Yesterday was a day when everything seemed destined for failure/breakage/spillage/tantrum/desperation/loss of voice. The (squashed) cherry on the cake was when I was brushing my teeth and my toothbrush snapped.
I cannot tell you how difficult it is to brush your teeth with just a knobbly bit of brush end and no “stalk”. It is impossible to do a half decent job and you feel utterly ridiculous. Tommy watched me and said “Mummy, why are you brushing your teeth with just your fingers?” because that’s what it looked like I was doing. I showed him the brush bit and he rolled his eyes. “That’s not a good idea, Mummy”. I had a flash-forward of him being 17 and watching me clean the kitchen floor with two small sponges, squatted down like a frog (my favourite technique) and him saying exactly the same thing. Maybe by then I will have become sophisticated and elegant and will no longer have breakable toothbrushes and use sponges to mop floors. Somehow I doubt it.