Daisy Roo & Two




It’s 7:24am and I’ve already realised the day is going to be long. 

Pal is working the weekend. He left for work either before or at 3am. 

I only know this because by 3:15am I had woken to three children arguing over who got to sleep next to me in my bed. 

Eventually we assumed the position:

Child either side, smallest right on top of me. Me feeling like I can’t breathe but also can’t try to move because children. Asleep. And it won’t be long until 5am.

5am or thereabouts is usually when the requests for food begin. 

They’ve been taught that no food is likely to materialise before 6am – yet still they insist on cataloging the contents of the pantry and fridge and telling me each item, one by one, as I squeeze my eyes shut and wonder if this is actually hell. 

I learned a long time ago not to leave fruit or vegetables I need during the day within sight or reach – Pal and I are the KINGS of hiding things in the fridge. 

What my children don’t know is that right now there is a punnet of strawberries hidden behind a container of left over soup I’ve been meaning to clean out for two weeks (maybe more, who can keep track of these things?) and a kilo of apples on top of the fridge inside a cake tin.

I know they don’t know they are there because there are no half eaten strawberries squashed into my couch (because God forbid their mouths touch the green leaves) and no apple cores thrown into the corner of the lounge room in which I keep my yarn. 

Where was I going with this?

Oh yes. 7:24am. 

The time I realised that before I’d even had my first coffee – which all my family have been trained to treat as sacred “talk to mummy and you are likely to die” time – before then I’d been asked for more paper for drawing. 

Because using two sides of the same piece of paper is how sharknados really get started.

I’d also been told Oscar had changed the channel on the television and TELL HIM TO STOP.

Despite both other children not being satisfied with what was on originally – Octonauts – so really he was just trying to accomodate them and compromise. 

Or not. He probably knew that just by touching the remote he would send them both into a frenzy of dobbing and as it drove his siblings insane, he would be assured of my attention.

Before 7:24am, after my coffee was made but before I’d managed a sip, I had made bowls of cereal. Well, two bowls and a cup of cereal.

Because if milk goes on top of  Oscar’s cereal somewhere across the universe a planet implodes, wiping out an entire species of magic astronaut fairies. 

At least that’s what I assume happens – it must be that bad because I see no other reason for the screaming that will ensue should even just one drop of milk touch even one tiny piece of sugared cardboard passing itself off as breakfast food. 

Before 7:24am Rory had expressed her concern that some of her teeth haven’t regrown after losing them. 

Concern that could not be abated by me telling her that she actually hasn’t lost those teeth yet. Those are the original baby teeth she chomped my nipples into chop suey  with before she weaned herself and there are actually no gaps because of all the teeth she has lost, her adult teeth are coming in quite nicely. 

Before 7:24am- before coffee – I found dried cereal strewn across my couch and despite knowing it must have been Oscar his full denial had him sent to his room for lying. 

It could only have been Oscar because he’s the only one who eats the cereal dry and thus the only one who eats cereal on the couch because apparently my children have decided that the line they will not cross is eating milky cereal on the couch.

So here I am, now at 7:44am, finally caffeinated.

Being taught by Fraser how a rocket comes apart and goes back together “just in case I need you to do it for me, ok?”.

Obviously he’s just preparing for the two-sided paper induced Sharknado – in which he’s likely to lose both arms.

UPDATE: It is now 8:08am. I’m on my second cup of coffee. Fraser brought me this drawing.   

Apparently it’s me, driving a train. That only mummies and daddies and no kids can go on.

It’s obviously the train to Crazy Town. I’m driving. Who’s coming with me?

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