The other day my husband, exasperated at my moaning, wailed 'You just don't understand the demands on my time'. I burst into manical cackles, because although I quite accept there are many things in this world I don't understand (quantum physics, the appeal of Danni Minogue and people who forget to eat to name but three) time management is not one of them. He was after all speaking to a woman who manages work, four children, three child carers, two schools and the remnants of a social life.
Today is a case in point. I am working on a tight deadline for a big project, but during my working hours I have had to have a meeting with son number two's teacher as he is having problems with his erstwhile best friend that lead him to wake up at ungodly hours in the morning and wail at the mere mention of school. Then I had to sit through son number one's piano lesson with him as otherwise, instead of learning how to pound out that middle C, he just sits on the stool and sobs for me.
My final task was to witness the pantomime of the lost garage key (our sole means of access to said repository of junk), which had been carefully placed in a very sensible place by son number two, but one which he couldn't quite recall. After much screaming at him to remember what he had done with the precious key, to which he looked at me blankly and said he couldn't remember (men!), my mum (one of my three flavours of childcare) found it in the pushchair, which meant he thundered back up to my study to celebrate his vindication.
I won't even mention the screaming baby with a severe case of nappy rash due to the inordinate number of poos he seems to feel the need to do or the chaotic state of the house that calls to me to tidy it up every time I exit my office, or the million and one other chores from making an appointment with the doctor to sorting out my flaking cuticles that forever get pushed to the bottom of my to do list. Or all the things I need to organise ahead of the big boys birthday party, or the fact that I haven't seen or spoken to any of my friends for weeks because I have not a second to sort out a suitable time and date.
Still as husband would quite rightly point out, if I am quite so near to the end of my frazzled tether perhaps I shouldn't be spending my time blogging about it...