Up, washed and dressed by 8am - out with the dogs and Mac for an hour. Discovered that Dulwich ducks don't like Kingsmill 50/50. Back home by ten past nine and time to finish off cleaning the kitchen from yesterdays Baking Day. We made biscuits, a cake and David a steak and kidney pie that he declared "ambrosial". Cue beaming from wife and child. Mac decided he wants to be a chef when he grows up. Until it got to the cleaning up and washing up when he informed me that he would have "men to do that" as he pottered off to watch a DVD. But I digress. Spend half an hour putting everything back to how it should be and trying to convince Mac that as we had Baking Day yesterday, we need to do something different today. Thursday has already been designated as Day Out With Ben and His Mummy Rosie Day and Friday is Summer Clothes Buying Day.
Quarter past ten and Mac is watching an art programme on the television. I rue the day that he learnt how to work Sky. Keen to get him away from the screen I suggest that today be Art Day. We go to art cupboard (shelf in Cupboard At The Top of The Stairs) to find it empty save three motheaten brushes and some paint that had dried up. Feel terrible for five minutes that have denied my child access to top quality art materials. Suggest visit to "art shop" which gets Mac very excited, so much so that he puts his shoes on the wrong feet. The only "art shop" that springs to mind is WH Smith's but would not have child friendly items. Pause halfway down the stairs as I swear I hear my mum say "What about Hobbycraft?"
Wave goodbye to the dogs and get in the car. "We will be back for Ben's house won't we mummy?" said Mac who is now fearing he'll miss out on his sleep over. Say to myself "Bloody hope so, it's only twenty to eleven in the morning and David's on a promise tonight". Put "Crayford" into sat nav. Sat nav refuses to work. Remember that need to buy wine and nibbles for Romantic Evening so divert to Sainsburys. Half an hour and fifty quid later (remembered needed dog food, polish, shower gel, ketchup, toilet rolls and coffee, also bought flowers) found myself in Starbucks as if by magic. Conversation with Mac on way back to car about why he can't have a mobile phone.
Pass by Ayres (actually, impossible to do) and decide on lovely french stick with lovely cheese and ham for lunch. Realise that if I leave it any later, famous Ayres french sticks would have sold out. Turn round, park outside the chemist, scrabble around in my bag for prescription and drop it off. French stick purchased (okay, and two doughnuts), get back in the car. An hour has passed and have travelled about 2 miles.
Head off for Crayford, pretending I vaguely know where it is. Mac informing me that he's looking forward to "lovely cheese" for lunch reminds me that I haven't got any. Stop off at Lee Sainsbury's and go mad at cheese counter.
Arrive in Crayford, two and a bit hours after we left home. Surreptiously ring Rosie on her mobile and tell her that the 3pm pick up time we had arranged might be slightly wide of the mark. Knowing me as she does, she says it's fine and agrees that I drop Mac off when I'm ready.
Mac has lost interest by now in Buying Art Supplies (hardly surprising, poor child) as we've "run out of time mummy". Suggest that we make Friday Art Day and do Friday's activities on Saturday. Mac's enthusiasm rallies when he sees the delights that Hobbycraft have to offer. Buy paints, brushes, sugar paper, stickers, face paints and a "happy fathers day" stamp so Mac can make David a card. Go into shock at the check out but faced with grinning harpies congratulating Mac on having such a "super mummy" who is being "so supportive of your talent", am unable to run shrieking through the aisle replacing everything.
Mac chuffed to bits at his future job as artist and, secure in the knowledge that I could be nurturing a budding Picasso or Constable, I promptly miss my turn-off and head towards the Dartford Tunnel. "Shall we go to Lakeside?" I say tremulously and revert to panic mode. Pull over onto hard shoulder and try not to think that I'm about to get rammed by an out of control lorry at any minute. Sat nav refuses to work. Can almost hear it laughing at me. Ring David who, sensing my panic, instructs me to breathe deeply and instructs me on how to get back onto the right road. Thank God for bluetooth - he talks to me until I know where I am. Convinced that I had shielded Mac from my growing panic (I hate, hate getting lost, am sure it's a phobia) I look in my rear view mirror to find him clutching onto Scruffy Giraffe and mouthing something with his eyes shut. The Lords Prayer probably.
Mac informs me he's hungry. It's now half past two. Hand Mac an illicit packet of Quavers I've found under the front seat as we're now stuck in traffic and at least fifteen minutes away from home. Try to calculate when we left the dogs, can't work that out as all I can hear is David saying "how much?" when he sees what I've got in the highly coloured bags in the boot. Work out indignant argument in my head about nurturing talent and not denying our son the chance to excel. By the time we get outside the house I'm convinced that Mac is the Next Big Thing to hit the art world, even at such a young age. "Come and help me with these bags please, they're for you after all." I inform Mac who is trying to get into the house through the letter box which has set the dogs off. Mac casually informs me that he's not "free" on Friday for Arty Things and that he'd much rather go shopping.
Throw art supplies back into boot and threaten to take it all back to the shop. Mac looks alarmed: not because he was worried that I'd carry out my threat, more because he didn't want a repeat of the past three hours or so.
Go inside to find that I'd missed a parcel delivery and seethed for ten minutes at the injustice of it all. Find Mac upstairs packing for his night away from home - no clothes just games, puzzles and toys. Take half of it out again and put in clothes. Mac throws hissy fit because I won't let him take two pairs of his favourite pyjamas. Relent and mutter to myself. Rucksack bulges with clothes, games and toys but Mac refuses to leave anything behind. "You're only going for a night!" I say in an overly cheerful voice. "And a day. And I might stay longer" he says darkly as he attacks his piece of french stick and cheese.
Back in the car at twenty to four (dogs stare at me: abandoning them again) and nearly at Rosie's when Mac decides he wants to shower his hostess with gifts. "Can we get Rosie some flowers to say thank you mummy?". Feel slighted that a four year old has better manners than me when visiting another abode. Head back to Hello Petal and spend ten quid. Mac suggests that we go over to Old Mary's Sweetshop (he calls it by the name I used to call it) for some "sweets" for Ben and a present for "Ben's daddy". Come out with a 20p mix up bag and a copy of the Daily Telegraph.
Back to Rosie's at ten past four. "Hello darling, what have you been doing today?" Rosie says as she greets a suddenly hyperactive Mac. "Oh, not much!" he carolled as he skipped up the path with barely a wave for me. "Kids!" Rosie said with a grin. My response, thankfully only said in my head, is unprintable.
What do I do all day?