My daughter was dithering when faced with the insurmountable task of getting herself 'uniformed'. Apparently the required items hadn't miraculously appeared before her while she lingered in the middle of her room scratching her head. So I helped her sort it out. "Not that ball of trousers, they were the ones you stepped out of yesterday that, if I remember correctly, were soggy round the ankles from this joyous weather" (or words to that effect!
Having quickly ascertained that the clean washing would hold the key, I trotted downstairs (with my extremely achey back - no idea why when I'd just got up unless I have started night-time dead-lifting again). Oh good - both over-laden baskets of clean washing were easy to locate having remained in the same place at the bottom of the stairs for the last three days (amazing how no-one else in the family can SEE them). I trudged no. 1 upstairs, followed closely by no. 2. Sifted, sorted, folded, as I went, and found the necessary garments. Job 1 done, daughter clothed.
Now to rustle-up brekkie and a packed lunch - simple. I enter the dining room to be greeted by last night's dinner plates, leftovers and crumb-strewn table. Nice. I clear all that I can carry, juggling it towards the kitchen where, lo and behold, there is nowhere to abandon my unscheduled delivery. Last night's dinner preparations come screaming back to me - dirty chopping boards, vegetable off-cuts, used tin foil. Yummy. Lucky me. The thought flashes across my brain - I'll just load the dishwasher with it all and the kitchen will look more culinary arena than war-torn cityscape. But wait, the gift that keeps on giving has one last little joy to reveal. No-one has even managed to empty the clean things from the dishwasher.
This is the kitchen equivalent of a cul de sac. Nowhere left to go. So I plump for the only option at my disposal. I clear an area the size of a postage stamp by lobbing any rubbish (I don't care which bin it should have gone it, Mr Council Refuse Collector, it's all gone in the 'general' bin - up yours!), piling dirty utensils, crockery and cutlery on top of other dirty utensils, crockery and cutlery and proceed to the brekkie and lunch making. Breakfast is easy really - grab a bowl, balance in one hand whilst tipping cereal into it, follow with milk, seek clean spoon (remember, there are plenty in the dishwasher even if the drawer is empty) serve to half-cleared table. Make lunch. I think that's Job 2 done!
Crap. It's Friday. PE kit day. Back up the stairs to find tracksuit (for some reason this has been placed in two different parts of the bedroom (!), t-shirt, trainers...well, we had to have the customary discussion first as to why someone's 'fashion' trainers are not appropriate for school PE. But it wouldn't be Friday without covering our friendly familiar ground now would it?! We'll call the school bag, Job 3, done.
COFFEE BREAK
By that, I mean I made time to put the coffee machine on (tiptoeing all the while through the kitchen detritus) and washed up my cup. Drinking it would actually happen as an ongoing coffee phase rather than a break as such.
With my daughter's hair done (plait-ponytail combo today, if you're interested) she was safely an d swiftly shoved (with love) into the car to be dropped at school. Great - I'll pop BabyBoy into the snug, take my cooling coffee in there and park my rear end on the sofa. Seems fair considering... Of course, that is exactly what I did. The End.*
*Having cleared the dirty plates, cups, glasses and rubbish from every possible surface, seat and portion of floor which was not concealed under the toy-carpet... The toys can bugger off - they can wait 'til later - I have a bathroom to scrub today, a kitchen to retrieve, dinner to cook and a nervous breakdown to fit in first $|
