Argh...despite my nauseously good intentions and positive thoughts, tonight this man is driving me crazy.
Why does he communicate everything by shouting-at me and at the kids? Why does he omit to do things properly (him getting Oliver ready for bed consisted of him telling Oliver to get his clothes off and put his pants in the wash while he, Ethan, lay on our bed reading a book about the mysteries of the universe-really!) And then, when it transpires that everything hasn't gone perfectly (an only-just-four-year-old cannot extricate his pants from inside his screwed-up trousers) it's always the other person's fault. And they get, you've guessed it, shouted at. I know why, of course, this bloody syndrome we live with that seems to get more out of control as the week goes on and Ethan gets tireder.
It's actually harder work having him around sometimes.
The positive thinking is really wearing thin. Pass me the vodka...