As all parents know, getting ready to leave the house with children of any age can be very stressful. Michael McIntyre explains it here perfectly.
And I think, it actually seems to get harder as the children get older, probably because it is not acceptable to physically drag 16 year olds and eight year olds out of bed, wrestle them in to their clothes, strap them in to seats and deposit them at your destination.
And on work days the leaving the house challenge is made worse by the fact that you have to arrive at the office looking reasonably presentable, preferably not covered in snot or any other bodily fluid.
But despite getting up at 6am by the time I have wrestled, cajoled, yelled, cried and walked the mile and a half to nursery and the office, my brain and appearance are generally quite frazzled. My hair seems to have a life of its own, restyling itself in to a 1980s Farah Fawcett Major type flick arrangement (I know I’m showing my age now), but less glamorous. For those of you who are too young to remember her, she looked something like this.
Today was no exception and I had the added complication of a meeting with suppliers at 10am, which meant I definitely needed to look like a professional business woman. Fat chance!
The morning didn’t start well. I knew it wasn’t going to go well when Winnie got out of bed. It was one of those days when nothing was quite right. The sun was too bright, the floor was too hard, her curtains were the wrong colour. You get the picture? Her new, pristine, white school polo shirt was the final straw. She wanted to wear her old one that has shrunk in the tumble drier and reveals far too much of her torso. Apparently everyone was going to laugh at her new shirt, so she would much rather go to school in her Hello Kitty nightdress and fluffy socks, because that wouldn’t be at all amusing! Cue major meltdown (both of us).
The teenager was equally as reluctant to go to school . Apparently he had a ‘headache’ (or maybe he hadn’t done his Art homework – mmmmm) and couldn’t possibly lift his head off the pillow. After about four attempts to get him out of bed I gave up and left him there.
While all this was going on Baby Billy decided it would be a good idea to clean the walls with his toothbrush and a spot of toothpaste.
Finally I managed to get Winnie, Billy and myself in a decent enough state to leave the house. I packed Winnie off on the school bus and tottered all the way to nursery in my high heels finally making it to the office, just three minutes late! After a detour to the toilets to tame my hair and a trip to the coffee machine for a much needed hit, I collapsed in to the chair at my desk and breathed a sigh of relief. I had made it. I then removed my coat to find that I had a huge blob of toothpaste spit on my right shoulder. Doh!