I'm turning into an old lady. It's this century's Snowball. I was rushing through Tesco today, buying chocolate for my godparents' lunch, I never bring them anything and they're so good to me. Just me and the kids, as usual. And a lady in a promo hat offered me some mint chocolate Baileys. Oh god, like a Mint Choc-ice smoothie with whisky! Damn! So what I needed, except I spilled it on my new skirt, then got the net hem caught in the little security wire on the basket. But made for 12 year old drinkers, and more power to them. I was in Superquinn on Thursday, and came across some new chocolatey Irish cream, mmmmmmmmm. Turned out I knew the girl promoting it, so after chatting to her, acknowledging I'd never actually buy a bottle at €25.99, I had another. And then I found they did have the right cute toy dogs on special that the lady had given me loads of free stamps for other day. And when I brought the husband's Storm watch to Dundrum to get it fixed finally (he kept grimply insisting I shouldn't because he had no money), the lady was going to charge me a fiver, but then because I had to put it on my creditcard, she did it for free. God bless people who do these little things.
But since then things haven't been going so well. I didn't get paid this week, I don't know why. It keeps happening, and it's not like I haven't spent it already. Stress. Stress. My husband's been in his new job 2 weeks, but they haven't got it together to pay them yet either. Fucking employers.
Apparently I didn't put away the Lindt chocolate bunny (€5.99) I bought for my daughter as I found gold foil and a bell on a collar in the dog bed... I seem to have come home from Avoca the other day without the little baby food bowl (€4.35) I bought. I hate when I start throwing money away. And today my husband was too exhausted to come to Easter lunch with my godparents. As always. Though he managed his gig last night. And tonight.
I'm going to do something I don't usually do. I'm not going to go to his mother's for dinner tomorrow. I'm going to sit home in my pyjamas and be too tired. And be ungracious about it. And let the kids and his mother be disappointed and let him explain. I don't want to, it's not a good thing to do. But I am sick to the back teeth of every thing that's important to me being rudely shoved to one side while I look after the kids, all the time, and the only place we ever go is his mother's house, so I can make conversation with her while he goes and has a smoke or falls asleep on the sofa.
I suppose I either just live like a single mother and stop expecting to have any significant family time, or start living like he does.