I’m treading a fine line now between boredom and insanity

IF you’re one of those people who have baked banana bread and posted pics on social media in recent weeks or taken up PE with Joe Wicks or said publicly how wonderful it is to spend quality time with your offspring, we can never be friends.

Because to be honest with you I’m barely hanging in here. I’m treading a fine line between boredom and insanity. I spent an hour during the week deciding what I would wear to go to the supermarket. An hour! I don’t put that much thought into an outfit when I’m going out on a Saturday night.

I pondered this dilemma for 60 minutes because, you know, I didn’t want to look over-dressed, to ‘try hard’ but at the same time I didn’t want to look like I’d let myself go – had abandoned all sense of self respect and decorum, which is probably closer to the truth.

And after all that, when I actually got to the supermarket, with hair done and a full face of makeup on – the queue was so long I just turned around and came back home again. See what I mean about insanity? I am losing the plot.

The other thing is, I’m finding it quite unsettling having another adult at home all the time, if you get my drift. Himself has set up office slap bang in the middle of the kitchen and conducts all his meetings and calls from there from 9 am to 6 pm. The other day he had to move a heap of ironing from behind him before he did a Skype call with a client!

This is playing havoc with my routine. If you’re a stay at home parent you’ll understand. I’m used to several tea breaks a day, times when I just plonk my arse down in front of the telly for half an hour and just chill. But with another adult around to observe my productivity – namely Himself – feel like I should at least look like I’m doing something constantly.

Therefore impromptu solo tea and coffee breaks are sadly a thing of the past. He seems to have a sixth sense for me taking my foot off the pedal. As soon as my backside hits that couch and gets comfy, he comes looking for me and I jump up pretending to dust skirtings or some other tedious task that I actually never do in real life. This is making me ratty.

But we shall soldier on – what other choice do we have? I’ll put up with him, he’ll put up with me. We’ll both put up with two angsty teenagers and we’ll flatten that goddamn curve.

As long as he doesn’t start making banana bread…

I’M USED TO SEVERAL TEA BREAKS A DAY, TIMES WHEN I JUST PLONK MY ARSE DOWN IN FRONT OF THE TELLY FOR HALF AN HOUR