15th May 2020
Since my last diary entry, I feel like I’ve been enslaved to garden chores. Not through being housebound by Covid-19 but due to the beautiful insta-perfect images of stunning gardens with picturesque flowers and topiary, making me feel pretty shit about my own garden. And with my own garden looking a bit neglected, I came over all Alan fecking Titchmarsh.
I’ll be honest, I’m by no means the domestic housewife who loves to hoover and scrub every day (I’m sure I’ve said this before), nor am I green-fingered. However, the huge cherry blossom tree I raved about on Instagram, with the beautiful colours and gentle hum of bee’s, the one just outside our boundary fence. Well, the bugger is dropping its load (for want of a better word) all over the garden. Considering how nice the weather has been, with the exception of a few days, we’ve spent a lot of time outside. The kids have been in and out, dragging with them on their shoes or bare feet, fallen dead blossom. It’s driving me insane.
We also have artificial grass in the back garden which gets covered with said blossom and requires brushing or hoovering regularly. Thankfully we have a leaf blower/sucker upper for the garden (you know what I mean?). Still, it’s just more space to hoover.
Moving on from the Blossom fiasco, I mowed the front garden for the first time ever. Don’t worry, the front garden is actual real grass – I’m not that bad! Usually, it’s a job for hubby but I felt slightly guilty with him working all week and doing ‘his’ jobs over the weekend when he could be spending that time with the kids. Anyway, I’m not doing it again! First of all, I had to dig the lawnmower out of the shed which, by the way, is home to some of the biggest spiders you’ve ever seen. When I finally got the thing out of the shed, heart thumping at the thought of a killer spider jumping out at me, I couldn’t get the bloody thing going.
There I was in the front garden, which is very visible to anyone driving or walking by, looking like a right loon, effing and jeffing like a drunken sailor and kicking at this big orange lump of metal because the bloody thing wouldn’t start. I’d tried calling hubby a few times to make sure there wasn’t something I was missing or not doing, but no answer from him. Even one of my neighbours felt sorry for the nutcase flapping about in the front garden and tried to help while maintaining a safe distance – I’m sure this was because of the whole social distancing thing and not because he thought I was mental! Bless him, he asked if I’d tried ‘this’ and ‘that’ and must have thought I was a right idiot. Eventually, he offered to lend me his own mower, which I gladly accepted.
Just as I got going with his mower, hubby decided to return my earlier call and laughed, hard, at my mowing misfortunes. If his laughing didn’t piss me off, his comment “you must not be doing it right” hit the spot and had my blood bubbling in my veins. Telling him, a number of times that I had, in fact, pressed the middle button before pulling the stupid plastic leaver because Jim over the road had already said that and look I will do it again so you can see (all on a Whatsapp video call) to find that the F*@KING stupid lawnmower started first time! Typical.
Oh, and I gained two bloody blisters for it too, one for each hand. And of course Hubby found the whole thing hilarious.
“No poo-poo on potty!”
In other news, my toddler still refuses to poo on the potty. Wees are fine, but poos are a no go. I’m not really sure how to get around this, to be honest. I’ve tried all the varieties of bribery I can think of. I’ve also tried lying and saying there are no more nappies and encouraging with “you’re a big girl, big girls poo-poo on the potty”. My patience is wearing at the moment. I’m really trying to follow the advice of google and be very calm and patient but when your brain conjures images of a 16-year-old child still asking for a nappy to go and poo in her bedroom, you start to bloody panic. Can you imagine changing the nappy of a 16-year-old?!
She also thinks it’s hilarious to tell me she needs a wee on the potty, which obviously I’m needed for, and then laughs in my face as she says “no, not yet mummy” and off she goes.
End of the week treat
So after a hectic week of chores, blisters and poo-poo hassles, we are now at the weekend of another few weeks of lock-down. To be honest, at the end of each week I just can’t wait to settle down with a nice bottle of beer and my favourite little treat – chocolate digestive biscuits. For anyone who knows me, knows I love a chocolate digestive. When I’ve had a busy or stressful day, chocolate digestives make everything just a little better. Even more so when dipped in a hot cup of coffee! If you haven’t tried it, you’re missing out.
Until next time…