Code Red

“Karen!!! I’m in CGulls.  Surrounded by 40 screaming kids and Rory won’t leave because he’s playing with a truck. Plus, I think he needs his nappy changed. This is a nightmare”

“He’s just poked a boy in the eye for touching his truck.  It’s carnage in here Karen. CARNAGE I TELL YOU!”

“CODE RED. I REPEAT . CODE RED.”

“Update. My jeans zip has broken and I’ve had to leave the children’s cafe because the Mum’s were laughing at me. I’ve then tried to get a train from Troon to Barassie because I can’t follow my original plan of going to the park, clearly not a good idea with my penis on show, only to fly by the station at 70mph and end up in Irvine. Turns out the train doesn’t stop in Barassie. When I get to Irvine I get off the train and the pram falls down the gap in between the train and the track. So, there I am, with my jeans hanging off, trying to rescue our son from certain death and all because you want to make a point. Hope you’re proud of yourself Karen.”

These were the actually messages I received on Friday before midday.  All  I wanted was two hours. TWO HOURS to volunteer at a local group. And here I was excusing myself from the room and hissing into the phone “why don’t you just buy a safety pin and crack on with your day?”
I think my last question just tipped him over the edge so I thought it best I step in and put a stop to this circus of a morning!

I gave a brief outline of the turn of events and headed to the station to pick the boys up. I’ve never seen them both look so relieved to see me!

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