy children in a sweetshop cooping up their obvious bounty yet having no nerve nor appetite for the the fun that is the searching so The Party of Five went foraging through the dancing long grass expertly dodging the rubbish and dog shit, unearthing those that others had forgotten with wind slapped cheeks and dimpled smiles, hands, pockets and bags ripe and over flowing with our treasure.

It always annoys and saddens me to see children raping nature in such a brutal way as oft is the case round here, hoards of the little and not so little sods ripping branches and boughs from the trees only to use them to beat the rest of the tree into relinquishing their bounty, no respect, no patience.  It certainly isn't the way we do it.

What do you do with your conkers?  We appear to stockpile ours like kleptomaniac squirrels with no real purpose and it seems so wasteful.

When I was young and in college I had five pet conkers that accompanied me to my lessons.  Upon their glossy brown I had tippexed their names Will - Iam - The- Conker - Er. True story

Alas it's ere approaching the school run, the time when The Toddler switches personality from an absolute delight to an absolute git as soon as Things One & Two step over the threshold & I don't even have any chocolate.  This may call for Nutella, with a spoon.