Hot on the heels of half term, and a weekend away with my kids and husband at a friend’s farm, with her husband, 3 kids and 5 dogs, I was reminded of something another friend of mine (also a mother) said at a dinner at our house one night. We were talking about getting kids ready for school in the mornings, and she said, ‘surely everyone else can’t be doing this?’. To which we all chorused, ‘oh no, we are also doing it.’
‘Brush your teeth, brush your teeth, BRUSH YOUR TEETH!’
We do the same thing every day, how is it not anticipated.
‘Are you wearing undies?’
‘I can’t find my shoes [in the cupboard], my polo-neck [I only wear one shirt, a polo-neck in summer (obviously), so it is in the laundry basket], my school library book [next to my bed].’
…
A weekend away.
My kids wake at 5.30 this morning excited to leave for the farm for the weekend. I packed their bags the night before, but they decided to unpack them, and pack their own belongings (all of their fluffy toys, a toy drill, a copy of Wuthering Heights plucked from my bookshelf, a luminous plait of unicorn hair, a sword, a swimming costume sized 6-12 months with Mari from the Aristocats on it that I have hidden deep in the recesses of Pippa’s cupboard about 16 times, two bags of apples). Warwick and I are still in bed.
‘Is it time to go to the farm yet?’
‘We just need to have coffee first.’
They now start playing their favourite game since Christmas, ‘wrapping’. They wrap everything they can find, and give it to each other, us, friends, teachers, random strangers. They have used kilometres of cellotape. It is now all finished except for a remaining scrap in my study which I have banned them from using.
‘Mommy, please can I wrap this? I need your cellotape.’
‘No, Pippa. You can’t have that cellotape. We are about to go anyway. We just want to have our coffee. Oh, please don’t unpack your bag.’
Repeat times 4.
‘Mommy, mommy, mommy, MOMMY, I need that cellotape!’ She starts crying. That fake whining cry.
‘NO, Pippa I said NO.’
‘Mom said no, Pippa.’ Thanks Kingsley for your contribution.
‘We just want to finish our coffee.’
Warwick gets a call and there is some urgent paperwork he needs to attend to.
‘When are we going? Mommy, mommy, mommy, when are we going?’
‘Dad just needs to do some paperwork. When he’s finished and I’m finished my coffee.’
I decide it’s easier to take the kids to get a coffee and some snacks for the road while Warwick wraps up his work.
‘Okay, let’s go get coffee and snacks.’
‘TREATS, can I get a juice?’
‘Can I get a sweet?’
‘Can I get a chocolate’
‘May I have…’, says I.
‘I want chippies’
‘I want children who say please. Get in the car. No, don’t climb through the front with your muddy shoes. Kingsley where are your shoes?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘I need to poo!’ – Pippa
‘RIGHT, let’s go poo. Kingsley stay here I’ll get your shoes.’
Warwick, ‘are you back already?’
‘Haven’t left, number 2 needs a poo, number 1 can’t find shoes.’
Finally in the car. Overexcited about the treats scenario. Lots of SOUND. (My number one fantasy at the moment is going on a silent retreat.)
‘You can each choose ONE thing. Please be calm, don’t touch anything and say please.’
They were good in the shops and now insist on clutching their own packets of joy – jellybabies.
‘Can we eat them now? Mommy, mommy, mommy,’
‘I’m busy paying please wait.’
‘Mommy, mommy, mommy,’
‘Maybe in the car, I just want to get a coffee.’
‘Mommy, mommy, mommy,’
‘Two flat whites please.’
‘Mommy can we get a treat?’
‘No. You just got one. This is my treat.’
‘Can we eat our sweets. Mommy, mommy, mommy,’
‘FINE. Please just let me open them so they don’t fall everywhere.’
This is said as Kingsley rips his bag open and they scatter onto the parking lot floor.
A howl of agony, sobbing. Me picking up sweets from the floor trying hard not to scream “I SAID WAIT FOR ME”. I give my child sweets at 8.30 in the morning off the parking lot floor. We recover.
We hit the road.
We have a wonderful time; our hosts take us on a bakkie for a night drive and I realise I have done my children a disservice.
‘What is a bakkie?’ says Pippa.
By the end of the evening Pippa says we should get a bakkie. It is amazing.
We are out at night. The stars are beautiful, and my kids can’t believe their luck at being up and outdoors after dark. We see hippo and buck and genets and porcupines. It is a delight. The air is fresh.
They fall asleep on the drive home and we carry them to bed. Exhale.
12pm. Croup cough.
3am. Wet bed.
5am. AWAKE.
‘Mommy, mommy, mommy,’
‘I just need to drink my coffee. Don’t hit your sister with a stick. I know you said sorry, but you still hit her.’
‘Don’t kick your brother, I know he hit you, but that doesn’t mean,’
‘Mommy, mommy, mommy can we swim?’
‘Yes, I just want to drink my coffee. Please put on your costume.’
‘I don’t know where it is.’
‘It’s in your bag.’
‘I’m hungry.’
‘We’ll eat after swimming’
‘I want to eat first’.
We swim first. En route to the pool Pippa steps on a thorn, a waterfall of tears.
‘This is the worst day ever’, she says at 6am.
A day of fishing follows. Playing in the mud. On jungle gyms. They eat their food well and are Bright Lights of Happiness.
…
Home.
Trying to talk to Warwick about any of the following: the state of our collapsing infrastructure (water, electricity, roads – take your pick), business cashflow, schedules, something beautiful I saw today and just really want to tell another adult about.
‘I’m hungry, please can I have a jam sandwich. Mommy, mommy, mommy, jam sandwich, jam sandwich, jam sandwich.’
‘You need to say excuse me when we are talking and you want our attention.’
‘Excuse me mommy, excuse me mommy, excuse me mommy.’
‘You only have to say it once, then wait until I turn to you.’
‘Please can I have a jam sandwich? Did you say I could have a jam sandwich?’
…
Bedtime.
We have somehow managed to create the world’s most involved bedtime routine. They each get two stories in their own beds followed by a different song on each arm, leg, tummy and back. If you try and do verses of songs, not different songs, they complain. If we try and do stories together, you know, as a family (what an idea!), they complain (fair enough it is their special one on one time, just a pity that it coincides with the highest cortisol levels of the day).
Tonight it is:
The Worst Princess (love it), ‘What a disaster her prince is a twit!’
Handa’s Hen (I’ve done it so many times I might cry), ‘where oh where is bloody Mondi?’
Songs:
1. Give me oil in my lamp, keep me burning (No irony here, this is a genuine plea to God).
2. Bind us together Lord (trying to plant the seed of doing stories with your sibling?)
3. He’s got the whole world in his hands (Why? How? Who? From Kingsley)
4. I’ve got peace like a river (aspirational)
5. She’ll be coming round the mountain (starting to lose steam, quality of song choice eroded)
6. If I were a butterfly. (I’d migrate to Mexico and have a holiday? Maybe that silent retreat?)
Sleep. Ah, the tranquility.
11pm. Pippa wets bed.
2am. Pippa has bad dream.
3am. Kingsley wets bed.
5.30 AWAKE.
…
Things that have happened in the recent past and could happen today:
- Child will cry all the way through swimming lessons and then leave saying ‘that was fun’.
- Child will come running through screaming that there is a bead in his nose. When asked how it got there, child will say, ‘it flew across the room’. Trip to the doctor.
- You will offer to take your child’s best friend to Bounce (a trampoline warehouse, for those fortunate enough not to know) in Fourways as her birthday present. You have booked for 2pm. You do not realise that Fourways is literally in another dimension. You will get stuck in traffic and be late. You will park in the farthest parking lot from Bounce. You will be 30 min late for your 1 hour slot and they will not move it. So they bounce for 30 minutes. Your daughter will come to you in ten minutes crying that she has a sore tummy, and it seems like she has a fever. The other two will have a jol, and all of a sudden it is time to go, a mere 30 minutes later. (I had thought I could read my book while they jumped. Glass half full guys!) You can’t remember where you parked. They can no longer walk after 30 minutes of throwing themselves against a trampoline wall, so they are piled into a trolley (with snacks) as you aimlessly try one exit after another. By the time you find the car it is 4pm and you must drive home in traffic from FOURWAYS-IN-NO-WAYS-OUT.
…
Someone shared this on a parenting group I am on.
…
Everyone else can’t be doing this?
Everyone else is doing this.
YOU ARE DOING WELL. God’s speed.
Everyone else really is doing this!!! Ah just brilliant Hannah - you captured it all 🤪
Solidarity. I am 100% also doing this.