Alarm goes off at 6:50 am…
I wake up with my heart racing (as always).
Brain kicks in at 6:50:01…
As I reach over to touch the STOP button on my phone’s alarm my conversations with myself begin…
“Don’t look at the phone screen – you don’t want to see what’s on there.”
“Oh dammit! You looked!”
“Why the fuck is the screen full of notifications?! What have you done wrong now?!”
“I’ll deal with them later.” I shudder.
I get up. Deep breathe five times and stretch.
“This isn’t helping.”
“Shut up; it will.”
“No, it won’t – you are pretending to be someone you’re not… again.”
“No, I am not. Shut up. I’ve got this.”
I clearly don’t ‘got’ this.
Walking out of my room…
“Fuck. fuck. fuck. the floor is fucking cold.”
“Put your ugg boots on, dumb arse.”
“I can’t – what if there’s a spider in there.”
They haven’t been worn since last winter.
I have severe arachnophobia.
I go to the toilet…
“I wonder what all those emails were.”
“I’ve got so much to do today.”
“I am never going to get everything done.”
“What am I going to do for tea.”
“Probably takeaway again. Lazy and fat!”
“That reminds me – don’t weigh yourself.”
“Don’t be ridiculous You know you are going to.”
I weigh myself…
“Are you putting on weight?”
“No. I can’t be.”
“You totally are. You sabotaged your weight loss last night! Actually, every fucking night this year.”
“Right! Tonight will be different.”
‘Tonight’ is never different.
Making the kids lunches…
“A little bit of butter and a lot of vegemite for C.”
“A lot of butter and a little bit of vegemite for A.”
“A lot of butter AND honey for D.”
“What if I put it in the wrong container?”
“Then they won’t eat their lunch.”
“They’ll be hungry, and I’ll look like a shitty parent.”
“You always look like a shitty parent. A sandwich, apple and biscuits every day. Why don’t you make the fancy lunches like the good mums do?”
“They wouldn’t eat it, that’s why!”
“Well, they would have if you had started it from birth!”
“They’ll be fine – why do you make me stress about everything all the time.”
Check, and then triple check lunches are in the proper containers.
Proceed to put them in the wrong containers.
Kids get up. I say good morning.
I hug them. Their heads now reaching my chest.
I wonder how many more morning hugs I will get.
“You need to treasure these moments.”
“I do!”
I go get showered for work.
“Right! This morning is going to go smoothly. No yelling. No fighting. Treasuring every moment. Be present… blah. Blah. blah.”
Nek minute…
“BOYS!!! Stop messing around!
“Eat your breakfast!”
“Have you finished your chores?”
“Are you dressed yet?”
“What the fuck is going on out there?!”
And under my breath a gazillion times… “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
The youngest comes into the bathroom, where I am applying my makeup.
Hint – this does not look like an influencers YouTube clip – I have shit everywhere and I mean on my face.
He has an announcement…
“I’m going to do a big sloppy poo!”
“Great,” I reply with a big sloppy dose of sarcasm.
Makeup application and poo particles circulating at the same time. Mornings like this are made for champions.
Makeup is done, and I still look like me. Tired, freckly, big nose and chubby cheeks. Why is it that my contouring does sweet fuck all – I want angles and slim lines bitches! That’s me – I’m bitches.
I get dressed.
Bra goes on, and the boobs get hoisted up.
Nana knickers go on so my butt can’t possibly eat them throughout the day.
Eight year old, now with empty bowels, comes in.
“Why does your belly stick out like that?”
“Because I had kids and ate too many fucking fries, that why sunshine!”
What I actually say is, “Because mummy’s tummy had to grow really, REALLY big to carry all of my gorgeous babies in – including you.” He doesn’t really care. He was just making conversation, so he didn’t have to do his chores.
I pull on my pants.
“Geez, I think these feel tighter than they did yesterday.”
“You washed them dickhead; of course, they’re tighter.”
“So it has nothing to do with the block of chocolate you ate last night.”
“Umm.. whatever.”
Top goes on.
I look front on in the mirror.
“Urgh.”
I look side-on.
Double “Urgh.”
I turn right around and look over my shoulder at my backside.
“You WILL start jogging this afternoon. No more excuses. AND SQUATS!”
“Really? I’ve already got excuses locked and loaded.”
“Fuck.”
“Is everybody ready??” I yell from my bedroom to the rest of the house – where ever they are. They all eventually chime in that yes, they are ready; they just have to do X, Y, and Z. “Well, then you’re not fucken ready than are you.” I mutter under my breath.
I pack my work bag and head to the kitchen to pack my lunch.
I open the fridge. It’s dismal. I grab an apple that I have no intention of eating and my bottle of water.
“I will not buy a coffee this morning. I will not buy a coffee this morning.” I chant to myself. “I’m saving.”
“The fuck you are.”
“Right! Everyone get your bags. It’s time to go!”
“I just gotta go to the toilet.”
“I’m still putting my shoes on!”
“Mum is it Tuesday – I think I’m in the wrong uniform.”
“For fucks sake…” I mutter for the 547,634 billionth time.
LD ||
Just for laughs 🙂
Reality Writes by London Dene 