Sunday

The Great Sleep-In Saga: My Sunday Survival Story

Finally, I had a lie-in. Yes, you heard that right—me, the queen of early mornings and chaos, managed to stay horizontal until… 8:53 AM. Not 6:00, not 7:00—EIGHT FIFTY-THREE. I practically leap out of bed thinking, ‘Is there a gas leak? Have the kids perished in their sleep? Why is it so quiet in the house? Has the universe just hit pause?’ Turns out, they’re all still asleep.

Who would’ve thought it?

Mostly because we spent all of Saturday turning the garden into a paradise—mowing the lawn, strimming the edges, trimming trees, and splashing in water like little aquatic adventurers. The end result? Baths at 9 pm, because, well, why not?

Lately, I’ve been loving myself more—like a rare Pokémon. I’ve become that mum who secretly enjoys the quiet, because I’ve finally peeled away from whatever was dragging my vibe down. Now I love having my kids around because, let’s be honest, I’m not just surviving—I’m thriving. Better yet, I’m content.

Of course, there’s the never-ending conveyor belt of laundry—never-ending, relentless, like a bad soap opera. I swear, the washing machine’s got some villain hiding inside it, plotting world domination one sock at a time.

And then there’s the drama at "Mother’s House." Don’t worry, I attended, did my bit, and now I’m pretty sure it’s not my story to tell. Sorry, nosey friends—you’ll have to do your own detective work.

Back at home, I’ve re-jigged my shed, pulled out some clothes to list on Vinted (because, honey, I’m here to make money and enjoy every minute of doing it ✌🏼).

The house is kinda clean, the kids are out with “Voldermort”, and I’m sitting here typing away, thinking about the million and one jobs waiting for me. Ironing clothes, putting laundry away, giving the kids a bath, sorting school bags, mopping floors—oh, and packing for a possible trip back to hospital because my seven-year-old Izaac is still whining about testicular pain.

Yes, you read that right. Testicular pain. I’ll suss out how he’s doing when he gets home—fingers crossed it’s just a growing pain or strain, I don't have testicles so I haven't got a clue!

Anyway, life’s chaotic, but I wouldn’t change it for the world. Now, time to tackle those jobs—and maybe sneak in an early night.