After waking up from a horrible nightmare and simultaneously realising I had overslept, I woke up my three sleeping children (because they only wake up at Sparrow’s Fart on weekends, of course) and BEGGED them to PLEASE get ready as quickly as possible so we wouldn’t be late for school.
Miss M dawdled and danced in front of the mirror, then stood in the middle of the kitchen NOT eating breakfast NOR brushing teeth NOR doing her hair, causing me to turn into a screaming banshee with the parenting skills of a toad.
Little Man did everything I asked at the pace of a snail on Rohypnol and simply refused point-blank to hurry up. He was so slow, in fact, that I had to remind him to chew his food after he put it in his mouth. Oh yes.
Baby G spilled her milk everywhere and complained about her t-shirt not being pretty enough. I cleaned the milk, changed the t-shirt and screamed some more at the big kids, who were doing I-have-no-idea-what.
I reminded them to pack their homework folders and lunch boxes in the back packs. I made them LOOK AT ME (you really couldn’t miss me, the wild, yelling crazy woman in the kitchen) and LISTEN as I repeated this.
I ran into the study to let out Sizzles (who had been locked in there overnight due to the fact that between 2am and 4am he barked at the storm. Because barking ALWAYS stops thunder. Hmm.) and found myself experiencing the particularly unpleasant sensation of dog diarrhoea between my toes. Also vomit. Because dog diarrhoea isn’t enough.
While wiping poo out from between my toes, I screeched at the kids a little more, for god measure.
Little Man took this as his cue to practice origami. Miss M decided to choreograph a dance and Baby G complained that she didn’t like the new shirt and wanted the old one back. I blinked slowly.
I shut the study door (if you can’t see it, it’s not there, right?) and hustled them out the door and into the car (threatening all the way, because I’m a great parent today) and proceeded to lecture them all the way to school. I was well-aware that all they could hear was, “Wah wah wah screech wah wah NOT ACCEPTABLE shriek wah way…” but I couldn’t stop myself. As I said, contender for “Parent of the year”.
I kissed them goodbye (I’m sure they felt the love) and got in the car to go home and burn the house down…ahem, I mean clean up the product of Sizzles’ bum explosion. That’s when Darren called to tell me Miss M had left her lunchbox at home. I only swore for about 5 minutes and only invented two new words. I can’t repeat them.
I drove home, fetched the lunch box and delivered it to the school. I wasn’t chirpy, Mary-Poppins-esque or approachable. I was like an injured bull. After delivering the lunchbox, I got back in the car again, drove home again, hyperventilating and swearing like a sailor. Upon arriving home, I discovered Little Man’s homework folder. Tough. NO WAY was I going back to school. Nah uh.
I trudged, defeated, back to the study (which smelled lovely) and proceeded to attempt to scrub the poo out of the carpet. I was not successful. If it’s possible, it looks worse. And scrubbing made it like a giant scratch-and-sniff. I ran away, eyes watering, to the kitchen.
Luckily my family had left me a squillion (approximately) dishes to keep me occupied. The dishwasher was full. Of course. Threw a little tantrum.
The next exciting agenda item was the laundry. I washed, dried and folded. I didn’t even dent the growing pile of dirty clothes. How of EARTH my family can generate this much dirt is a mystery. Threw hands in air. Hyperventilated a little more. Cried a little. Had another tantrum.
The study now has poo-smears. I have snail trails down my cheeks from frustrated tears. I also have three pimples. I am thirty-seven years old, for crying out loud, surely I am too old for an isosceles triangle formation of pimples on my chin? Apparently not. The fountain of youth still runs in my veins. Yay.
The Not Nice Day is only half-way. At least I can say that when I do things, I do them 100%.
Silver lining: tomorrow is likely to be better. Surely?
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