There are times when having kids who live in two households is a massive pain in the coit.
Like yesterday at 7.15am when I was dashing to band rehearsals – where I was also on supervision duty – with the eldest … and realised we didn’t have her trumpet.
The trumpet was with her dad because our normal routine had been kicked sideways by a school concert on Wednesday, his night with the kids.
My ex didn’t answer my frantic calls and messages, so I threw the girls in the car with toast in takeaway containers and hooned to his place. It was dark inside his apartment when I opened the front door and I was a little nervous about interrupting something, so I sent the eldest inside for her trumpet while I fretted on the front door mat.
My ex’s voice eventually floated down from his mezzanine bedroom informing us that the trumpet was in his car boot.
So the eldest and I dashed to my car to get his spare car key then back into his apartment complex and down into the basement to his car, grabbed the trumpet and hooned to school … 10 minutes late for set-up duty.
As the eldest settled into her chair I noticed she was wearing her summer uniform and school shoes. I worried momentarily about whether she would be cold before thinking “Hang on, today is Friday. She’s supposed to be in sport uniform for netball.”
And then I remembered where her sport shoes were … in my ex’s hallway.
My ex didn’t answer my second raft of frantic calls and messages. I stared down the barrel of missing my beloved Friday gym class and replacing it with another mad dash to his place for the shoes, then to my house for a sport shirt. I texted my gym buddy Alice to let her know I might not make it.
Five minutes later, my ex arrived in the hall with a bag containing the precious shoes and a gym shirt. If I wasn’t so comprehensively, eternally narked at him I’d have kissed him.
Instead I said thank you and texted my gym buddy to say disaster had been avoided and I WOULD make it to the gym class.
Ten minutes later I looked at the clock and realised the rehearsal had gone way over time because it was a special combined one with the local high school band. Wow, they sounded good together.
(Both kids now want to switch from brass to oboes. Actually, they want to play brass AND oboes. Not at $34 a lesson my darlings.)
So I texted Alice again and said I might NOT make it after all.
I wouldn’t blame her for being quite over my text messages by that point.
But the rehearsal finally ended, much frenzied packing away was accomplished and I bolted to the gym, scoffed the top off an organic no-dairy, no-sugar, no-fun banana muffin with sesame seeds on top of it (sesame seeds! WTF?) so I wouldn’t pass out in the sculpt class (there had only been time to put toast in plastic containers for breakfast for the kids, not me) and sweated my coit off for an hour.
Fark it was brutal!
Fark I hate push-ups!
But at least it made me forget about my stress headache.
Geez I need a holiday. One without school drop-offs, school pick-ups, skipping drop-offs, skipping pick-ups (etc etc), sans dogs barking to be let out for a wee at 6.15am, dogs barking to be fed at 5pm, dogs barking full-stop.
I dream about relaxing on a nice, soothing balcony view and lots of sparkling wine.
Specifically, I dream about being on THIS balcony with lots of sparkling wine …
But I suspect I have a very long wait. (Though Mum is suggesting she might like to take me with her to Hawaii one last time on a girly getaway … after she recovers from the knee-replacement surgery she hasn’t even booked yet. I’m thinking 2017.)
Sigh. I’d even settle for a weekend somewhere vaguely nice. Sadly, my constrained calendar tells me such bliss is many, many months away.
Unless I count going to Canberra for the State Skipping Championships next month … which I don’t.
And let’s not talk about the parlous state of my finances.
Are there mornings that make you want to stop the world and get off?
Song of the day: Pete Murray “Bail me out”