Wham, Bam, Thank you Ma'am!

Anyone driving with small children in the car may be all too familiar with scenes of pure and utter mayhem and of course, the distraction that this can lead too.

Inevitably, Mr 5 and Miss 8 will partake in some form of fisticuffs, Miss 2 will whinge, cry and moan and Mr 11 will provide a running commentary....'Are you sure this is the right way? The speed limit is 60 here you know. There's another car coming! This music is lame, can I change it?'

So driving for me involves lots of gritting of teeth and chanting 'Stay calm, stay calm'

Yesterday was no exception. After the torturous drive from the GC to Brisbane, kids packed into my people mover like sardines and Hubby absent from proceedings as usual, we made it to the park where I was meeting the assorted cousins, Aunty's and Uncles.

The next step was finding a car park.

Aaaarrgggh! Nightmare of Nightmares there is nothing I hate more than trying to squeeze my humongous mover of small people into a parking space created for people who drive a Honda Jazz or a Nissan Micra.

So, with assembled children screaming, yelling, whinging, crying and instructing, I 'attempted' to move the monstrosity into a space of infinitesimal proportions. In I went, slowly, carefully. I backed out a bit to make absolutely sure, then back in, gently, so gently. It was then that I heard it....the sound that all drivers dread....that unmistakable scrape of metal kissing metal.

Faaaaaarrrrkkkk!

My car had taken a distinct liking to the car in the space next door and had shared its affections. On it's back bumper.

I discarded my parking attempt. Parked a short distance away and then raced back, with kidlets in tow to asses the damage of my vehicle's paramour.

A bump, bruise, scratch on the bumper was there for all the world to see. I was horrified, mortified, beside myself. The kids were all standing there and saying (loudly)
'Ooooh Mum, you hit that car, Oooooh, you are in so much trouble, Ooooh the police are going to come.' Thanks a lot kids, my confidence has just sky rocketed.

Now, I wasn't sure what to do next. Do I travel around the enormous park and ask each and every person if it was their car? Or do I leave a note?

So I wrote a quick letter apologising and giving my name and number. Then I tried to have fun at the park with the kids...which was virtually impossible. I kept waiting for the phone to ring and for some irate person to curse me to the heavens...but it didn't.

It was later, much later that the call finally came. I had made it home, with my sanity barely intact, Hubby had made an appearance not long after and it was he that took the call.

'Oh, the poor dear' said the lovely car owner over the phone, 'Tis but a scratch, tell her to not worry.....Oh, and thank her for leaving a note, that was very considerate'

Considerate? Me? The person who just rear ended your car? Are you quite sure?

So despite the new bump that my monster truck has just acquired I now feel immensely relieved that I encountered one of the few people that may have viewed the predicament in my favour. Wonders will never cease.

And I have learnt my lesson....Me + Small parking spaces = Epic fail!

The Too Hard Basket

image thanks to weheartit.com

There are days when things just become too difficult. Days when I feel like climbing back into bed, pulling my blankets over my head and wishing that I could go back to sleep. Days where I wished that I had a 'Too Hard' basket and I could just dump the offending day in there.....
'Damn you Friday! In the 'Too Hard' basket you go!'

This morning I awoke early.....too early, to find a small person breathing very loudly in my ear. 'Mum' he loudly whispered, 'Mum, will you get up and play cars with me?'

No, no I won't get up and play bloody cars with you. It is five fifteen in the morning...I want to sleep damn you...I want to sleep!

Of course I didn't actually say this, I sort of muttered 'In a minute darling, go and wait for Mummy in the lounge room' and then promptly fell back asleep. Only to wake up at quarter to seven and completely freak out because the latest I can sleep in with out being ridiculously late is quarter past six.

Then, understandably Mr 5 (the early riser) was miffed. Quite possibly because I had kept him waiting in the lounge for an hour and a half to play cars.

Mr 5 in a good mood is delightful. Mr 5 in a bad mood is, quite frankly, scary.

So, he grumped through breakfast, grumped through getting dressed, grumped through teeth, hair and packing bags, grumped through tidying his room and grumped his way out to the car.

'Sorry,' I kept saying, 'I'm really sorry, we'll play cars this afternoon...I promise' I kissed, cuddled and tried to mollify him while I searched in the voracious depths that is my bag for my car keys........

Snotty tissue from Miss 2.....ick.......squashed sultanas stuck to my purse.....yuck......soggy bit of biscuit.....ugh......lip gloss minus the lid, sticky contents everywhere....sigh.....but, you guessed it, no keys.

'Darling, have you seen my keys!' I bellow....waking up any nice, normal neighbours that may be sleeping at that hour (who hadn't already been woken by Mr 5's grumping)

Of course he hadn't.

So then we all scour the house trying to find the damn things. I dump the contents of my filthy hand bag on the dining table...no keys. We check kids bags, counter tops, kitchen draws, under beds, beneath couch cushions and in every little nook and cranny imaginable...no keys.

By this stage we irrecoverably and incredibly late. It takes twenty minutes in peak hour traffic to get my children to school and today was the one day that we needed to be there early for dance rehearsals.

I end up leaving my poor husband with my key less car and 'borrowing' his.

Once the children had been safely deposited at school I flew home so Hubby could actually go to work. He had spent the time I had been gone searching for lost keys and when I had arrived home had still had no joy.

I walked in and noticed Miss Two's tea set sitting on a step. On a whim I picked up a little pot and lifted the lid....there were my keys.

Hubby and I clutched each other laughing at our own stupidity........'So,' I said cheerfully....'Can I go back to bed now?'

The Frazzled Mumma.....

I've had one of those mornings....you know the ones.....the type of morning when everything that can go wrong does....the kind of morning when sanity is on a razor edge and I feel inclined to leap from this burning building before it goes crashing down to the ground.

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.

Driven to Distraction

 I grip the steering wheel tightly, my knuckles white against the black leather, my fingers numb with the strain. My arms are extended straight out in front of me. Rigid and tense. I flex my fingers to try and release some pressure...it doesn't help. I feel angry and almost aggressive.

The noise inside the car is diabolical. Two children sit in the back arguing loudly. They shout, yell and scream at each other. Little fists are clenched. Tears flow freely.

    The little one is struggling against her car seat. She wriggles and squirms. Short, chubby legs fly kick out with apparent frustration while she lets out a continuous high-pitched and piteous wail.

The eldest one ignores them all; I wish I could share in his detachment of the whole scene.

The scenery that flashes past on our journey is at a complete contrast to the chaotic scene within the car. The countryside is clean and vibrant with rolling hills and pretty houses dotted here and there. The sky is clear, cloudless and the brightest shade of blue. The day outside looks tranquil, peaceful. My mood is at odds with it.

As I finally pull into the school car park I am relieved but also immediately self conscious. I have had no time to take care with my appearance. My jeans are wrinkled, my jumper covered in fluff - the white showing clearly against the black. I push my messy blonde hair off my face, sunglasses will fulfil the purpose of taming my shaggy mop. My face is devoid of any make up. I secretly wish I had found the opportunity to put on a tiny slither of lipstick, maybe a flick of mascara.

I settle the children, the older ones march off to their respective classrooms. I deliver my Preppy to his teacher.

On the way back to the car I hold the littlest one by the hand. She chatters endlessly and I calmly listen to the rise and fall of her voice. We walk slowly and I finally feel myself start to relax. I breathe deeply and inhale the fresh country air - it is soothing and sweet. As I walk my shoulders loosen, the tension leaves my body.

I hum softly under my breath. Finally I feel at peace with the world.

    Post script; After having dropped the children at school I raced home to write this post, quickly typing it out before my memory evaded me completely!