Jetlag is making me its bitch.

Look, I’m sorry for any swearing that may happen. It wasn’t intended. In fact, two days ago I was all set to write a post about the magical possibilities of jetlag. Playgrounds at two am! Relaxing family time in the peaceful night!

Then last night happened. Here’s exactly what I posted on Facebook as the night wore on:

1:05 am. We are all sort of miserable, doing our own things in different rooms.

2:25 am. Aaarrrrrggggghhhhhhh

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3:00 am. Took me a solid twenty seconds to work out that some garlic smashing tool was not a can opener. And then I just stared at all the implements, totally unable to remember how to open soup.

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3:57 am. Enough said.

insert YouTube link to a clip called Live Mermaids Swimming in our Pool.

6:26 am. What the hell. M is still awake. He’s been awake over eighteen hours (edit: not totally true. He had a two hour nap yesterday afternoon). S passed out (I think, I’m glued to a beanbag) about thirty minutes ago. I’ve had about an hour’s snooze.

I FEEL HORRENDOUS. I’ve had three hours sleep in thirty hours.

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6:48 am. Started weeping ten minutes ago. Seriously.

That’s me, not the kids.

Is it worth noting that I’ve compiled this delicious medley of selfies the night after these were taken? Yes, my dear friends, it’s 1:53 am. The kids have just eaten dinner, the Frozen soundtrack is playing, and I’m wrapped in a purple blanket aiming for as little human interaction as possible.