Like a certain fat orange cat, I’m not a fan of Mondays. Today proved to be no exception. I thought I was all over it, I really did. On Sunday night I was ever such a good mummy, and I got all their uniforms ready and laid out to put on. I went through the massive pile of school notes and communication books, and diligently filled them all out – purse scrounged bare of loose change to go with said notes. I filled all the drink bottles, found hats, shoes, socks and got lunches sorted. I fell into bed at near on midnight, tired but happy in the thought that I was ready for Monday.
At 3am I am woken by a sobbing Henry standing in the kitchen, doona wrapped around himself a picture of sadness and snot. He had tried to get himself a drink in the dark and had spilt all the drink bottles in the process. B.E.A.U.tiful. Two soaking towels, and three more litres of cordial re-made later. I send Henry back off to bed with a warm bottle and the hope that I won’t see him till dawn.
3.3oam I fall back into bed, mentally calculating exactly how many hours, minutes, seconds of sleep I can get in before the alarm clock goes off.
4.30am Georgie toddled into the room. Prods me in the eye and says “Mummy wake up!” Clearly she was not prepared for the response she received from Mummy, suddenly tears and cuddles became necessary and some gentle encouragement to return to her own room. Six more times over the next hour or two, she eventually gets the message – go to bed or Mummy WILL sell you on eBay. Once again I calculate how much more sleep I can get…. and…. out.
6am The Husband helpfully wakes me when he gets up to go to work. I don’t move. I play dead hoping he will leave me alone. At 6.30am The Husband feels the need to inform me that he has given the baby boys a bottle. Really? I needed to know that? And he departs. In that 20 minutes I have between him leaving and the alarm clock going off, I get the best sleep I have gotten for the entire night.
During my 20 minute power snooze the minions have been busy. I get up to find the drink bottles once again drank and/or spilled, the uniforms have all been moved – thanks to Henry and his obsessive little ways – half had been put in random drawers, the rest had been used to construct a mound in front of the pantry to reach the cookie jar. Several school notes have been colored in with crayon. So all my organisation thrown out the window, time to get frantically busy. Unfortunately for the children this brings about the arrival of Attila the Mummy, yet despite her arrival the children don’t seem to be deterred from their plan to strip the house of food, clean walls, dry floors and my sanity. Even while I repacked their lunches the shenanigans continued, the smallest boys started a brawl in the next room. This I now know was a diversionary tactic, as on my return to the kitchen I found that the rest of them had eaten an entire pack of Iced VoVo biscuits. I had only opened them seconds before, and I was gone maybe a minute! Just for that you can all eat fruit for lunch!
At a quarter to nine I was still hunting down a lost shoe, at this point Thomas decides to pull out the big guns and has a full blown meltdown. Stuff this for a joke. I hurl them all into the car and head off to school, I should say schools because I have to go to three different schools on a Monday. The minions should probably consider themselves lucky that I stopped the car, before tossing them out of it this morning.
See, now you know why I hate Mondays.
Don’t even get me started on what they were like at the other end of the day. O_o