Today has been a long day. My normal plan for a Sunday is a couple of drinks with my parents over lunch followed by a bottle of wine or two with my husband over the course of the afternoon and evening. It is 5.55pm and I am nil-alcohol by mouth. BORRRRRRRRRING. I've had two and a half weeks of lazing around in bed until past 9 every day and now the school holidays have come abruptly to an end. I'm even working on a Monday tomorrow (ugh - and will do every Monday from June!) so I thought it would be good to give myself a fighting chance of sleeping tonight and getting up tomorrow morning by staying sober today! On the same track, I thought when I woke at 8.15 this morning, I'd better not roll over and have another hour but instead I hauled myself out of bed and went for a run! On a Sunday! Just in case any of you ever feel like trying the same, I will tell you now, don't bother - it is seriously not worth it. By the time I'd got to the end of the road I'd realised that yesterday evening's diet of pizza and champagne had not supplied me with the fuel I needed to successfully exercise.
I was cross-examined by both my father and my husband over my weird decision of a lime cordial with lunch. To add, insult to injury, I then spent over two hours at a children's party this afternoon; totally sober. I don't really do kids' parties. I find other small children, as a rule, generally quite annoying. Luckily with Zak I have never had to accompany him. I did the accepted run of parties with him while he was in Reception and the minute he hit Year 1, I dumped and ran. With his blessing, I hasten to add; he had no desire to have his bossy-teacher-mum embarrassing him any longer in front of his friends.
No such luck with Sebi. I had been gently suggesting for the past 24 hours that he might be absolutely fine to be left on this own at this particular party. He said that he was sure that he would but he would have more fun with me there too. I very much doubt it Sebi darling. I upped my game a little in the car on the way to the party and said quite firmly that I would stay for five minutes and then he would be fine. This backfired spectacularly as he then became hysterical as we rang on the doorbell that I was going to abandon him. Cue the parents of the birthday boy opening the door as I tried to throw Sebi through, whilst he yelled: 'I DON'T WANT TO GO TO THE STUPID PARTY ANYWAY.' Excellent. Hi, my name is Nikki. Nice to meet you.
I eventually got him into the party and we sat in the corner for the first half an hour with his face buried in my neck and me watching some bloke in a lab coat not managing to get a balloon through the neck of a jar. Oh, and did I mention, I was sober?
Sebi eventually warmed up but by this time it was not worth me vanishing so I stayed and contented myself with bollocking the naughty children. Never invite a teacher to your party. Particularly a hungover teacher, on the waggon, on the last day of the school holidays. I was a right fun spoiler.
One nice lady sat down to have a chat with me. Pretty big of her I reckon considering what a miserable, unfriendly cow I am in the playground. She told me that she was happy that there was a good balance between working mums and non-working mums and that it wasn't heavily weighted in one way or the other. I told her that the easiest thing to do was not to give a shit about what anyone else thinks. Cue tumbleweed.
It was a good way for me to edit Sebi's birthday party list by watching the boys in action. One particular to-remain-nameless child will most definitely never darken my door or be added to any birthday list as long as there is breath in my body. I had a stand-off with another child as he held out his cup to me and demanded 'JUICE'. 'Juice what?' I countered approximately five times before I realised I was getting nowhere at all and therefore left it to a more tolerant parent to meet his demands instead!
I reckon I should be able to go to bed fairly soon and then Super-Sober Sunday can be replaced by No-Alcohol Monday. At least I am used to that one. I'm comforting myself with the thought of how pleasantly shitfaced I will be by this time next week at my parents' Ruby Wedding party. Stu is in charge of the bar, the boys are in charge of crisps and I'm in charge of socialising. If there was ever a recipe for a successful social event then surely that has to be it!
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