Is it worth it?

Is it really worth it??? A lovely carefree day out, away from all the responsibilities of being a "mummy" and the trials of family life. I am afraid I have to question it - let me explain.

So on Saturday, I had a girl’s day out with my delightful friend Anna. For Christmas, Anna’s thoughtful husband had given her a day pass for 2, to a really beautiful and chic London spa. (Please note, Tim gave me a ‘Cat Whisperer’ book together with a “Wifey for Lifey” sweatshirt... I mean, WTF?) Very kindly, Anna invited me and I jumped at the chance. It was an absolute miracle that we had both managed to find a mutually-convenient day to attend, bearing in mind weekends are normally entirely devoted to the various sporting fixtures and social events of our ever-ungrateful offspring.  Tim had insisted he could more than cope with the 2 football matches (one away, one home) scheduled for that day, together with cooking lunch for the kids.

Even though Anna wasn’t due to pick me up until 8.30am, I was up and at ‘em at 6.30. Despite reminding me (quite frankly in a pretty condescending tone - after all, he says, what other job can you do while still dressed in your pyjamas? Cock!) that he could easily cope, I just knew that Tim would be completely flummoxed when it came to packing the boys ‘kit bags’. I had visions of him freaking out, huffing and puffing, as he tried to establish what kit went where - whilst getting absolutely no help from the boys (who would be looking at him with gormless and vacant expressions).

Once said kit bags were packed and by the front door, I set about making the house look neat and tidy. I am sure most will agree with me, that there is absolutely nothing worse than coming in from a lovely day out, to a total shithole of a house.

So off I went, happily with the knowledge that a) the house was clean and tidy, b) the boys were packed up and c) the fridge was full of a selection of items more than suitable for their lunch.

Well, the spa was bloody fantastic. As Anna dropped me back, I felt blissfully relaxed and fully rejuvenated. But of course, this zen-like state lasted approximately 2 minutes.

The deafening noise of loud football commentary hit me as it blared out from the tv in the living room. I glanced in, to see Tim stretched out on the sofa, totally comatose.

I was immediately bear-hugged by Teddy, loudly yelling at me “What’s for dinner?” He looked like he had been dragged through a hedge backwards. To my dismay, he was still wearing his filthy football kit, knees and face spattered with mud, despite the match having finished late morning. Fucking hell!

Ben tore downstairs to see me, again wearing filthy kit (oh joy) and proceeded to tell me with great delight, how our old and ailing cat, Bernie, had vommed all over our bed, but Dad hadn’t cleared it up as he thought he ‘better wait for me to get home’. I mean seriously - WHY? Surely just take off the sheets and chuck them in the washing machine. You fucking moron.

Clearly Tim had adopted the stance that ‘whilst the cat is away, the mice should play’. As I headed into the kitchen, I was greeted by a total bomb-site. Empty pizza boxes lay on the counter, together with half-drunk cans of Dr Pepper. BTW - who in their right minds gives their kids Dr Pepper? Tim had also decided it was a good idea to try out Teddy’s volcano-making toy which he had been given for Christmas (please note not by us, but by an old friend who doesn’t have kids and who doesn’t appreciate that this might be a bloody nightmare to clear up). I thought I had successfully hidden it away, but Teddy and Tim had sniffed it out. Fuck! 

A gloopy mixture of vinegar and baking soda had now solidified in the middle of the kitchen table. Tim hadn’t thought to put down newspaper, as that would be too fucking sensible, so now it would take hours to scrape the fucker off the table.

The carnage didn’t end there. Bernie (the cat) decided at that point to empty his guts on the mat by the back door and then, as he wandered back to his bed, he left a further trail of shit - poor thing - he was clearly really suffering....

To finish me off, Tim suddenly appeared, moaning that he had had an "unbelievably stressful day" looking after the boys and now that I was back, would I mind changing the bed as he was off for a nap.  So I ask you again... is it really worth it?