Mornings With Kids Are No Fairy Tale.

       

This morning, I woke up half an hour early, organised breakfasts, made school lunches and folded laundry. Feeling unusually ahead of my game and positive about the day ahead, I went to wake the kids. Mary Poppins-like, I woke the kids with smiles and kisses (everything short of scampering animated squirrels, I kid you not).

They, in turn took a hundred years (not exaggerating, this is totally accurate) to do every. tiny. task.

The Not Very Nice Day.

After waking up from a horrible nightmare and simultaneously realising I had overslept, I woke up my three sleeping children (because they only wake up at Sparrow’s Fart on weekends, of course) and BEGGED them to PLEASE get ready as quickly as possible so we wouldn’t be late for school.

Miss M dawdled and danced in front of the mirror, then stood in the middle of the kitchen NOT eating breakfast NOR brushing teeth NOR doing her hair, causing me to turn into a screaming banshee with the parenting skills of a toad.

Little Man did everything I asked at the pace of a snail on Rohypnol and simply refused point-blank to hurry up. He was so slow, in fact, that I had to remind him to chew his food after he put it in his mouth. Oh yes.