Red nose div.

My son was the only one in school uniform this morning. I remembered last night! I did. How can I love my kids so desperately and forget important dates such as Red Nose Day? What's happened to my brain? Or have I always been this hopeless? I ran home to get red clothing and sprinted back to school with my youngest in tow and a broken umbrella that couldn't prevent my fringe from curling up in to a frizzy mess. I got some sympathetic looks from other parents as I dropped the scarlet bundle in a puddle on the way into his class. My boy was thrilled to have his panting, drowned Mother hand him some clothes that made him look like everyone else. Thank God kids are so forgiving. I think I may have redeemed myself just in time. My lovely, flawless and stunning Mum-friend had wondered whether to text and remind me and we decided that in future she wouldn't give me the benefit of the doubt.

The boys had their best friend over for tea. Rather than shame myself once more I purchased a meal from that posh Cook place. I didn't pretend to my friend that I made it. She knows me well enough by now. I once got a pal to make cup-cakes so I wouldn't be the only non-baking Mummy at a party, again. They all knew I hadn't made them. But at least I turned up with something in tupperware. I flipping love tupperware.

Just seen the trailer for 32 Brinkburn Street which starts running from Saturday and the show itself airs 28th March. It looks good I think. Exciting to be back on the telly and with such a fine cast. I also got offered a nice little job for the next couple of weeks if I can get friends to hang out with my nippers. Seeing Rango with 7 kids in the morning. Heard it's good. Will probably eat far too much popcorn.

Just Mum.

I finished my play Winterlong on Saturday. A relief in one way because now I can sleep and put my children to bed but sad too because I really loved the job. I think it's the best play I've ever been in. Genuinely. The writing, direction, my role. I never get cast in parts like these. It's refreshing to play someone so different. And the dialogue. Blimey. I could gush for hours about how superbly it's written and how I rate the writer but he's one of my two followers on here so I won't stroke his ego much, he's got plenty of that to come from the rest of the world. I fell asleep at 8 last night. Fully clothed and seconds after a full bar of Butterscotch Green and Blacks. I have a friend who treats herself to one small square a night. I can't eat just a small bar never mind a square. If I open a box of Jaffa Cakes I tend to scoff the lot in one go. All not nothing.

I've started to do some bits of publicity for my series which airs in a couple of weeks. A nice fellow that interviewed me yesterday said he'd read my blog. I was immediately embarrassed. I only expected a couple of friends to check it out, humouring me. Not someone who writes for a living. I've always had a strong desire to write. I've written stuff. Haven't most actors? But the thoughts I have in my head translate badly on the page. Better to say lines for others I guess.

It's funny how blue I feel when a job has finished. It happens every time. It's so much easier with those gorgeous sons of mine jumping all over me and getting me to dress up as a naughty queen. But still I can't help but think I'll never work again. After 3 days. Silly. Ridiculous. I'm lucky to have worked at all. I had a long time off though and you can never take anything for granted in this job. Saying goodbye (again) to cigarettes has been hard. I'm sure it's the reason I'm feeling the loss. I gave up smoking ten years ago but insisted on smoking "proper" fags in the play. Everyone said I was mad. I was sure it was for artistic reasons but I didn't half chuff away on my two per show. How did I go from being a bitter vitriolic ex-smoker to wishing the play would start so I could have one??

It's good to be there for my children having been away working for so long. The guilt overwhelms sometimes. I know I need to be who I am and all that stuff that people tell me but I do really miss them. My eldest already thinks I'm a dork, at just 5. The guy from Mister Maker on CBeebies made a appearance on Grandpa In My Pocket (that's got to be my favourite kids' show) tonight and I said to my eldest, "He looks like Mister Maker". He said, " That's because he's the same actor, Mum!" Mum??? He calls me Mum when he's appalled at my stupidity. 

Lots of hanging out with Mums and little ones this week and will try and get someone to sit with my sleeping children so I can see Norwegian Wood or Animal Kingdom. Maybe after a few more nights in bed at 8. Actually it's past my bedtime now. Night.

Will remember to enjoy my last week of employment and not hate the other actors for getting sleep.

The children managed to stay in their own beds until 6:45 this morning. I got back from the theatre at 11. So I've probably had just about 7 hours sleep, which is all I ask for really. It's when they jump on me at quarter to 5 that I think I'll die. Especially when it registers I have over 14 hours to go before my show starts. I don't have a show tonight so I'll be in bed by 9 with a film and a tub of Ben and Jerry's. At least I'm home and I get to see them every morning. Even If I do act like the walking dead. Thank God for telly. Some actress suggested the other day I shouldn't let them watch TV in the morning. That's definitely the kind of high-minded principle I had before giving birth. Doesn't work out like that though. I also didn't imagine I would be buying them family packs of Peperami and Cheese Strings.

Madeleine (a good mate who helps with my kids) brought the boys to Soho yesterday in between my shows to have pizza and then come shout on the stage. I felt an uneasy pride when I saw them messing around on the set, taking a bow and looking pleased when myself and the other actors clapped at them. Must not encourage my children to take pleasure in the approval of others. Or indeed think Mummy's job is in anyway fun. Thankfully they seemed far more interested in the retractable dog lead from scene 3 in the boys' dressing room.

School run in the morning. I just can't seem to manage it. I'm convinced my children rise earlier than anybody elses and still I can't get my shit together. I'm the late-Mother with dirty hair and eye-bogies. Always in the same clothes, always forgotten something. I'm constantly embarrassed about my domestic ineptitude. My tiny flat is bursting with abandoned toys and I'm never able to keep it clean enough. I once served salad to a bunch of yummy mummies in an oven tray and I shove bundles of clothes in cupboards as fast as I can before everything tumbles out on me. Fortunately I've established some beautiful friendships with Mummies in the area who have big houses and let me sit in them with my kids. They don't have to come round mine and eat Peperami off a tray on my battered Argos sofa.

Last week Of Winterlong. And Sunday brings unemployment. I'm lucky. I've been working since mid November. My eldest told me tonight he's counting the sleeps until I finish. He also said the loo was dirty and that he would like me to wear more skirts.