What the......

Ok, I know it's Monday morning, but still, is it really an acceptable excuse for doing really mad and random things?

I did my usual on waking this morning, looked at the baby to check she was still asleep, then checked all other children were contained within the general livingroom area under the influence of suitable TV viewing. I then staggered bleary eyed to the kitchen to boil the kettle. I put out 2 mugs, put in 2 tea bags, put water in both, took the tea bags out and added a good splash of milk....... notice the plurals?

For some strange reason, I'd decided to make my mug of tea twice. WTF? I didn't even notice til I picked them up to carry them to the livingroom and realised I had two in my hand. Now, I will admit to suffering a bit of post-natal loneliness. Being on my 4th child, most other friends sensibly stopped pro-creating at 2 or 3 and have returned to work. So the choice of adult company in the day times is limited and a bit sporadic. (I've asked my husband to give up work just to give me someone to talk to, but he reckons the bills really do need to be paid). But, I think that making cups of tea for an imaginary friend is, at my age, taking things just a bit too far. I know - maybe I could sit the mugs at each side of the kitchen table, and I could run back and forth, having a conversation with myself?

As it happens, I quite often manage to squeeze in 2 cups of tea in the morning, but such is organising four children to be in their various places by 9am, I rarely drink them while they are hot. And having two on the go at once presented a challenge. Drink one after the other, and the second is bound to be vomit-worthily cold. So I opted for sipping from them alternately. It was such hard work, it's bound to count as a good 10 mins exercise. At least for my brain.

Speaking of exercise and all things healthy, I am suffering from psychological extreme hunger at the moment, as it is day one of the 'diet'. I joined a fat club started by a lovely facebook friend to keep me motivated. No chuffing way I'm spending £6 a week on weight watchers to stand on a set of scales and be told I'm fat; I can do THAT myself. So weight has been noted in this semi-public place - the virtual walk of shame to the record it on the wall is done after weighing myself naked, after a visit to the toilet, and before the consumption of any food.  So I'll probably spend the day perpetually hungry even though I'm not, just because I know I can't have chocolate or crisps. Why is it that you can think of nothing to eat when you're on a diet? Fruit looks decidedly unappealing, and there's only so much water you can drink to try and trick your body into thinking it's had a burger and chips. So I'm off to look out the weight watchers and rosemary connolly diet books, to depress myself even further.