I’ve been working on resurrecting my blog and I found this post in drafts! I remember this day but didn’t remember I had written a confessional.  

I’ve been left to parent alone this week, as my husband is off on business in Amsterdam.  It’s fine these days, as at 9 and 7, the girls are pretty easy going and do lots for themselves.  We’re used to it in the mornings, as in order to miss the worst of the traffic, Damian leaves before the rest of us are awake.  But we miss him in the evenings.  His early starts mean he’s generally back by 5.30 and is there for dinner and bedtime every night (even though he often works once the kids are in bed).

Anyway, like any hotblooded forty-something, peri-menopausal woman worth her salt, I have been thoroughly taking advantage of his absence to do all the things I miss when I have to be respectable.

So last night, I went to bed when the girls did, ate a supper of cheese, crackers and lidl pickle closer to midnight than dinner-time; flew through a whole bunch of levels on Candy Crush, and watched Dr Pimple popper videos until 1am.  Oh. My. God.

I feel shit today.  I’m school running both ends (its 11 miles, with four kids- I’m not being a wimp). And I didn’t get the washing done. I cannot be trusted ever to live alone.