Sitting in Emergency last night with my feverish son, I wondered if maybe the Universe was trying to tell me that completing NaBloPoMo this year wasn’t a great idea.
I’m still wondering, even though we’re home now.
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Children
I just told my children that it was past their bedtime and therefore, my ears had turned off and I could no longer hear them. These are the measures I am forced to take on a Friday night when we all have ‘flu and are utterly miserable.
And in turn, this is what you get for NaBlo.
Whose stupid idea was this?
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Tuesdays herald the start of the school week for us here, this year. It’s not that I don’t love the six hours with only one child following me around like a duckling – because I do, very much – it’s that the stress of getting everyone ready and out of the door on time for school drop off is sending me grey.
It feels like herding cats, or shepherding mice. Like trying to get goldfish to swim in synchronicity without the benefit of a belly full of iron shavings and a magnet.
And I’m trying not to shout, I really am, but when one child is squealing a high pitched squeal and slamming doors and the other child is trying to create a cat trap – when both of them ought to be eating their porridge, that’s when I start to get a bit shouty.
Once breakfast is done, then it’s a haze of hair brushings and face washings and where the hell are your shoes and can you brush your teeth please, no, I mean really brush them and library book and stop shoving and just get in the car already, leave the bloody cat alone.
But I know that even as I hate these mornings because the children are so small that I need to spoon feed them the next step in the getting ready proccess, it is worth it for the quiet. For the chance to drink just one cup of tea without someone shouting that SHE IS PUSHING ME or HE TOOK MY THING.
Definitely.
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It’s like a ticking time bomb, trying to get something written here every morning before my children wake up.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Once they’re awake, my morning is a haze of breakfasts and snuggles needed, of meltdowns and NO NOT THAT BLANKET, THE OTHER ONE. And WHERE IS MY DINOSAUR and I NEED DA ODDER CEREAL.
It’s all good fun, until someone starts screaming and writhing on the floor.
***
My son wakes up, demands warm milk and a blanket (da blue one, in da bedroom Mummy, not DAT ONE) and smiles at me cheekily while he does it. I rub his stomach and hug him good morning, until he breathes on me and I gag.
That’s the part no one talks about – the morning breath, that on your husband is expected, but on your almost-three-year-old is a disgusting shock.
***
It’s Monday, the start of our week again and I have so many things happening that I am alternately terrified and very excited. Good things will happen this week, I can feel it.
Just as long as I can keep up, it will be all good.
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