I was teaching tonight - expected to deliver 2 hours of quality adult education, mirroring a model of relaxed, calm, empowering behaviour.... I should NOT have been running up and down a busy road waving my arms in the air and shouting at (alledged) gangsters to move their bloody cars 'or ELSE'.
The end of my day went something like this:
With 99 things to do in a very short space of time and needing EVERYTHING to go my way, my oldest son decided to crumble into a state of hysterical tears and then wet himself in my friend's living room (I mean gawd, I don't get my own way sometimes, but I don't feel the need to wee in my own pants. Maybe it will come with age? Perhaps I'll try it out in the Tesco? 'Open another till NOW or I'll wee on the floor!').
I managed to get him home and calm him down with a breadstick (it was for eating, not beating him with - although next time I might try it) he then dropped said breadstick. And it broke.
Big deal? Yeah BIG DEAL if you are 4 and have gone over the edge of all rationality. You think it matters that there are 99 other identical unbroken breadsticks in the packet? No. It doesn't matter. Not a jot. His breadstick is not those breadsticks and his breadstick is broken and this is a tragedy on a parr with the sinking of the Titanic. If you are 4 and very tired and have wet your pants.
Eventually everyone was in the bath and my OH was home and I had about 30 seconds to get out of the house and click into 'controlled professional mode'.
So I plucked the baby out of the bath, only to see?
So while I should be calmly packing the car, I am washing poo out of wind-up frogs.
Finally I'm in the car. And then I'm at the level crossing. The level crossing that bars the ONLY access to my venue.
45 minutes (yes, three-quarters of an hour) later - I am still at the level crossing. It appears somebody may have fallen asleep on the job.....
Thus I ended up running up and down the road, rounding up clients, waving my arms at illegally parked drivers (including the 'alleged' near-do-wells who drink in the pub opposite and all look like Ray Winstone) and then marshaling a strange procession of heavily pregnant women and heavily burdened men over the railway bridge and off into the countryside.
It was decided my balls were too much of a handful so we didn't give them an airing this week but all the same it must have been a strange sight - a man with a baby bath on his head containing 6 'lifelike' babies isn't a sight you tend to come across on your average twilight stroll.
We finally rolled in and I quickly arranged the room and broke into a spiel about the finer points of childbirth - only to realise that nobody was looking at me, they were all looking at the corner of the room....
I turned to find a man, dressed in black, wearing a hat, rocking slightly and humming along to classical music.
This was the point where I REALLY began to suspect I'd been 'set up'. Not least because, with the addition of a sickle, he'd have been the spit of The Grim Reaper.
He didn't look like he'd come to exercise his pelvic floor and talk about nappies.
'Excuse me sir, this is a private session'.
'Erm, could I ask you to leave'.
'In a minute'.
I'm thinking 'holy cow, now what do I do? I can hardly get into a brawl with an old guy listening to classical music - it's hardly becoming, is it? But what if things get really 'heavy'? I can hardly call 999 and tell them I've got a man who looks like 'death' sitting in the corner of my class and humming along to the Moonlight Sonata and I need to get on and talk about vaginas....
Thankfully, he finished his humming, got up and left.
Maybe he was just hoping to get a look at my balls?
Anyway I'm home now. And going to bed before I fall into a disused mine or bump into Elvis on the stairs.....