A woman on the edge

"I just saw one of your mates in Waitrose, she asked how you were," said Eddie breezily as he came in with the shopping on Saturday morning. "I told her you were a woman on the edge."

It was a fair summary, but in my defence, trying to organise a dinner party in a building site is less than ideal. Add in a puppy and two not-very-small-constantly-fighting-boys and it's a recipe for the total shredding of nerves.

Onwards to dinner planning. I made it to the bath and surrounded myself with as many face and hair masks, exfoliators and bath salts as I could. I opened my book (Circe, by Madeline Miller) and prepared to spend half an hour in peace and tranquillity.

"Mummy! William won't let me watch Maze Runner." It's James - outraged.
"Tell him I said you can watch it and he has to turn over." That should do it, I thought (wrongly as it turned out) and go back to Circe, who's about to meet Odysseus for the first time.
"Mummy! William won't change channels." James was back.
"Well tell him he has to." I'd just put the hair mask on.
"Mummy! He still refuses and he's watching rubbish." Seriously? Seriously! SERIOUSLY?!
I heaved (hove?) myself out of the bath, and stomped damply into the sitting room.
"What part of 'James can watch Maze Runner' didn't you understand? Now turn over and let him watch."
I stomped back upstairs.

So, onto hair, make up and outfit. I'd bought a beautiful new tea dress which I had planned to christen and with minutes to spare I floated downstairs ready for a glass of Prosecco. As I walked into the kitchen William came charging in from the garden, bringing with him an absolutely foul stench. He had trodden in dog poo - and run it across most of the downstairs floors.

I howled. And reached for the kitchen roll.

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