And so it begins,
The blatent beep of the alarm sounds at six thirty and I ignore, already wide awake with a child in my arms who awoke at five but yet I am still reluctant to crawl from my bed and to start the day.
The door flies open and crashes into the wall and two squabbling six year olds fall into the room, unaware that it is really still the middle of the night they start to regale me with the mornings trauma and fill me stories of punching and pinching and accidental smacks.
I wipe the sleep from my eyes and turn on the TV and watch as the din in my room subsides to silence as the three turn to the coloured screen and become hypnotised by the moving images and they all stand open mouthed drooling at the magic of television.
I move to the bathroom and sit on the seat, I groan as I realise twin boy has sprinkled where he tinkles and I have pee on my arse.
I move to the shower and call out motivational words to get the kids moving, no sound comes from my room and I shower blissfully ignorant that no one is paying attention.
It is six forty five, time to get cracking.
The TV continues its hynopitic pull on my kids and as I step from the shower I walk into the room and snap off the switch.
I am abused, shouted at, and I retaliate as any good mother would with a direct statement of….
“get dressed now!”
Twin Boy runs to his room and starts a game of hide the teddy, Twin girl runs to the bathroom with the aim of brushing her teeth but gets sidetracked by a Barbie and decides to dress her first. The toddler merely runs around yelling ‘Peppa Pig’ and stares at me with hope in her eyes.
Its seven am, lateness is starting to approach, still I stand in my towel with a partially dressed toddler who is now hiding in the bathroom refusing to come out, she is without a nappy and i swear i can hear her pitterling on the floor. Twin girl has a perfectly dressed Barbie but she looks like she has just fallen out of bed. Twin Boy is dressed but he is dressed ready for his five a side game on Saturday rather than a Thursday at school.
I remember that last night I swore I wasn’t going to shout any more and then I think to myself ‘feck it’ as the clock ticks closer to 7.15.
I rip off the towel and bury my face in my make up bag and fling on a suit which the toddler then wipes a toothpaste filled hand across. I throw paper on the floor where more wee is waiting. I attatck the eldest girl with a hair brush and ignore the shrieks of pain and then I chase the toddler who is cowering in a corner saying ‘no brush hair mummy, no brush hair’. Twin boy looks at his sisters smiling as he shakes his short hair in jubilation.
We head downstairs ignoring the mayhem above.
Breakfast is shovelled into hungry mouths as I yank the toddler into clothing, and commands are issued to try and evoke a sense of urgency. The twins continue to eat as if time was their friend and leisure was their job. My boiling point is reached.
It is seven thirty am,
I grab coats, books, bags and hats, lunch boxes from the fridge and water bottles from the side. I carry a toddler under my arm and usher the six year olds through the door.
We reach the car and I start to calm, we can make it, breakfast club for 7.45, childminder for 8, work for 9…
We sit in the car, stress levels dropping and twin boy turns to me and smiles and says…
“It’s swimming today mummy, did you pack my things….”