7am - woken by a small boy landing on my bladder for a cuddle. Oof. The cuddle's nice though.
7:15 - obligatory snuggle in bed and I read a page of a dinosaur encyclopedia. Isn't this how everyone starts the day?
7:15 - 8:15 - wrangle LittleBear into clothes, food and tooth-brushing, interspersed with lego playing
8:20 - finally insert LittleBear into the car and head to work/nursery. Spend the next 25 minutes continuing our epic tale of dinosaur adventures. This story has been running for about 2 months now. On every car journey. I'm getting better at off-the-cuff story telling. Today sees a Spinosaur, a Sauroposeidon and a Stegosaur making ice-sculptures of themselves half way up a mountain. It would take too long to explain how we got to this point in the story. About two months too long.
8:45 - deposit LittleBear at nursery. He only has 5 more days left and there are beginning to be a lot of "goodbyes" and "last evers". Despite four years at nursery, and apparently being very happy there, he still clings to me and asks me to stay. Every day. It's only got marginally easier over 4 years. At least I don't leave the carpark in tears any more.
8:55 - arrive at work to find everything is still broken. Spend the next 8 hours in a blue funk with my boss, desperately trying to find ways to make a recalcitrant heap of scrap metal behave a bit more like a precision scientific instrument. It's due to head to the customer in three days time and currently isn't good for much more than propping the door open with. And there's not many people who'd be happy to spend £150,000 on a door-stop.
5pm - collect LittleBear, who is hot, sweaty, over-excited and desperate for more dinosaur tales. My poor exhausted brain attempts to string some exciting stories together while not driving into any tractors.
5:45 - 6:45 - make dinner for LittleBear, insert dinner into LittleBear, answer intriguing questions about how many different ways 10 coloured pens can be arranged. (It's never too early to start on combinatorial mathematics is it?) Some intensive lego building.
6:45 - give up on persuading LittleBear to come to the bathroom and carry a sobbing, snotty small boy to his bath. Then attempt to bath a small boy with a minor cut on his leg who refuses to bend said leg, or allow water to touch it.
7:20 - kiss my soft, sweet-smelling boy goodnight and leave him sat on BigBear's lap for his bedtime stories.
7:30 - set out on a 5+ km run. It's still 27C outside, and the combine harvesters are spewing dust into the air.
8pm - home in a sweaty heap, to pace up and down drinking pints and pints of water, while BigBear gets ready for his run. What kind of madness is it that we're training for races on the same day?
8:30 - finally start cooking dinner for me and BigBear.
8:45 - at least it was a quick dinner to cook, and I can tuck in. BigBear sweats his way back into the house but won't be ready to eat for another half hour at least. I eat alone.
9pm - now I can settle down on the sofa... to write an instruction manual for a mass spectrometer. Because there's no longer any time in the day, whilst at work, to do anything mundane like sit at a PC and write. If I'm in the building I'm sweating blood over non-functioning instruments. This particular instruction manual is a bugger. The customer decided to buy a bag of bits from us, asserting he could "build his own" mass spectrometer. Now he's complaining that all he's got is a bag of bits and he doesn't know what to do. Sadly, one of my colleagues promised "full documentation", so muggins here is trying to fully document a bag of bits.
10:45 - I was about to go to bed, but then BigBear has received a text about suspicious activity on his debit card, so instead we spend some time checking and double-checking that actually it's all fine and no money has evaporated.
11pm - bed. Free time? Free time is for wusses.