"I'm Ready for My Mug Shot"

Who the heck put US in charge of three kids...seriously?!

There's this prison drama called 'Orange Is The New Black' which I recently devoured (fine, a little late after the rest of the world cottoned onto it - but you're speaking to someone who still has yet to check out the much acclaimed 'Mad Men' now into its umpteenth season...if it's even still going??)

The point is i have NO TIME to even blog most days, so how I'm supposed to find time snuggle up the husband (who incidentally loves snuggling up, but ain't so keen on telly - or even movies for that matter) and consume box sets is beyond me.

But still, somehow, between breaking up hourly wrestling matches between Dumpie and Egg, keeping Fat Baby from jamming screwdrivers into power sockets, and doing 2-3 loads of laundry a day (not to mention the usual toilet scrubbing/food prep/constant dishwasher loading/emptying, etc, etc, etc, ... i bore myself even mentioning it so how much more any readers...urgh), I have managed, stealthily, and with the aid of early evening coffee - to get through the first two series of a most addictive show (Lauren Laverne is a huge fan and I rate her - so I can't be totally deluded).

Of course the one problem with literally inhaling hours upon hours of a story and its characters, is that (at least for me) you begin to completely relate to them and their situation, and it's extremely difficult for me to not look around and make (un)favourable comparisons to my current living situation...and PRISON.

Let me explain.

1.  Much like prison, I am not allowed to sleep in.  Ever.  Egg makes sure of that by creeping in daily at dawn like an ipad-addicted Gollum, nicking the husbands power supply and rustling about for his contraband ipad.  He nearly always finds it.  More often then not the husband is too exhausted to chase him down the stairs and retrieve it, but when he does, it is not unlike a peeved prison guard on the warpath, and either way the shouting out to cease and desist nearly always permeates my blissful Anne of Green Gables-esque dreams and sends me hurtling back into the reality of our clothes-strewn bedroom and the finicky British summer weather.

2.  Much like prison, I occupy the majority of each day doing meaningless menial tasks with no compensation.  At least on the prison show they make 11 cents/hr or something.  All I get for my troubles is the odd bag of crisps if I can get to them before Egg does.

3.  Much like prison, I often have my personal possessions rifled through willy nilly with no thought as to breakages or valuables or privacy.  Just now for instance I walked into my bedroom to find my entire bedside drawer emptied onto the floor and my favourite playing cards trampled on and crushed. In the past month alone I have had the cables from my headphones cut in half, and the arm from a beloved pair of vintage sunglasses broken off.  No one cares.  Not even the husband.  (He says I have too many sunglasses anyway.)

4.  Much like prison, I am riding out a sentence, but likely not eligible for early release due to good behaviour because a) you cannot kick your youngest out of the house until they're at least 18 - correct?   and b) I certainly would NOT quality for 'good behaviour' - that's for sure.

5.  Finally, much like prison I have NO PRIVACY.  I can't even take a shower or bath in peace (more often than not the first stirrings of the taps bring at least one or two of the little rug rats scurrying in, shedding their clothes as they come, eager for a much sought after 'bath with Mama'...(except Egg I guess.  Come to think of it I think he may have actually outgrown that particular compulsion without me even noticing.  He is ten.  And we are not German.  So this is probably a good thing.)

Anyway, that's my moan for the day.  I'm done.  I feel like an inmate, most days I resemble an inmate, and the husband often feels like a visitor who gives me pep talks before work and at bedtime (although to be fair, they less resemble pep talks and more resemble ill-advised 'you have it easy compared to me' speeches - which not only leave me cold, but leave me wishing I could yell out:

 "Guard!  Guard!  We're done here!"

and have me led out into some electric wired enclosure where all I have to contend with are some beefed up horny lesbians out to cop a feel and not three bored, water-balloon crazy little monsters intent on destroying this prison-like cell we inhabit.

That is all.