1. Put a plastic cup covered in wet sand from Rory's sandpit into the dishwasher because I couldn't be arsed to rinse the sand off it by hand; a job that would have taken all of 12 seconds. Weeks on, dishwasher is still full of sand. All cutlery covered in sand. All plates and bowls and glasses covered in welded on sand. Sand in all food. Sand chuffing everywhere. Husband pretending not to notice to promote matrimonal harmony, but know that he's secretly seething and storing it up as evidence for the inevitable divorce courts when I finally break him.
2. Discovered line of ants marching into kitchen, so left trail of crumbs for them to follow leading out of kitchen and into John From Nextdoor's garden. So far so good.
3. Sprayed jeans with Febreeze to get an extra days wear out of them. Three times in a row.
4. Sprayed Febreeze in general direction of Rory before sending him to preschool.
5. Had margarine incident of epic proportions. Devastation worse even than the time I accidentally drop-kicked a full 500g carton of yoghurt across the kitchen. This occurred because I left the margarine out on the work top. Normal grown ups automatically put things they've used back in the fridge. Not me. Noticed it a few hours later and smugly went to replace it in the fridge in a grown up fashion. It was a bit slippery and flew out of my hand, lid coming off in the process. Unprecedented heatwave had melted the marge, which splattered across the kitchen in all directions, coating floor, walls, drawers, fridge and ceiling in layer of yellow fat.
6. Cleaned majority of margarine incident up with whole packet of babywipes and 2 kitchen rolls, adding to landfill crisis in the process.
7. Did not throw away the slimey thing in the cupboard under the sink that was once a potato. Curious to see what happens to it next. Smell is intriguing.