Hi, how are you? The kids are having a 'picnic supper' in front of the telly, for the second night running. Does this make me the laziest mum in NATO? Probably. Do I feel guilty? Not really. I did, however cook myself a Linda McCartney recipe, which was basically lentils and rice and some tins of tomatoes - but I think the kids are happier with salami, tomatoes and chocolate biscuits in front of Tracy Beaker.
Last night Twin 1 leapt into my bed at silly o'clock with an unspecified nightmare (unspecified because I lacked the capacity to ask her at that time in the morning). This is the third night running, and I can't cope with waking up from a mosh pit of limbs again tomorrow, so tonight she is sharing a bed with her sister (there's no school tomorrow because they have an INSET day - referred to by the Twins as an 'insect day', they're a bit muddled because their science topic is mini beasts at the moment, so I think they're under the impression that all the teachers are going to go to school dressed as ladybirds or something tomorrow).
I'm going to try to pull a late one tonight and get through a bit of the scary essay. I keep procrastinating. Suddenly looking at summer dresses or funny videos of talking dogs online seems way more important than writing two thousand words on realism in the novel. I realised today, in class, that the other students are equally rabbit-in-the-headlights about this essay, which was a relief, so I asked our tutor for some clarification. In a Yoda-ish way, he looked mysterious and said something along the lines of "Refer to the set novels, you must." Which seemed helpful at the time, but now, back in front of the laptop with a mere eighteen hundred words still to write, seems less helpful.
I should go and do housework-y stuff now. If I write more later, it's because I'm still avoiding the scary essay.
Ta ra x
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