There should be 24 hours in a day. There are 24 hours in a day. Sometimes it doesn’t feel like it. Exciting days can go quickly, dull days can go slowly, but its safe to say the 24 hours rule is reliable. Then children come along and suddenly you have a grand total of 10 minutes for sleeping, eating, entertaining the small people and everything else the day throws at you. The exception to this rule is of course when you are playing your ‘least favourite’ and your offspring’s ‘best ever’ board game. In these instances, you are playing for a minimum of 10 hours.
This morning my alarm clock (affectionately known as youngest son) went off later than usual. I woke up covered in an assortment of snot and sneezes – from night feedings – and quickly established I was already 1/2 hour behind schedule. Middle son appeared soon after but eldest boy was still asleep. I decided that leaving him to sleep for a bit longer wouldn’t do any harm. This meant that I currently only had two little humans depending on me, if only for a brief period of time. Besides middle son was being elusive so I suspected he may have had a bedtime wee accident. It’s not always a good thing when you find out you are right.
By the time we made it downstairs for breakfast we were 45 minutes behind schedule. It was as this point that I made a fatal error: sharing this piece of information with my children. Knowing that we were later than usual, resulted in them being instantly ‘helpful’. I was presented with an assortment of bowls and told, “These are for you Mummy” – perhaps I should have mentioned I had every intention of skipping my own breakfast until after the school run! I asked eldest son which out of the motley collection of crockery in front of me was for him and was told that he hadn’t got his out yet. Meanwhile middle son was laying the table with enough spoons to feed a small army, again forgetting that vitally important item: his own spoon!
Next they needed to choose their cereals. Again they were keen to assist in doing this job quickly. So we only had the short rendition of ‘Eeny meeny miney mo’ with which to select the first cereal. It was at this point that I made my second error: trying to suggest that they only had one cereal each. Not only did this fail, but it resulted in my sons reciting back to me ‘my own’ breakfast rules from breakfasts past, before a decision could be made about cereal number 2 and 3. I tried getting them to sit down while I poured the milk, because I had a wriggly baby in the other arm and spillages are already 92% more likely to occur when you are rushing. So I naively thought that if the big two were out of the breakfast preparation vicinity it might improve my odds marginally. I was convinced we were about 5 hours behind by this point and may arrive at school just in time to pick them up. Any decision I made at this point was a gamble.
On this occasion it worked! No further delays. Littlest had a perfectly timed speed feed, dropping his latch at the exact same time that eldest asked to leave the table. The pushchair was already in the house from the previous night (a totally different sleep related story), so baby could lie in there, ready to go, and giving my left arm a well deserved break. This meant I could stealthily put middle son’s shoes on while he had his last few mouthfuls. Then he went to put his coat on – not something he normally volunteers to do without first discussing the meaning of life. I got the lunchbox out of the fridge to put under the pushchair, only to discover eldest son, who had got himself ready to walk out of the door, was gently rocking the pushchair. “Baby was crying so I was looking after him.” he said. Not only did we make up the time, but I had a little moment to appreciate how loving my boys are before starting the sprint to school. #lovemyboys
Disclaimer: I can confirm that we arrived at school on time 🙂 parenting win!