Just in case there was anyone reading who was in danger of being productive today, I thought I’d rectify the situation by pointing you in the direction of The Virtual Nintendo Entertainment System. It’s an NES emulator with currently around 395 games to choose from. You’ll need Java and half a ton of spare time.

There’s lots of the old favourites there: Donkey Kong, Paperboy, Bomber Man…. but I admit to my all time favourite being Castelian – this time, I will complete it … I will…

The observant readers among you will have noticed that my blogging frequency has been a little subdued of late. There is a very good reason for this.

The reason is, I’m knackered.

Life with children has hit a rather intensive phase where Li’l Bhaji has discovered the true meaning of being a toddler: waking up bloody early, and throwing a fit at any sign of not being able to do what you want. This combination is then particularly potent if your older brother decides to have a nightmare and wake up at a completely different point of the night.

I swear I had more sleep with a newborn in the house.

Also, Li’l Bhaji’s tantrums have mastered a certain style and finesse – a grandiose quality which his older brother never quite achieved. Akra Jr learned fairly quick that tantrums didn’t get him very far, so instead he refined his skills for the art of back chat, sullenness and mutiny that children only seem to master over the age of three. Li’l Bhaji on the other hand is a dramatist.

I would like, at this point, to give a heartfelt apology to any passersby of the local McDonalds carpark who, last Saturday, may have assumed I was kidnapping a small but rather vocal toddler. Although he was gripping the sides of the car by the very tips of his fingers, screaming for his Daddy while I tried to manhandle him through the open doorway into his carseat, I was not actually snatching him from his loving parent. He had just reached the end of his three warnings for behaving inappropriately in the queue for food and then performed that amazing toddler feat of going completely limp and dropping to the floor, tripling his bodyweight to prevent him being picked up and removed from the premises. He does like his audience. He was still screaming in his carseat a good 15 minutes later, when said beloved parent reached the end of the queue and returned with lunch to go.

On the positive side, today (in comparison) has been rather a breeze. He has after all only refused to do anything he was asked to do, soaked the bathroom by turning the taps on full while I was blissfully unaware in another room, screamed loudly every time Justin Fletcher appeared on the television (is there a programme on Cbeebies he isn’t on?!) and yanked the towel rail clean off the wall.

Can’t think why I’m tired.

Anyone want a slice?

More importantly, is anyone volunteering to clean my kitchen floor which accidentally got drizzled on as well as the cake?

Much appreciated, ta.

You know, it’s funny. As I’ve grown up, I’d almost stopped eating puddings. Even at a restaurant, although I’ll have good intentions of choosing from the dessert menu, in practice I’m usually full by then (especially if I indulge on a starter).

It’s all very odd because as a child I would mournfully wail “but dinner isn’t dinner without a proper pudding!” or complain to my mother “it’s not fair when you make a pudding I don’t like – that’s the bit you look forward to”. (Yes, I’m sure my mother thought I was delightful… not! Fortunately she either loved to cook or somehow put up with me anyway).

When we had children we’ve migrated back to at least giving them some sort of second course – usually fruit or a yoghurt. However, Akra Jr is also growing up, and despite previously never being interested in the “something and custard” school of dinner-finishing, he’s now routinely declaring disappointment if offered a yoghurt.

So, thanks to The Dinner Lady, her sequel Second Helpings and various scrawled recipes I’ve collected over the years, we’ve been revisiting all the old childhood favourites: lemon curd or toffee tarts, apple crumble, a variety of cakes and tonight… rice pudding!

Rice pudding. Why on earth haven’t I made this more frequently? It’s easy enough (although I never get the timing quite right and always find I need to cook it for a bit longer). Just hits the spot now the weather had turned a bit cooler, too. Yum.

Right, excuse me. I have to go and flip through the books some more – work out what I’m going to cook tomorrow… maybe a Lemon Drizzle Cake…

Finally, someone has managed to breed a hypoallergenic cat.

As an asthmatic who is allergic to fur and feathers, my kids are pretty much going to be limited with fish or a tortoise to love, at least until they leave home. Maybe now there’s an alternative.

However, the £2,104 price tag might be rather hard to find.

Wonder if they can breed one that doesn’t poo everywhere, doesn’t kill small mammals, doesn’t shed fur or catch fleas and knows not to run into the path of oncoming vehicles?

It seems that Akra and I aren’t the only ones stressed at the moment.

Akra Jr had a longer book than normal home from school today (blue level Rigby Star if that means anything to anybody). Tonight, it was Akra’s turn to listen to him read and then comment in the Home Book. He wrote:

Akra Jr read most of this book easily. He struggled on some of the proper names like Sanchez.

A fair enough assessment of how he’s doing at the moment – we’re both really proud of the progress Akra Jr has made in his reading.

Unfortunately, Akra Jr didn’t see it quite the same way. When Akra read out what he’d written, Akra Jr started sobbing his heart out and begging his Daddy to remove the word “struggled”. When Akra refused and gently pointed out that it wasn’t a criticism, it was perfectly understandable why names Akra Jr hadn’t come across before might be a bit trickier to read than other words he was more familiar with, Akra Jr went into full blown tantrum mode: screaming, kicking, stamping and throwing things around the room.

We left him for a little bit to calm down, then I popped up a bit later once it had subsided and gave him a long cuddle while the last little shuddery gasps of the tantrum were subsiding. I told him we loved him. I told him that we knew he was doing really well at school and with his reading, that his teachers knew that too. That’s when it all came flooding out.

He’s finding the school work tricky. In number work, he’s having to do without a number line to work things out which is hard. In reading, he’s being made to read “tiny words” (which I can only imagine is more normal sized print rather than the big writing you get when you start to learn). Reading between the lines, he’s either doing really well and they’ve put him in a higher group (and the jump has been a bit of a shock) or now they’ve settled in for a few weeks, the real work of Year 1 has started to kick in. Either way, for some reason he’s reluctant to show any signs of not coping.

I’ve promised to have a chat to his teachers in the morning. At five years old, he’s awfully little to be suffering from work stress.

It’s coming up to 4pm on Sunday. Akra has worked most of it since being woken up by a phone call from his boss at 7.30am this morning (understandably when said boss got a phonecall from the client at 1am this morning). Akra worked the whole of yesterday as well. And all last weekend. And every evening (one night until 2am) this week. And last week.

It’s beginning to taking its toll.

For one, Akra isn’t the only one who hasn’t had a break as a result of the last fortnight’s pressured deadlines. We’re getting ratty with each other.

The boys have been waking up in the night as well, putting broken nights’ sleep on top of the no downtime issue. The boys are fed up of their mum, don’t want to play by themselves and need to see their Daddy. Hell, frankly I need them to see their Daddy and a little less of me.

Akra and I have barely conversed as when working he goes into focussed work mode oblivious to the world around him – a skill that’s essential for working from home, but not so great for marital relations when working 24/7.

There’s a horrible sinking feeling every time the phone rings.

There probably should be a point to this whiny woe-is-me post, but I’m currently too tired to think of one.