How hard can it be to make a cup of tea?
I used to be a pro and I had a stylish routine. I would respond to my inner call for caffeine quickly by heading to the kettle, removing it from its perch, filling it with the appropriate amount of water to avoid the nasty limescale bits at bottom, return to perch, turn on, reach for a cup, add PG Tips tea bag, click the sweetener in, remove semi-skimmed milk from fridge and unscrew lid in anticipation. Whilst waiting for kettle to bubble its way to boiling I would leaf through a magazine or just gaze idly at the world outside my window. When the kettle had heated the water to scalding hot I would remove from perch once more, pour into cup, stir gently, add milk, stir some more, remove PG Tips Tea Bag and place it in the bin. Then my perfect cup of tea and I would retreat to sofa with the biscuit barrel and enjoy some quiet time with a book and a bourbon biscuit.
See, tea making down to a fine art.
So why I ask you can something I once did so well become a near impossible task suddenly?
Suddenly now I have six small legs around me at all times the art of making tea has disappeared and instead this happens….
I feel the call for caffeine arise within me, I suppress the urge for caffeine for a couple of hours whilst I ‘get straight’. Fast forward a few hours later and I am parched and nowhere near “straight” but my energy levels are dropping so I head for kettle stumbling on a duplo brick en route and cracking my knee on the door frame. After five minutes of hopping and swearing I get back on course, as I get within arms reach of the kettle a small thing arrives at my hip and requests a drink. I detour to the sink and pour water in a beaker and empty the kitchen drawer trying to find a lid. I fail in this quest and pass the small thing the drink with a warning to be careful. I return to my original mission and walk the two steps to the kettle and flick it on.
Cries are heard in the other room and I turn to go gather up a baby, I return babe in arms to hear the kettle spluttering in anger through lack of water. I turn kettle off and remove from perch scalding arm in process on the dry steam emerging from the spout. I transfer baby to hip and fill kettle with water not really caring if I get enough in to avoid the limescale yukky bits.
I turn the kettle on as I hear twin girl summoning me to deal with a spilt water incident. Once that is cleaned up I rush upstairs to deal with twin boy who is bent over in the bathroom arse in air with a congealed brown mess attached to it demanding I wipe him clean. Not one to shy away from frightful faeces I then decide to change BB’s overdue nappy to try to shift the smell of poop from the house.
My caffeine levels poke me a reminder and I return to kitchen, grab a chipped cup emblazoned ironically with the words ” Worlds Greatest Mum” and sling in an Aldi’s own brand T bag and chuck in several full fat sugars. I turn to the kettle to find it full of cooled boiled water and grunt in frustration then whack it on again.
Several barks from rabid hound reminds me she hasn’t yet been out so I grab her lead to take her to the garden for toilet time. She gets over excited by sight of lead and races around house barking in excitement and knocks a vase over in the process, the loud smash causes BB to wail and twin boy to start shouting in a foghorn style voice;
“Naughty dog, stupid mutt!”
I mentally reprimand myself for saying “stupid mutt” out loud and mentally praise myself for not saying “fecking arsing dog” out loud.
I throw dog out in garden praying she won’t run off, grab BB and jig her around whilst singing ‘row row the boat’ in a slightly manic tone, run to kitchen to gather paper towels and hear the kettle scream that it has reached boiling point and hence I manage to twist my body with baby on hip, paper towels in my move to free my other hand and I reach, lift the kettle, and pour water into chipped cup.
I return to the broken vase whilst bellowing at the twins to ‘leave the glass alone, it’s not a flipping jigsaw’. I pop BB out of harms way, again thanking the big man upstairs that she isn’t yet crawling, and I give her chocolate to placate the tears whilst thinking for the billionth time that I will never be Tesco’s Mother of the Year. I collect up glass, cut finger, and mop up blood and water. I return to kitchen sucking on finger, find a Spiderman plaster and apply. I then yell at Twin Boy who is angrily protesting at me in raised tones that the Spiderman plasters are his. I then get slapped in the face by guilt and spend five minutes apologising to twin boy for not asking to borrow his Spiderman plaster.
My caffeine levels hit an all time low and I spot the cooling black sugary tea on the side, I seize the moment, grab the full fat milk left out from breakfast, pour in too much in my excitement but don’t really care. I hear twin girl calling for me in the background and BB crying my name. I bring the cup to my lips, I take a noisy deep slurp and then reach in to remove the Aldi own brand T bag which was tickling my lips and I abandon it on the side. I then take several heavenly quick sips and regretfully tip the rest down the sink less it get knocked over and with caffeine levels restored I head back out to the chaos to be greeted by Twin boy saying;
“Mummy the fecking arsing dog has run off again.”
Never even considered having a bourbon biscuit…..
**By the way my little blog has been shortlisted in the MAD blog Awards; I am really flattered, if you want to help me win please click on this voting link and enter your name and email and my blog has been shortlisted in Best Mad Blog about Family life (the first one); just click ‘northern mum’ – Thanks from me, twin boy, twin girl, BB, and he who helped create them x x x