Self-pity, part the second.

Hostilities have escalated round our way. Small Person is not reacting well to the pressures of Year 1, and in particular the homework aspect. Although she's a fluent reader she struggles with writing and this week's assignment is wholly text-based. It's a lot of work for a five year old but I'm bullying guiding her through it as best I can. For the last few nights she's been waking up crying in the night but refusing to tell me what the matter is which is worrying me no end. There's the added bonus of the influence of a new peer group to contend with which is manifesting itself in foot-stamping, answering back and a new song that she performed for Grandma on Friday which ends with the showing of knickers. All in all, it's a little tense at home at the moment. Last night's battles culminated in bed-with-no-story and a counter-refusal on her part to go to sleep without one. So this morning she was, predictably, tired, and it all went spectacularly wrong. I'm also tired as me and sleeping aren't really on speaking terms at the moment. Needless to say the combination of my tiredness and her tiredness is an explosive one, and as I stood there screaming at the weeping little girl sitting in a puddle of milk and rice krispies (they don't do so much of the snap-crackle-pop thing when they're soaking into the fucking carpet, you know) it occurred to me what a joke it is that I'm trying to look after a five year old when I can't even look after myself. Honestly, I'd have laughed if I hadn't been crying so hard.

In other news, we definitely have some sort of wasp problem at the flats. There was another wasp in the bathroom this morning and when we left for school/work there were six wasps on the landing and a couple more downstairs. How lovely.