It’s Monday morning. Shit.
I lay in bed for five minutes, mentally preparing myself for what is about to unfold. It’s that time of the week again where the house falls into utter chaos.
Getting the kids ready for School, trying to persuade them to eat their breakfast, rounding up all of the reading books, homework diary, P.E. kit, book bag, water bottle etc (When will I start doing all of this on a Sunday night!?) as well as dealing with the usual delay tactics to get out of going to School…
“My tummy/eyes/bottom/little finger hurts”
“I’m too tired”
”I don’t want any breakfast” followed immediately by “I’m hungry”
”My leg has gone to sleep”
”I can’t find my shoes” (do you mean the ones that are right next to you?!)
Monday mornings can be a bloody nightmare and fill me with dread, whilst at the same time feeling bloody relieved that they are back off to School for their Teachers to deal with for a few hours.
This morning we had the additional pressure that School photos bring. Trying to make their hair look half decent instead of the usual dragged through a hedge backwards look that we usually end up with. Finding the whitest polo shirts that we own. Removing all traces of breakfast (that they didn’t want) as well as the toothpaste that they like to get everywhere other than their teeth. Providing tissues for the obligatory snotty nose that has appeared over night.
And then there is the two year old terrorist. Need I say anymore about him? Anyone that has School aged children as well as a younger child will know that everything you are trying to achieve can all be undone by a single toddler tantrum. As soon as I turn my back on the older two to deal with the littlest arsehole it all goes to shit. School shirts become untucked, the runny nose evolves into a full blown snot explosion, a book bag goes missing and world war three erupts over an old kinder egg toy that was found behind the sofa.
With time disappearing and being late becoming a real possibility (bringing with it the walk of shame via the School office) I decide to give up and just get them out of the door. The war continues over who sits in the front of the car and I turn into ‘that’ Mum who’s lost all control and resort to threatening them with cancelled birthdays. Finally arriving at the School gate we have a few last minute “I don’t feel well”, “I’ll miss you Mummy” and “I think the Kinder egg toy is stuck in my ear”.
Nice try love, now off you fuck.