The Stress of Normality ~ Northernmum

It was just a normal day, the usual type of normal day where the wine in the fridge starts chanting your name from about 9am.  Normality in this house is bloody stressful.

The day started at 7.30am, about an hour later than usual.  My beloved offspring  had clearly planned a practical joke the night before as none of the three have ever slept in unison past 7am since they were born.  The last time I set an alarm was 2006 so consequently when the bluebirds pulled my duvet back this morning my first word upon squinting hazily at the clock was,

“Shit,”

followed by

“Shit, shit.”

So it started, batting the bluebirds out of sight I wrenched the covers from each of my three sleeping children whilst they all covered their eyes and begged for mercy from daybreak.  I worried for a moment that the undead had added them to their clan overnight which would convincingly explain their extended sleep but none of them burst into flames when I ripped open the curtains so I lay that theory to rest quickly.

“Come on darlings, we are later than usual” I sang in my best Mary Poppins voice.

Two minutes later when no one had levitated their arse from their beds I bellowed ‘get up now we are going to be late for bloody school.’  I dashed from the room aiming for the shower ignoring my smart mouthed son when he finished my sentence with the final word ‘again.’

I reached the shower in record speed to find he who helped create them lathering up a storm, he looked at me through surprised soapy eyes and said ‘bloody hell love I’m late – they slept…’

The silent voice in my head said ‘no shit Sherlock.’

I considered joining him in the shower, but my libido is still on vacation and I didn’t want to start something in the morning which I would have to finish at bedtime so instead I furiously brushed my teeth whilst scrubbing the smallest child’s face.

Minutes flew by and I peered into the twins room to see them wide awake, out of bed, happily swapping Moshi cards.  My blood took offence and flew from toes into my cheeks;

“Get dressed now,” I demanded in an authoritative tone.

Twin girl turned and peered at me over a Glump and a Moshling, “your not shouting isn’t going well,” she remarked.  “It’s going as well as her diet,” giggled twin boy and the pair of them fell about like hyenas in pyjamas who were running late for school.

Exasperated I left the room, heading back for the shower, ignoring BB who was playing nicely in my room with my very expensive foundation and Ted Baker eye shadows.

Five minutes later I returned to my room shaking wet from my hair and falling into my knickers. BB looked at me with glee and I cried “Shit” again because she had turned herself into a mini Joan Collins and my red lipstick had been beaten beyond repair on her tiny bright crimson lips.

And so it continued, a mass of yelling, make up wiping, make up applying and getting dressed until 8.20 clicked onto the clock and we were all dressed ready to go.

Breakfast was thrown at the children and twin girl was insulined up, we got in the car and dashed to the school gate and slunk in past the school office all trying to be quiet expect for BB who went in shouting,

“shhhh hit, shhh hit, we are late, very late indeed.”

Is 9am considered too early for gin?