Mornings. Three children, breakfasts, lunch boxes and reading folders, two dogs, two cats, lots of fish and a lizard……………….. How on earth did I find myself in this situation, and by the way, where is my slipper?……….. “Freddy!”
Is it just me or are mornings odd affairs? I am not a morning person. Not at all, not one bit. Although I do wake up and meditate and set my intention for the day, the whole human to human communication thingy escapes me. Technically I don’t really function before 8am and definitely not at all without tea. In fact the whole speaking thing is a complete challenge in itself. This was all fine and dandy before I had children, well, not really that fine as I worked as a flight attendant for 10 years. I do apologise to all those passengers who were wondering why someone completely mute was serving them breakfast (just kidding).
Anyway, I digress, back to children, puppies and mornings. I am interested, does anyone do mornings with poise, style and finesse? I am really good at the traditional movie style wake up, fumbling with the alarm clock and plodding round the bedroom looking for something warm to put on. It is often at this point that child number 1 turns up and launches into a hugely complicated story of which I can only capture every fourth word. I nod knowingly and silently pray that they don’t notice that I can’t understand a thing.
Half way down the stairs child number 2 will appear, with another hugely complicated story for me to fake another response to. I get to the bottom of the stairs, hmmm, only one slipper, now that’s odd? Hop towards the kitchen in search of tea.
By now I have nearly reached the kettle, only to be distracted by Freddy the puppy, and Coco the dog whining in the laundry as they both desperately need to wee and do their happy dance. On the best of days I make it there on time, on other days it takes me a little longer to get back to the kitchen. Once the dogs are safely outside and sharing their gifts with the garden, (note to self, check the garden is safe to play in), I can zigzag my way to the kettle.
Then I hear the cats. Now there is something about a cat meowing that can tip me over the edge. I thought I had discovered a very clever foil to their constant need for food, namely a cat food dispenser which offers access 24/7 to a supply of cat biscuits. A masterful sweep of genius I felt, and does it work? No, of course it doesn’t. Our ginger tom, aptly named Garfield, feels that the cat shelf we have put up is a little too high, and he would much rather we lift him up. He can get up there, quite easily in fact, but he would so much prefer we lift him. I just makes his day. So he meows. and he meows. And he meows. It’s like a mexican stand off, and yes, he generally wins. He likes meowing.
Generally about now I realise that someone has let Freddy back in and that he has left a little present neatly steaming on the hall tiles at the exact instant child number 3 wakes up, grumpy, sleepy and needing strategic persuasion and masterful NLP skills or at the very least, some decent humming, to get them moving to the breakfast table as it is now getting closer to school time and I am running late.
Still no tea and I haven’t fed the fish, or the lizard and by the way, where is my slipper?
Good Morning World!