It’s the fourth time I’ve snoozed,
the morning is streaming in bright.
And my first thought of the day
is to go to bed early tonight.
But I drag myself up
from my velcro-lined bed,
with a head that is fuzzy
and legs filled with lead.
And it’s done with encouragement,
with shouts from the kitchen.
A toddler wants breakfast
and an 8 year old’s bitchin’.
I put on the kettle,
like a ‘must have’ to succeed.
A morning time ritual
as the animals feed.
I step on a Barbie,
I kick a toy car.
I throw on my trousers
and yesterday’s bra.
I switch on the TV
to help me keep sane.
But it makes the kids bicker
and relatively lame.
I start on instructions,
screaming for shoes.
Rants for lost bobbles,
packed lunch crisps to choose.
I attempt multitasking,
clear the dishes away.
Pick up discarded jarmies
and start on my day.
I get requests for lost school books,
homework left lying around.
And we hunt for the hairbrush
that eludes to be found.
We dig out spare jumpers
to replace ones left at school.
The teenagers leave coats
because coats are not cool.
Then the kids appear ready,
as time turns to a race.
And as I hasten to kiss them
I see they’ve not washed their face.
So with a backpack that’s ready
I send them upstairs once more,
and await to check them over
as they head out the door.
I scrub off stray toothpaste,
zip up coats to their chin.
I pull up rolled socks
and tidy shirts not tucked in.
And finally they’re ready
and I wave them off with my pride,
and I skip through to the the kitchen
and find their lunch on the side.
So I run to the front door
and scream up the street.
Like a hollering fish wife
with no shoes on my feet.
And they quickly return
to grab the lunch left behind.
And I kiss them again
for the seventeenth time.
And then I realise I’ve done it,
the school run was achieved.
And I wade through the mess
and sit on the sofa relieved.
And then I ponder their absence
as I drink my cold tea.
Surrounded by calm
and cartoon TV.
(Mrs FD)
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