It’s Saturday afternoon.
The weather isn’t great so most of the day is to be spent indoors.
Fine, I think there’s football on the telly later, I’ll just waste the morning until then.
Not going to happen.
The problem with having any plans of your own is that you will never get to carry them out. This is when you have children, obviously.
Every weekend I struggle to think of anything to keep the daughter happy whilst retaining my sanity. There is only so much Cbeebies any person can take, and as I’ve been warned before, the television is no substitute or babysitter.
But it sure does come in handy.
Not being able to drive and living in the middle of nowhere doesn’t help either. I mean, if I lived in the town, I could introduce the child to life. The different types of people who mill about the shops, how to avoid being ripped off by the local market traders and maybe how to play pool in the pub.
Another avenue is to help play with the toys. As a grown mature (!) 30 year old, I find it particularly ridiculous that I have to sit on the floor playing with fairies, dolls, ponies, anything covered in soddin’ glitter or Peppa bleedin’ Pig related paraphernalia
I don’t mind the odd game of something but once you’ve started you’re hooked in for the day. I have been playing with Play Doh for most of the morning, making sure she doesn’t eat the stuff, which just happened to have a princess theme. Which is fine, but because of my condition, I can’t entertain the idea of mixing the colours. It just gets messy. So if that’s the case, what’s the point?
It doesn’t help that the attention span is no longer than that of your common gnat. No sooner have you got something out of the box, they’ve moved on. I suppose I only mention this to vent to you, dear readers, my disappointment of missing the football this afternoon.
I know I’m not going to get to see it. As much as I try my hardest to escape this world of pink, sparkly, glittery stuff.