Why Can't I be a Time Lord?

Seriously. OK, so I've OD'd on Dr Who recently, what with both sons suffering some kind of OCD about the programme and all related merchandise, but It would solve all my immediate problems.
Having survived the onslaught at the start of the year, and with The Husband Formerly Known as Sick now plain old Husband again, you'd think life would be getting sooo much easier. In many ways it is and you'd be forgiven for thinking that I really ought to stop moaning.
So, I won't even go there with trying to fill in on what's been happening since last blogging, like summer half term. (Sorry, did I say 'sumemr half term', those words that conjure up lazy sunny mornings and easy, time-slack, fun'n'sun-filled days? I do apologise. What I really meant was the abject torture that was a week of freezing rain – boiler blew up just before the bank holiday - bored, fighting kids and a national snot infestation). Nor will I inflict the details of my anemia on you. Or the cold from Hell. Or the Candida. No. I'll spare you that.

But I digress. If I were a Time Lord, I could scoot off into the future and come back with a cure for the above ailments instead of turning my kitchen into some kind of I-can-make-you-better-honest snake spleen dispensary and my body into an experimental fungal battlefield. If I were a Time Lord, I could find a way to take my oldest to school for 9, wait half an hour before the youngest starts his morning, get home at 10, go back at 12, come home and go back again at 3 and not lose the will to live. If I were a Time Lord, I could don an pinny, sod off into the future (say at the point both kids are in full time school), cook like a fiend a la Nigella (it really is time I moved on from my inner Gordon Ramsay...) and come back with a freezer full of healthy home-made ready meals.

The Doctor must be pretty moral, really. He talks of not upsetting the space-time continuum in case it affects adversely some poor Little People here on earth. However, The Doctor has no kids and spends his life having a whole pile of fun with no one else to think about. He can't even commit to the string of beauties virtually fellating him. Which means The Doctor cannot possibly understand what it's like to spend a grim June morning wondering when Global Warming's going to kick in (bring it on!), scrubbing wee off the toilet floor (they call mothers of boys 'Smug' for a reason) and wondering if the highlight of your day will be a visit to the new Co-op.
Top this with an email from an old pal who is blissfully childless and spends his and his (not even 30) girlfriend's time/money when they're not working (in the jobs they love, naturally) doing such things as "off-roading in the Sahara", "sailing round the West Indies as part of the crew on a tall ship", "skating in Central Park" etc. Now tell me even the Dr wouldn't develop a little tic around the eye and an evil leer as he contemplated a little visitette into the future to check the progress of the hormonal time-bomb dormant in that girlfriend's body. Will it be a dud, or will it explode and mug her with shrapnel like all ours did?
We live in hope.