Who’s kids are they, anyway?

With my Mother poorly in the aftermath of last week, I had to get up with the kids this morning to get them ready for school. I’ll be honest (as ever) I was shitting myself…

Every morning between Monday and Friday I’m woken up at some point before 8.30am by my Mother beckoning the children with some tone of utter distress and upset, coupled with a pained shout of something along the lines of “PLEASE STOP TRYING TO
STICK THE TOOTHBRUSH DOWN YOUR BROTHER’S THROAT AND BRUSH YOUR TEETH!”… Such golden children they are (!).

So, I panic bought an alarm clock on my iPad and set a second and even a third alarm on my iPhone just in case. Well, firstly I want to say how glad I am
– for the first time ever – that I suffer from insomnia since none of these three sodding alarms played any noise! Seriously, three alarms on two up-to-date, state-of-the-art (yes, I am boasting. Hey, I had to treat myself before baby comes. Last chance for the next 18 years!) pieces of sexy Apple technology (mmm…) and all of the bastards were silent as they went off at precisely the right times. Call me old school, guys and dolls, but I thought the point of an alarm was that it was so obnoxious first thing in the morning that you force yourself to get up 5 minutes before it goes off, make a coffee, get a hammer and poise yourself, ready and waiting, to hit the damn thing to complete destruction as soon as the first bleep rears it’s hideous head… Perfect way to get up in the morning
(or is that just me? If I understood Twitter I’d do something clever and trendy at this point like “#angermanagement”, but I don’t).

Anyway, after this the whole ordeal turned out to be… Well, not an ordeal after all, quite surprisingly.

Whilst I was expecting tears, hair pulling, the refusal to change yesterday’s pants and an overwhelming sense of wanting to run away immediately to a hot, sandy beach with a nice ginger man – green-eyed and freckled – who can pay for everything, obviously (mind you, I start everyday with the same fantasy); I actually got two incredibly well-behaved children under the age of eight who did everything I said, didn’t try and kill each other and were even ready for school half an hour (HALF AN HOUR) before they had to leave.

Bollocks knows if my brother and sister had been swapped with two *good* children during the night, whether they’re scared of me or whether they’re going to come home from school tonight and ask me for some outrageous favour in return for their behaviour, I don’t particularly care, whatever it is, it worked and that’s what matters.

Needless to say, if they had’ve acted up in their usual manner I probably would’ve wet myself and snotted all over my hoodie again as is fast becoming another one of my wonderfully attractive pregnancy traditions…

Although, my sister did say to me before I sent them out the door this morning: “this is the first time we’ve ever seen you smile. You never smile when you’re looking after us”. Yeah, thanks kid (!).

You know there’s a problem when a seven year old starts picking up on what a moody bitch you are.

#Istilldon’tlikekids (or something trendy).

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