5.05 am: Miss 16 runs into my room and announces that it’s after seven and we’re running late. I try to calmly explain that she’s put her clock forward an hour instead of back, and it’s only bloody five am. She falls back to sleep immediately, but my middle-aged body announces it’s time to go pee and also my knee aches. I get up to check work emails and instead waste two hours searching online for White Lotus spoilers.
7.05 am: Having done nothing productive yet, I wake the kids, who despite sleeping for an extra hour, are extra tired today. I briefly dream of calling in sick for everyone and spending the day on the couch with a blanket before remembering how busy we all are. I remind the children standing aimlessly in the kitchen that it’s breakfast time, like every other morning at this time for the last 16.5 years. This comes as a great surprise to them, and I leave them arguing about porridge while I shower.
7.15 am: I retrieve my hair dryer and straightener from Miss 16’s room and she yells at me for invading “her space”. I eat dry toast because I can’t be bothered with anything else and announce we’ll get everyone coffees on the way, because surely the only person more over mornings than me is Miss 10’s poor teacher.
7.20 am: Miss 10 tells me that her cold has turned into a wheeze, and admits that maybe she’s been forgetting her preventative puffer lately. I am torn between annoyance, and wanting to wrap her in a blanket and hold her in my arms until she’s breathing properly again, and instead choose option three: I’ll pick her up at 2pm and take her to the doctor.
7.30 am: I make chicken and lettuce sandwiches, and carefully place them in lunchboxes with the salad side showing. That’s a prized skill that should have been in the parenting books, but alas my genius remains unrecognised and unappreciated. I hide muesli bars under the fruit.
7.42 am: I now remind pyjama clad children that they need to dress themselves in uniforms (another shocking revelation), and wistfully remember toddlers who were easier to get ready. Maybe I’m remembering that wrong...
7.58 am: Miss 10 (who is still in pjs) tells me she can’t find her uniform and maybe it’s in the car or something. I remind her that I made her put her washing away yesterday and the reason she can’t find anything is because it’s in her wardrobe.
8.10 am: I read the school emails and see that this week contains 2 assemblies, a BBQ lunch, an Easter hat parade, 2 excursions that I need to rob a bank to pay for, an athletics carnival and an end of term dinner. Miss 10 tells me her jumper was maybe lost at school last week. I take a moment for myself and scream into my pillow before regrouping.
8.20 am: We call dad and he askes how the morning is going. I resist the urge to scream obscenities and hang up, and instead give him my best “fine”. I remind him he’s off work on Friday so he can do assemblies. He regrets answering his phone. We call Bills Beans and order takeaway coffees.
8.42 am: I announce it’s time to leave so Miss 10 picks up the guitar and announces it’s time she learned an instrument. She asks for my phone to facetime Dad so he can teach her. I ask her to strum some lovely music while I find my purse and I manage to keep a happy smile on my face the whole time. I consider a career as a professional actress briefly.
8.47 am: Coffees collected; I drop the kids at school. As I turn to wave at Miss 10, I see her hat in the backseat. I drive off with it.
8.53 am: I pull into the car park, and see the man in the car next to me crying into his coffee while he listens to “I don’t like Mondays”. I have to assume he has kids at home. Thank f*** it’s the last week of term!
