An undomestic goddess

OK, so it's Sunday night, we're both shattered after a weekend of running around after two kids, sleepless nights, very early mornings (5.30am both days) and a number of tantrums... and I just asked Hugo whether he thought he'd like spaghetti with turkey for supper.

"Sounds appetising... How about chicken with bacon in a pesto sauce, with spaghetti", he replied.

"Well, we're sort of out of chicken, bacon and pesto, so it's spaghetti with turkey and maionnaise, or toast with, er, marmalade."

I did a MASSIVE shop only a week ago so I've no idea why we've run out of absolutely everything, especially when it took about a million shopping bags (hessian environmental ones of course) to fill the car boot. It's not as if James eats much - he's gone completely anorexic at the moment, as is a toddler's want, and today has eaten:
-Half a bagel with chocolate spread
-Half a cup cake
- Half a banana
- A cup of fresh orange juice
- 3 bread sticks
- a pack of mini gingerbread men.

They say that what they eat in a meal, or even a day doesn't matter, it's the sum total of a week's diet that is important. Well, at this rate James will have no teeth by the time he's 10 and will weigh 20 stone. The problem is he's teething so refuses to eat absolutely everything, unless his sweet tooth is pleased. He even refused his staple guaranteed beef casserole which is a first.

On top of the 'how to feed my family' dilemma, I've got a toddler running about naked from the waist down, as we try to air a rather worrying looking nappy rash. So far only one pee on the ground so far, and I wonder whether this could be the prelude to potty training. As he peed (about 4 seconds ago), Hugo rushed over going 'uh oh', which I think could lead to anxieties about peeing, which we don't want, so I double tracked with a 'hey! pee pee!" as if it was the most intelligent thing he could be doing right now. And I patted his leg. Not sure if that's goings trato help, but god knows what we're doing half the time, and we're both so sleep deprived with a 6 week old baby in the house that frankly getting to 7pm and remaining alive / happy / sane, is the only thing we're hanging on to.

And now, from the kitchen where Patrick is perched on his vibrating bouncer chair sitting on top of the vibrating tumble dryer, I hear squeals of distress. The mass vibration clearly not working, time to wearily pull aside my sweater and put nuzzling babe to sore boobs once again. And swat James's hand from this laptop where he's trying to hit the keys, so I can finish this post. And then cook James some supper which he'll refuse, cry about and throw on the floor to feed hinba, and then bathe both kids, put them to bed, and then set about supper for Hugo and me. Those who worry about a 12 hour working day (and who get PAID!) should spare a thought for those of us who have kids.Ug ug ug. So, I may be a godess (cue: ROAR with laughter) but I'm certainly not very domestic. Or, maybe I'm domestic, but not a goddess..argh who knows. I'm too tired to figure this one out.