~ Child Number Three wakes up late and isn’t in a hurry at all.
~ Child Number Two can’t find a jersey to wear, probably due to the large mountain of washing I didn’t manage to get through on the weekend, and so rolls around the lounge floor half naked whining about it, rather than actively trying to find one.
~ Child Number One throws a wild fit when Child Number Two asks if he can wear one of his hoodies. Apparently asking to wear his clothes is a cardinal sin. Yay, we’re at that age.
~ When Child Number Two continues to insist he has nothing to wear, Child Number One announces “I bet I can find one, and if I do I get to punch you as hard as I can.” He then starts searching through the pile of unfolded washing, totally motivated to “help” his brother find a jersey.
~ Child Number Three sits vacantly in front of her breakfast not eating for more than twenty minutes because she has an itchy bite from the day before and therefore she can’t eat until someone puts some cream on it.
~ The clock keeps ticking.
~ I go to look for a jersey for Child Number Two and almost die when I discover he’s spread all of his clothes and toys across his bedroom floor. I visualize burning the house down and starting over.
~ I find the jersey and give it to him, which prompts another feral argument over whether or not Child Number One still gets to punch Child Number Two. They’re getting technical over the wording of the original agreement. Hubby is now out of the shower and so I leave them to it.
~ Leaving them to it fails, the argument shifts and is now between Hubby and Child Number One. Hubby is in disbelief over the fact that he’s having to tell his twelve year old son why he may not punch his brother, even if they did have a deal.
~ The clock won’t stop bloody ticking.
~ Hubby leaves, later than usual, and childless, despite the fact he usually drops Child Number One off on his way past if it’s wet, as it is this morning. He’s refusing to give him a ride because “his attitude sucks” and so therefore he can bike “and he’s not having any of my Doritos either”.
~ Child Number One announces he can’t make his lunch because there’s nothing in the cupboards. I look at the full pantry and wonder if he needs his eyes checked and then point out a bunch of things he could fill his lunchbox with. He sighs and rolls his eyes. Apparently all he wants is Doritos.
~ Child Number Two tries to sneak out the door without brushing his teeth or washing his face.
~ Child Number Three is still eating breakfast.
~ I visualize throwing the clock out the window. In my mind’s eye it shatters into a thousand pieces and makes a wonderful echoing sound.
~ Child Number One leaves on his bike without a jacket, despite the rain, and despite my telling him three times to put one on. He yells something nasty once more as he goes out the door.
~ I start thinking about boot camp.
~ Child Number Two thinks he left his lunchbox at school on Friday. All our lunchbox sized containers have mysteriously disappeared and I suspect they’re outside in the garden somewhere being used to house “scientific experiments”. He will have to use an ice cream container.
~ Child Number Two leaves on his bike, I look at the clock and relax a little bit knowing he’s going to get to school on time, then look at Child Number Three who is sitting in front of the fire in her pyjamas.
~ Child Number Three finally finishes her breakfast and is sent off to brush her teeth and wash her face when Child Number One turns up, announcing that he needs a ride or he’s never going to make it to school in time. I try explaining that if he’d kept going rather than turning around and coming back home he would have made it in time, but he’s always right so my words fall on deaf ears. I explain that I’ll have to drop Child Number Three off first and so he’ll be late anyway, but he’s made up his mind, and “whatever, who cares”.
~ Finally dressed and ready to go, we head to the car. The dog, who’s rolled in the mud and is covered in it, jumps up on Child Number One in his school uniform. I die a little inside.
~ Child Number Three arrives at school ten minutes after the bell. I try and smile at the teacher in a way that somehow shows her the kind of morning it’s been, but she just looks at me, looks at her watch, and looks back at me again. I’m glad she has no idea there’s another kid waiting outside in the car who is still not at school yet.
~ Child Number One arrives at school fifteen minutes after the bell and has to be dropped off at the office. I visualise pushing him out of the car and taking off at high speed.
~ I realise it’s only Monday. O.M.G.
~ I arrive home and reheat my coffee in the microwave. I close all the curtains so that if any visitors show up in the next little while I can stay quiet and pretend I’m not home.
~ I sit down and write a blog post about my hellish morning in an attempt to make light of it so that I won’t remain in a stressed out, grumpy mood for the rest of the day. It helps.