If there’s one thing sure to whip my crazies up into a frenzy, it’s the plop of an Ikea catalogue coming through the letterbox.
Last Saturday was one such day.
Within minutes of the postman ramming the latest glossy Ikea catalogue through the post box I was awoken from my slumber, by shrieks of , “Mama, Mama can we go to Ikea for meatballs?” .
Now bearing in mind I was slightly hungover (aren’t that what Saturday mornings are all about?) and it was about 4am (ok slight exaggeration, but shit it was early), the thought of meatballs, never mind the horrors of shopping on a Saturday with 3 kids was, quite frankly, more than I could stomach.
I groaned, semi-heaved, rolled over and begged Scandiman to make me breakfast.
Three cups of coffee and 2 paracetamols later (me not them, they had popcorn and sweets) we were all up, dressed and heading…
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