Monday, June 20, 2011
The Frazzled Mumma.....
It started off with oversleeping. I rarely oversleep. You see I have four built in alarm clocks that tend to awaken me before the sun actually rises and the world is dark, cold and immobile. This morning the alarm clocks were broken, and so resulted in me waking at quarter past 7 and then completely freaking out.
I ran around the house like a demented banshee, screaming and yelling at the still sleeping forms of my Husband and children. They didn't appreciate my wake up call and dragged their feet reluctantly.
I sculled my morning coffee and resulted in burning my tongue. This pissed me off. Coffee is something to savour, enjoy, inhale slowly and calmly. I could not appreciate it and therefore my bad mood was established.
I ruined the porridge so the children scored lumpy, claggy goop in their breakfast bowls - rather than the usual smooth and delicious offering. They moaned and complained but I silenced them with a 'look', my 'look' the 'don't mess with the frazzled Mumma look'
Lunchboxes were thrown together, I have no idea what ended up in them, possibly an arrangement of random items from the pantry. This made me even crankier than I was already....I like to take time and care with school lunches. It makes me feel like I deserve my 'good Mummy' award. It makes me feel like I'm sending them off into the big, bad world with the tools necessary to deal with whatever is thrown at them. They can beat off school bullies with a good, nutritious salad sandwich, I'm sure. But today I failed miserably....pre-packaged, plain and boring all the way....
I had to cajole them into their un-ironed uniforms, I had to bribe them to clean their teeth. I had them all lined up to brush hair when I discovered something crawling in one of them.......Eek! Crap! Flipping Bloody Hell! Off to the shower with a head full of chemicals to kill the creepy, disgusting little bastards.
And then...into the car, strapping in the wiggly, whinging Toddler, breaking up the inevitable fight between the two eldest. I sat down, took in a couple of deep breaths and turned the key in the ignition....nothing, zero, zip...my beloved carrier of small people had died, resulting in a lot of silent cursing and slow, systematic head butting of the steering wheel.
Thank god Hubby came to the rescue, piling the monsters into his eternally reliable Falcon, a promise to come back and charge the blasted battery and off they went. Their little fair heads just discernible through the back window. For a moment I feel a tiny bit bereft at their departure and then I sigh, think of having another cuppa I can actually savour and I slowly creep back into the bomb site that is my home.