I’ve just typed ‘angry music’ into YouTube and it spit out a playlist of Foo Fighters songs. Appropriate. I am not having a good day and I’m tired of pretending I have my shit together.

I do not.

Let me explain why. I woke up this morning realising that tomorrow was my early shift at work, which meant a 5am wakeup call. It’s a 7am start and I need to be out the house by 6.15am at a minimum. I don’t do mornings. Never have, never will. Hence, the 5am wakeup call. I’ll need to wake up, possibly have a shower, wash my face and brush my teeth. Eat breakfast. Take meds. Stretch. Listen to some positive music. Feed the cats. There’s a lot to do before I leave for work.

This job is temporary. I wish it ran longer than till the beginning of September, but hey ho. I’ll be back on the job search at the end of August, hoping to find something after this job ends. I start my Masters at the end of September, which gives me about three weeks to get myself organised to get back into education again. I’m excited to have something to do other than wiping snotty noses and sweeping crumbs off the floor. When I’m at work, I’m Nickie, the helpful friendly customer service assistant. I’ve got a smile on my face and and song in my heart, nothing is out of reach for the customers. Helping is what I was put on this planet to do. The second I come home from work, its like a crushing realisation of what my life actually is. There’s mess on the floor. The dishes need doing. One of the cats been sick on the floor. The kid is screaming because he wants a drink/a trip to the park/teddy/all of the above.

But sometimes the evenings aren’t like that. Sometimes, I get home and things are quiet, the house isn’t a tip and I can just sit down and watch a bit of tv with dinner before I head off to bed. Depends on the day.

It’s currently the Summer Holidays and we’re literally a week in. I’m ready to scream. I decided to take him to the shops today as we needed a bit of food, I had a bit of money and I decided to buy him a cheap Boots meal deal as lunch. I also needed face wash. I was taking forever to pick between Avene and Le Roche Posay and in retalliation, he kicks over a ton of stock on a bottom shelf. I get down to his level and get him to look me in the eyes. He can’t do it. I tell him I’m really angry he did that. Then he cries.

Great. I win shitty parent of the day.

I give up on the face wash. Maybe another day. I decide to placify him with some lunch. He picks out a tuna cucumber sandwich with a fruit pot. I chose a smoothie as he’d already had a smoothie earlier on in the day with a brief visit to Costa. Oh yeah, that.

Got to the counter at Costa, he picked out a smoothie and I had an offer on my phone for a free latte. I paid out 50p more for a medium and I let him pick out the table. I put my drink onto it. Unbeknownst to us, the kid had picked out the table that was a bit wobbly and he knocked it wrong…knocking my latte glass over and the coffee flowing over the table and onto the floor. It happened in slow motion, I swear. Since we were in public, I tried not to freak out about the waste of coffee and kindly asked the manager for a cloth. He then came over with a mop and a cloth, replacing my latte in the process due to the table being wobbly. I wasn’t expecting that. By this point, the kid had gulped down his smoothie, whilst I was staring at my latte wishing there was some form of alcohol in it. I knew that the day was just going to go to pot, I could feel it bubbling like that raging pink river in Ghostbusters II.

After he had eaten the sandwich at lunch, (which he did without much bother), he used the small black plastic fork that came with the fruit pot. He broke off the fork in his mouth, and thank goodness I was paying attention. Having to put my fingers in his mouth to fish the piece of plastic out was not exactly how I was planning on spending my day. More and more I longed for a glass of wine just to take the rage and frustration edge off the day.

“Mummy, I need a wee wee.”

Oh ffs. Thankfully, we were sat close to the bathrooms in the shopping centre and I whisked him off to the toilet. Waiting in the queue for a free cubicle in the ladies is like Russian roulette. You’re just hoping that its soon enough before your kid pees himself in public and you dont have any spare clothes with you. We get in, he’s pulling his trousers down before I’ve got the door shut. Ffs. Lock the door. Sits on toilet.

“Mummy, I don’t need to go wee wee now.”


Any normal parent would be able to turn round to their kid and kindly say to them that it was okay. But no, not me.


At this point, my anxiety is sky high and I’m just past giving a shit what people think of me. I was looking forward to a nice chill day as I have an early shift tomorrow but no. Clearly not meant to happen. We go to Sainsburys and I buy food with the money that was designated for face wash. I’m just done with today. Hang a sign on the door. OUT OF SERVICE. You know when people talk about spoons? Yep, I don’t even think I started the day with spoons.