Morning madness

Beaker

Wednesday mornings are always a bit stressy in the Household, but yesterday took the Black Forest cake.

It kicked off at 4am with a serenade from the neighbour’s illegal rooster, followed by a Niagra Falls of rain cascading over the farked guttering in my rental.

I staggered out of bed at 6am, hopelessly underprepared with my blog, and spent the next hour battling to write as the internet skipped in and out of connectivity. I’m thinking my modem likes the continuous rain as much as I do.

At 7am, I roused the eldest for band practice, shoved some jam toast under her nose, told her to get ready and flung myself in the shower. Mid-shower, the eldest shouted through the door that all her school clothes were in the back of the car, where I’d left them after collecting them from Husband’s car the previous night.

I just lurve juggling two households.

I cut my shower short, donned my uggs, leopard print dressing gown and a towel turban and skuttled out into the rainy street to retrieve the missing bag.

Frantic lunchbox victuals were thrown together, I stuck the dog under my arm, herded the eldest out the front door and bolted through the drizzle again to the car.

At drop-off I belatedly noticed the eldest was sporting a large stain on her tunic and a cocky’s comb hairdo. I briefly considered spitting into my palm to address both issues before deciding she would kill me, so shrugged my shoulders, gave her a kiss and sped off.

I dropped the dog at my sister’s house for a playdate and copped a serve for suggesting in the blog that she thought journalists were wankers. I promised to print a correction the moment I returned home so she wouldn’t get lynched.

Home again, blog amended, I frantically put on my face, fretted over how to roll my jeans fashionably, then rousted the youngest out of the house (not before she whined “muuuuum, there’s no fruit break in my lunchbox” and I snarled back that it was little wonder because poor mum gets NO HELP in the mornings)

The youngest was tossed out of the car at her friend’s house, looking like she’d been dragged through a bush backwards. “Did you brush your hair????” I squeaked. Yes,  Mum. “Well it doesn’t bloody look like it. And WHAT is that all over your face?” I shrugged my shoulders, gave her a kiss and sped off.

Then I drove to the nearest newsagent for a new bus ticket. Then I dropped the car (and a bottle of red) outside the house where I was scheduled to attend a dinner party last night.

Why the car drop? I’ll get to that later.

I bolted to the bus stop, narrowly missed my bus and waited 20 minutes for another, because why would anyone want to catch a bus to work between 8.25am and 8.45am. That’s just crazy talk.

When the bus finally arrived it was one of the blue-mooners that doesn’t require a bus ticket to board. Joy.

In the city, I flung myself on a train and eventually arrived at work at a time not even in the adjacent ballpark to 9am, almost 4 hours after rising from bed.

Then I finally ate some breakfast for morning tea.

Work was a relaxed doddle after that.

However, since I’m quite the expert at keeping things panicked, I made sure the other end of the day was equally frenetic.

My sister’s boyfriend was inveigled to drop my mutt home from his playdate and feed him. Meanwhile, I headed to a 7pm hair appointment. Kinda harrowing when I’d accidentally told my dinner party host I was free for a 7.30pm kick-off.

Hence my car being parked outside their house, so I could fling myself in a cab, grab the wine from my front seat and make a pantingly late entrance.

On arrival at the hairdresser – ultra-early and desperately hopeful he was running ahead of schedule – I assured him that while I really appreciated him being an artist, could he speed cut my hair and skip the blow-dry.

Then I threw myself in a cab and arrived at dinner only three minutes fashionably late (looking a little like a drowned rat).

Geez I skulled that red wine when I finally got some.

Mistake that. Hello insomnia.

I’ll be crawling through Thursday on one hour of sleep as punishment.

But at least I don’t have to get any kids out of the house, just my dark-circled, dishevelled self.

Better be off now …

Do you sometimes find school mornings with kids a little too mad? Tell me all those annoying tips again about how I should be making their lunches the night before and not letting them turn on the tellie. 

Song of the day: Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds “Bring it on”

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