I sometimes envy the single guys at work - that can roll out of bed with a finely crafted routine ahead of them to leave the house with seconds to spare beyond which they would be late for work. My morning typically starts an hour before I leave the house, of which ten minutes are spent on myself.
The morning typically includes;
Tell kids to get dressed
Attempt to walk downstairs without tripping over toys left strategically on the stairs
Tidy kitchen sufficiently to make stuff
Tell youngest to put [insert random toy name] back away, and respond to inevitable “Why?” with “Because you have to get ready for school
Make three breakfasts for little people
Jump in shower, brush teeth, shave if time allows
Get drinks for three little people
Request that the wreckage spread across the breakfast table is re-l0cated to the sink in the kitchen.
Make cup of tea for other half
Make coffee for myself
Ask all children again if they have their coats, shoes, and bags ready
Get dressed
Brush hair of each child, wondering how they have managed to tangle their hair to such an extent overnight that cutting it all off is turning into a sensible idea.
Let chickens out
Fetch mountain bike from shed
Fail to find pump to put more air in rear tyre
Begin walk to school
Bellow at youngest children to stop as articulated lorry pulls out of petrol station
Tell younger children off for not listening to bellowed “STOP”
Have heart attack as youngest leaves scooter brakingmanoeuvrefar too late approaching main road (repeat this again, and again)
I typically walk the first half mile of the journey with the kids towards their schools; or - as happened this morning - I accompany the eldest to her school gate (little miss 5 has “Maths Club” on a Monday morning - quite what it might involve is anybody’s guess - perhaps “two cakes plus two cakes = my cakes
The craziness of our typical morning can be derailed by the slightest thing. Missing school clothes or shoes are a favourite. Discovery of no milk to make cereals, or bread to make toast are also common . We commonly have to deal with abelligerentfour year old, who, in the middle of said toast shortage has decided that the only substance she will eat is chocolate spread on toast. All other suggestions are responded to with an unhappy grunt. People without children who are recoiling at the thought of feeding children such horrors as chocolate spread can go take a running jump - until you have experienced a mayhem filled morning, you are in no position to judge (and we don’t feed them it every day anyway).
If you are single and/or childless, and reading this with a significant amount of horror or justification for your childless state forming in your mind, I need to redress the balance a little.
You know the bit in Monsters Inc. when they discover the power of laughter? It works the same on grown ups. No matter what the kids have done - how naughty they have been - if they giggle, you’ve had it.