I bounce from my bed, leap into the shower and frolic under the stream of water, planning my day.
It is usually at this time when I realise the tasks required and the time available bear no relationship to one another (and not in a good way). My spirits start to flag a little.
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| Not as angelic as they think. |
I pack lunches. I make sure uniforms are clean and ready. I check sock stocks.
I don't ask for much, just a stress free morning, because the morning sets the tone for the day.
But I'm beginning to realise there are greater powers than me in this great game of life. Because every single weekday morning, at 8:45, we have an unforeseen disaster.
This disaster, manages to hold us up for the exact amount of time it takes to remove any time advantage I may have gained during the morning, rendering any previous time saving efforts and exhortations to hurry, pointless.
I may as well have let them all eat weetbix on the couch in their pyjamas until 8:35 am for all the good I've done because this last minute disaster totally bollocks everything up.
An example. This morning we'd left the house on time and were walking up the street, the two older kids crossing the road and heading to school. I was so excited, we were out, nearly done, and I was on time for work! And then I noticed my youngest for the first time. She appeared to be wearing a size 8 uniform, that flapped around her ankles. I swear I had not noticed her until this very moment.
I had no choice but to turn around, leaving the other two to make their way (thank goodness at least this was possible) and return to the house for a smaller (much smaller) uniform. On inspection I found she was wearing a size 6, with the hem fully out. You could have fit 2 to 3 Issy's in it.
And of course once at her classroom she clung and refused to leave me and finally was peeled off me at 9:05.
At our school right now, lingering by parents at assembly is frowned upon by the teachers, who are shooing us off every morning at bell time, to avoid our squawking and cackling interrupting morning announcements and also because our presence unsettles the Kindys. I am so happy to conform with this rule. My five year old, on the other hand is determined to make me disobey it.
Here are a few other last minute disasters which have befallen us recently. Keep in mind we are only in week 4 of term 1 and these have all happened this year.
1. A child trips down the stairs as we all walk out in the morning, requiring cuddles, ice, band aids and 15 extra minutes before being convinced school was still compulsory.
2. A child discovers at the last minute they don't like the planned afternoon activity/pick up plan, and proceeds to melt down mightily on the front path, needing to be comforted and refocused before walking to school can resume.
3. A child realises at the last minute they are not wearing their shoes, requiring us all to stand around while they painstakingly tie their laces, allowing no one to help or touch them because 'they can do it'.
4. A child discovers at the last minute they have a minute stain on their uniform, requiring a full change, often when the only remaining uniform is in the laundry or, even better, no where to be found.
5. We get out of the house, but at the corner, one child, I will not mention names but the pronoun will give it away, can't decide whether he should cross with his big sister, or with me and his little sister. He agonises for so long the big sister leaves, and crosses the road without him, causing him to immediately panic that he should have gone with her. He then drags his feet with misery and trails behind Issy and I, regretting his fate and loudly lamenting the fact that he is with us. I'm late again. And really, really angry.
I have ABSOLUTELY NO patience with him when he does this.
These episodes of fun are usually performed in full view of a large majority of the school population who pass by our door between 8:45 and 9:00. I should sell tickets.
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| One week to go and you're mine! |
