Mummy

The number of times I hear that word in a day is innumerable.

The tones in which that word is delivered - also innumerable.

The physical actions that accompany the delivery of that word, well, at times the mind boggles.

This morning as I lay in bed, attempting to sleep, and failing miserably due to the presence, once again, of Miss 4 beside me, randomly thwacking me in the head with her active left arm, Master 3 came running in. He was saying a word. Can you guess what that word is?

Yes.

"Muuuummmmmyyyyyyy?"

Shoosh. Truly. I have no idea what the hell time it is but my alarm has not yet gone off and even though I am being regularly attacked by 4 year old arm I am taking that over being vertical.

"Yes darling?"

"MY NAPPY IS DRY!!!"

This is damn exciting. This 4 out of the last 5 nights of dry nappy.

And I am excited. But god I am tired.

So I feign excitement (which isn't really feigned because I AM actually excited, albeit tired) and say "Oh well done little man!!! That is fabulous!!!! I'll get you a sticker when I get up to my alarm." (Oh god PLEASE let him understand that that means I am not moving).

Bless you child. He understood.

What I don't understand is how it can be so difficult for a child to get dressed in the morning.

Before I had kids I just assumed that parents would dress children and they could leave the house.

Babow.

No.

Doesn't happen.

Not here anyway.

My kids like to CHOOSE their clothes. Every. Bloody. Day.

So every day we go through the "What temperature is it going to be?" and the rush to my phone to scroll the screen down to see, and then gauge what it is they may be able to wear?

"Can I wear shorts?" asks Miss 4.

"No baby, it's too cold."

Miss 4 would wear shorts every day of her life if she could. She loves them. It is insane. But she also loves the really boho style tops as well. And wears them with her shorts. She's a trendsetter, that's for sure.

Miss 5 went to the holiday program today dressed as the easter bunny. As you do. White leggings with pink leggings on top. Then a white long sleeved top with a pink long sleeved top over it. And a pair of sparkly bunny ears on a headband. And pink socks and white shoes. She actually looked pretty cool.

Master 3 is the worst. I am not allowed to choose his clothing. Ever. Including pyjamas. He must choose. Including which underpants, socks and shoes.

Nobody tells you that. Your children will hold you to ransom because they want to wear a specific item that is at the bottom of the washing machine, unwashed because the machine is either not full, or you stayed up later than anticipated because one or more was sleepwalking/sleeptalking/somethinging, or you were tired, or you just forgot. And then world war III ensues. Because that is all they want.

God. Help. Me.

And I have this times three. And still have to get out of the house by 8.30am. Every morning. Well, most anyway.

I had some stuff I wanted to say. I can't remember it. It is like when you go into a room and you stand there like an idiot thinking why the hell did I come in here? So you stand some more, look around and leave.

I went to the hardware store the other day to buy some weedkiller. I got to the hardware store and just stood there, at the entrance, looking around blankly. I knew I was there for a reason. Buggered if I knew what that reason was. So I wandered around for a while, grabbed a mop, bought that and came home.

And as I drove in the driveway I thought gee those weeds could use poisoning. I should get something for that. And picked up my mop and went inside.

It wasn't until I was walking through the laundry later that night and saw the mop I already had that it twigged. Poison.

That mop needed replacing anyway.

Yes. Of course it did.