Arrived at work at five past nine to find that Steve had rescheduled my appraisal for 9.30 today. What a knob. I had to spend ten minutes making coffee, obviously, which left me just enough time to gather up a massive stack of random paperwork to carry under my arm for effect.
Steve glanced at my papers in a slightly intimidated way as I sat down in his office – probably a good job he didn’t know that at least half of it was made up of blank paper I’d taken from the printer. At opportune moments throughout the meeting I licked my finger and looked over my imaginary glasses at him while I thumbed through my documents.
Most of the conversation reminded me of when Jess asks me some kind of nature question I don’t know the answer to.
Me: ‘So, Steve, are you happy with volunteer recruitment levels?’
Steve, in fake ‘interested boss’ voice: ‘Are you happy with volunteer recruitment levels?’
Me: ‘Were you pleased with the attendance at the January guest lecture and do you have any thoughts on future speakers?’
Steve: ‘I’m interested in what you think about that one, Frankie.’
The main takeaway from the meeting was that Steve doesn’t have a bloody clue what he’s doing, which made me feel a bit better about my life in general, but a bit shit about work.
Cecilia came in to help me send out the members’ magazines. Wooster, the cocker spaniel, wasn’t with her today as he is trying out some new medication for his bowel issues and Cecilia says it’s making him a little ‘unpredictable’. I feel for Wooster, I really do – no one wants the indignity of shitting themselves if they can help it – but also I really wish Cecilia would just not tell me, especially when I’m trying to enjoy a chocolate Hobnob.
Toddler gym with Sierra and Louise after lunch. Arthur and Edward refused to join the queue for the springboard and spent the whole time draped across Louise’s lap. She offered them carrot batons, apparently as an incentive, but to be honest they looked even less inclined after that. Caught them eyeing Jess’s chocolate fingers enviously.
Exhausting evening trying to get Jess to go to sleep. She finally went quiet at about 9.45. Went up to bed about twenty minutes later to find her asleep in a ball on the landing. Her hands were covered with red felt-tip pen. I almost didn’t want to move her, she looked so adorable, curled up like a little field mouse. I picked her up, carried her into her bedroom and tucked her into bed without her even stirring. Sat on the edge of the bed for a bit and watched her sleep.
Glasses of prosecco – 4. Cheese slices – 6. General feelings of inadequacy and frustration at life – multiple.
I was woken up at 7 a.m. by a knock on the door. Opened it to a man in shorts (shorts in February!) trying to deliver me a cat bed.
‘I haven’t ordered a cat bed,’ I told him.
‘Sign here, please,’ he said, thrusting his electronic pen at me.
‘I don’t have a cat,’ I explained.
‘Then why did you order a cat bed?’ he asked, looking confused.
Jess arrived on the scene and complicated matters further by inviting the delivery man to come in and look at her ponies. He declined. ‘I’ll just leave the cat bed here,’ he said, placing it on the doorstep and turning to leave.
‘I don’t want a bloody cat bed!’ I shouted.
‘Returns information is inside!’ he said and got in his van.
‘Are we getting a cat?’ asked Jess hopefully.
‘Definitely not,’ I said.
Flo came downstairs and looked at the parcel. ‘What’s that?’ she asked.
‘It’s a bed for our new cat!’ said Jess. ‘I’m going to keep it in my room!’
‘We’re getting a cat?’ asked Flo, looking even more confused than the delivery man.
‘No!’ I shouted again. ‘It’s just a cat bed!’
‘Why did you order a cat bed if we’re not getting a cat?’ asked Flo. ‘Was it meant to be a surprise?’
‘No! We’re not getting a cat. It’s not my cat bed. Will everyone please be quiet and get dressed?’
I spent ten minutes trying unsuccessfully to wash the red pen off Jess’s hands before nursery. I think it must have been Sharpie. Signed two letters presented to me by Flo without reading them. Sometimes I worry that she could take advantage of my slapdash approach to school correspondence – I could be agreeing to foreign exchange students or bank loans in my name or anything. (Not sure which would be worse – possibly the exchange students?)
Nightmare day at work. Angela revealed that she handed in her notice last week as she’s got a new job managing the social media for a fancy arts centre. Apparently, she gets to choose her own hours and spend her time drifting about taking pictures of installations and posting them on Facebook.
Steve took me into his office to discuss potential changes in my role in light of Angela’s departure. He thinks that given ever-increasing budget restrictions we should look at merging my role with the fundraising role – i.e., have me take on all of Angela’s work.
‘I don’t have the scope to take on any extra though, Steve,’ I said. ‘I have to be able to work around my children. I have a routine set up with their dad and fixed nursery hours.’
‘We wouldn’t be looking at extra hours,’ said Steve, trying to sound reassuring. ‘We’re thinking that with some streamlining of the roles that it’s something you could do within your existing hours.’
Angela worked three days a week, so I can’t help but feel like this isn’t going to be great for me. I asked Steve what would happen if I didn’t agree. He said that my contract includes a clause that allows the museum to make changes to my role when necessary, but that if I felt I didn’t want to remain in the role, then that was up to me.
I told him I needed time to think about it as I really don’t know what to do. I don’t want to take on a load of extra work, especially not fundraising as I have barely any experience in it, but also how likely am I to find another job that’s flexible enough to fit around the girls? As much as I complain about them, I do like having time with them during the week, especially as they’re at Ian’s every other weekend. Steve is a dick, sure, but the hours work for me, and they do say ‘better the dick you know’. Sort of. Do I want to switch to another job where things might turn out to be even worse?
The kids were at Ian’s so I stopped at Aldi on the way home and bought a packet of Edam slices and a £5.99 bottle of prosecco. Googled ‘Netflix films to watch when you’re sad’ but got distracted by the fact that Google tries to finish the search with ‘high’ instead of ‘sad’, so I looked at those lists instead.
‘It’s been a tough day,’ began one article, ‘so what are you going to do with your evening now the kids are in bed? Nothing is better than zoning out with a good movie after a long day spent at work or chasing around after the children. If you’re the type to get high to chill out at the end of the night, here are some great Netflix film choices to watch high.’
Seriously? Do parents do this?
‘God, such a long PTA meeting tonight, I think I’m just going to stick a film on and get high now the kids are in bed.’
I like a gin and tonic as much as the next person, but waiting until you’ve read bedtime stories to get high? Blimey. The list that followed included Finding Dory and David Attenborough’s Planet Earth, which wasn’t what I was expecting, but clearly that’s just because I’m out of touch with what other parents are doing with their evenings.
I decided to stick to my cheese and cheap prosecco, went back to the ‘films to watch when sad’ list and watched a 90s film about a lesbian cheerleader sent to straight camp. Went to bed with a new faith in the power of cheerleading to fight homophobia, intolerance etc.
Exciting revelations from new friends – 1, but massive, so probably counts as at least 3. Hangover Jaffa Cakes – 4.
Got up feeling a little fragile (maybe the cheese didn’t agree with me?) and went downstairs to make coffee. Tripped over the cat bed in the hallway. I checked my phone and found an email from Amazon. ‘Congratulations on your purchase,’ it said. I opened it and discovered that at 11.34 last night I’d drunk ordered a pair of purple foil cheerleading pom-poms.
Ian arrived with Jess just as I’d finished getting dressed. He looked at the cat bed box and smiled. ‘I hear you’re getting a cat,’ he said. I told him that we really weren’t and moved the cat bed to the garage when he’d left.
Very exciting bonding moment at Busy Beavers in the afternoon. Louise arrived wearing sunglasses and the same man’s hoodie that she came to gym class in on Tuesday. It looked like she might not have taken it off in between. She saw me and Sierra and came over.
‘Are you OK?’ I asked her.
‘Not really,’ she said, wiping her eyes behind the sunglasses with a crusty-looking sleeve. ‘David has moved in with Sandra.’
I had no idea who David or Sandra were, but it felt quite exciting. Obviously you don’t want your friends to be upset or anything, but still.
‘Who’s David?’ asked Sierra.
‘My husband,’ said Louise.
Blimey.
‘And who’s Sandra?’ I asked.
‘She works in the bakery near his office,’ said Louise.
‘Christ,’ said Sierra.
‘He says she lets him eat chips and have sex with the light on,’ added Louise in a small voice.
‘At the same time?’ asked Sierra.
I shot her a look. ‘I don’t think so,’ said Louise, looking as though she might now be considering it.
Apparently David moved out last October, after telling Louise he felt like he just couldn’t ‘be himself’ around her any more, and she’s been on her own with the twins ever since. Then yesterday, at Monkey Music class, one of mums told Louise that she’d seen David and Sandra in IKEA at the weekend measuring up a pair of Björksnäs bedside tables.
‘He wouldn’t even look at a paint swatch with me,’ sniffed Louise.
We all agreed that David is an utter bastard and that Sandra is welcome to him. I say ‘all’ – Louise didn’t look 100 per cent convinced. Sierra offered to start going into the bakery regularly to complain about the number of chocolate chips in the muffins or to plant pubic hairs in the sausage rolls.
8 a.m.: made Flo delicious packed lunch – cheese and cucumber sandwiches, yogurt, apple and crisps.
4 p.m.: threw away cheese and cucumber sandwiches and yogurt. Returned slightly bruised apple to the fruit bowl, best side up. Cleared up crumbs from the toast Flo made as soon as she got in from school. Why is it a surprise to her that she comes home hungry?
5.58 p.m.: poured glass of wine, ready for 6 p.m. (Because standards.)
What is my life?
Cleaned out my handbag. Found thirteen pens and an unidentified tooth. Cheerleader pom-poms arrived. Really couldn’t visualise myself in a cheerleading outfit, even if it did help to combat race hate, etc, so hid them under the bed as a birthday present for Jess.