Disturbing moment in the bathroom this morning….

Georgia calls an adult to come and wipe her bum.

Yes, she is six and should have this sorted, but I am a bit “anal” about this sort of thing.  I really want to die a small death when I see brown streaks on kid’s underwear, and then I start to doubt all sorts of other things regarding their personal hygiene.

I “prefer” not “like” to wipe my kid’s bum.  Connor gets the odd quality check, and Georgia is just too distracted to take care of this task effectively.

Yes, there I said it!  I wipe my kid’s arse and she is 6!

This morning Georgia is calling me “Mommy, come wipe my bum!”

I wanted to finish a sms as I was trying to get Connor invited to a playdate with his friend and had left it until the last moment.

I was trying to sms, and get ready for work, and put the nappy on Isabelle’s playdog.  I was really multi-tasking.

I was a bit delayed and Georgia was now starting to scream: “MOMMY COME AND WIPE MY BUM!  MOMMY! MOMMY!”

I finish the sms and walk down to the bathroom.

The scene that appears before my eyes is Georgia with her pants down by her ankles.

She is standing and sort of bending over, and still screaming for me.

She has a red toothbrush in her right hand and appears to be aiming for her arse.  (I am not sure if
it was aiming towards an action or returning from an action.)

The toothbrush belongs to her sister.

I then utter the words no parent wants to in this situation: “What exactly are you doing with that toothbrush near your bum?”

I yank the toothbrush out of her hand.  I wonder if I should throw it away or smell it.

I grab some toilet paper, release a loud sigh, and then attempt to wipe her bum.

I did notice a rather “concerning” brown streak that run  from her bum crack up her back.  Not dissimilar
to one a toothbrush would make, for instance.

I used a wet wipe to assist.

I then snarled at her, and sort of begged her not to use  toothbrushes if ever there was a toilet emergency.

I silently admonished myself for not being faster on my sms.

There are a few issues that remained and might not be  resolved today.

  1. Has Georgia done this before?
  2. Has she ever touched my toothbrush while  bleating for me to come and attend to her?
  3. How wise was it to put toothpaste on the very same toothbrush for Isabelle about 12 minutes later?
  4. Is it an evolutionary trait that one becomes less overwhelmed by faeces once one has children?

<The King of England used to have a “Groom of the Stool” whose role was to sit with the King while he did his various body ablutions, and then attend to the ‘clean and swiping’ part because clearly the King would not do this… it was a real honour to be the Groom of the Stool, as you were clearly privy to intimate moments with the King …. true story really!>

Mugshot Monday …..

Today can only be described as an epic fail day.

I wake up, get the kids ready for school, prep myself for work, make tea and coffee, collect Isabelle put her in bed with some milk.

I sit down on the edge of my bed with my “clear lunch box” of medication.

I carefully read what I must take, the dosage and when.  I read them each day, even though I “know” what I should take and in what order.  It’s my little “thing” I do.

I throw them out in my hand and down them with my first sip of tea.


Me 1: Er, I seem to recall a blue pill in that handful, that looked like Stillnox (sleeping pill).  Was there a sleeping pill that has just gone down the hatch?”

Me 2: “Shit … shit ….. shit.  Check lunch box to see if pill is missing!”

Me 1: “There was definitely a blue pill in that handful.  It is 07h15 and I have just taken a sleeping tablet….shit!”

I phone Kennith and tell him.

He laughs, and laughs some more.

I say, it is fine.  I will get dressed and go to work and take it easy.

Kennith asks if I am crazy?  Considering the circumstances a bit insensitive and well, rhetoric actually.

Kennith then tells me to drop the kids off at school, head home and sleep.

I phone my work colleague to explain my predicament.  I work her up with my call.  Eventually I had to end the conversation because she would/could not stop laughing and I only had few moments of “being awake” left to me and could no longer listen to her raucous cackling in my ear.

I hustled kids into the car.

Drove really slowly.  Hugged the white dotted line the entire time.  Checked and rechecked the robot colours before going or stopping.

Kids got to school fine.

I found myself on two separate grass verges on the way home.

I probably should have got someone else to drive kids to school, it was not my best safe-parenting decision of the day.

However good decision-making & me have been estranged for some time.

I did make it home.  Fell in to bed and slept.

I had to set my alarm as I had a new psychiatrist’s appointment.

I liked the fact that I explained to him that I mixed up my meds and took a sleeping pill this morning, and he totally took that in his stride!

I might like this guy.

Rantings of a crazy Monday-morning-mom …..

I am so angry this morning, like spitting angry.

It started this morning when I heard Isabelle starting to bleat. I just thought, if she could be quiet just a little longer, I can get just a little more sleep – I am exhausted and it feels as if someone has been hitting me with a large stick,and I am just not ready to face this week yet.  It is not even 6am dammit.

Isabelle fortunately did quiet down.  I figured, tick, close eyes, doze a bit and put off the inevitable.

Kennith is a morning guy and likes to prod me in the back with his appendage in the morning – this does nothing for my sense of humour.  It just makes me act better.  I take faking sleep to an entirely new level.  I have the deep breathing and total body paralyses look down to a fine art for occasion just like these.

I was lying there faking sleep, and Connor burst into the room sobbing and all I got was “money” and “lost” and snot and crying.  I was not sure if I should “wake” from my fake sleep or carry on faking.

Kennith sprung out of bed – put some pants on – which I am sure my mom and my aunt (who are our present houseguests) will be ever thankful for.  Kennith dove down the passage to assess what the hell was going on.

Connor has just hysterical.

It turned out he lost his money IN HIS wallet that he was looking inside of for his money.   How one does that is not clear to me, so I can’t even explain it to you.  I had my own set of problems to deal with.  So I did not spend too much time going over that particular crisis.

I went to get Georgia up.  She kept telling me she was so tired that she will be spending the day in bed:  “Er no! Now get your arse out of bed and get your fairy outfit on!”

Georgia has a fairy outfit she is obsessed with.  I have given up the good fight of dressing her appropriately.  I have instead opted  to allow her to wear her orange fairy outfit to school on a Monday.  It has orange wings and a small clutch bag – as is the pre-requisite with all things fairy.

I go and try and find a bottle to give Isabelle milk – cannot find one.  No bottle in sight, in the house of a thousand baby bottles, so the hunt begins.

I return to Isabelle – she is all happy and gurglie, which always makes me feel all happy and gurglie as well.  She is such a happy gorgeous soul.  I too am a happy soul when I am greeted with a pee nappy, and not a poo nappy first thing in the morning.  I took that as a sign that this morning was going to go well – I was very mistaken.

My aunt asked me for the sewing kit – I stopped trying to find a bottle, and went to find the sewing kit instead. Found kit.

I found a bottle, cleaned it and made Isabelle some warm milk.

Screamed at Georgia to get out of bed and into her damn fairy outfit. (I might have used profanity!)

Reminded Connor to get his school bag ready, grab his poster (for his oral) and start making his way to the kitchen for breakfast.

I am still in my sleep shirt.

I make Kennith coffee, and me some tea.

I put the kids breakfast out.  Georgia pours her milk and messes it all over the counter.  I clean this up and then realise that time is ticking by and I still have not even started my morning ablutions.

Leave them eating breakfast, go down the passage to see why Isabelle is crying.  Find her toy dog, solve that problem and start making my way to the room so I can get ready.

Georgia is crying because she has messed pronutro on her fairy outfit.  I go back to the kitchen to clean her up.

Connor finishes his breakfast.  I remind him that he needs to brush his teeth, do his hair,  blow his nose and get his school stuff and the poster together and start making his way to the car.  He gos: “yes mom.”

Georgia decides she has had enough to eat, and I have had enough of cleaning Pronutro off her.  I tell her to go and brush her teeth.

She gets to the bathroom and then cries because Connor knocks her with the door, by accident.  I explain that she is fine, and I give the miracle-mother-kiss-that-makes everything all right.   I remind her that she needs to brush her teeth and get a move on.

I head back to the room and find a homework book and some school stuff on the bed – I ask Kennith where this comes from.  Kennith says that Connor dropped it there this morning i.e. before 6am!

I read the note and see that I need to cover a book and bake some cupcakes that need to be at school on the 1 November!

Of course I sh*t myself – why does he keep doing this to me?  I know I am an inept parent, but at least let me have a fighting chance at getting it right.

I call Connor and give him a total tongue lashing.  Which actually is quite easy, as I have had the same conversation several times so I am working off a script.

I realise that I am angry, and a bit more angry than the situation calls for.  Once I have finished doing my uit-kak I decide I am not going to punish him now, as it would be done in anger, so I send him on his way but with the warning that there will be punishment later.

I then have to stop to find Georgia’s toothbrush which was lost (Isabelle had walked off with it and put it in another room.)   I put toothpaste on the toothbrush and send her back to the bathroom to finish up.

I ask my mom to please cover Connor’s school book as it is now 07:18 and I need to leave at 07:30.  I stand there whilst my mom explains she cannot cover books and that my aunt should do it.  I am screaming inside – like loudly at this point – but I am standing in the passage in my sleep shirt trying to look serene.

I find plastic wrap, pair of scissors, tape and set it out, then I try to dash for the shower.  My aunt asks me for pegs, as she uses this for covering books.  I do not even ask why – I have already given up on life at this point.  I go out the back door, still in my sleep shirt and get some pegs off the line.

I know I am way beyond cross at this point, as my inner voices have just stopped talking to me.  They have all gone off to their respective corners to fume.

Leave pegs with my aunt, I go past the kids and remind Georgia to finish brushing her teeth – she has distracted herself and is singing the elephant song.  I remind her to get her bag, and ask Pepe to please brush her hair (Georgia’s hair, not Pepe’s hair ….just to clarify the ambiguity there).

Before I head back to the room.  On the way I find Connor and remind him to take his medication, brush his hair, brush his teeth, get his poster, get his school bag, and go over his oral (which he must do today) while he is waiting for me and starting aiming to the car as I am leaving shortly.

I get in the shower it is a little past 07:25 – brush my teeth, wash my hair, condition my hair, try to put soap onto skin, rinse off, dash out of the shower.

Isabelle is crying as she wants to come into the room.  I wrap a towel around myself and go and fetch her.   I see the workers standing at our front gate – we are doing renovations.  I go and find Pepe and ask her to please go and unlock for them, and then I head back to the room with Isabelle in tow.

I remind Connor to get his poster, practice his oral, grab his bag and head to the car.

I ask Georgia to get her bag and head for the car.

I find my mom – as I realise that reversing is going to be a challenge as she has parked behind the garage I am in. I ask her to reverse her car as I cannot get out.

She starts telling me a story, which I cannot actually listen to, as I am dripping with a  brown towel wrapped around me. I still need to get ready and it is now 07:30.

I take Isabelle to the room, get dressed.  Grab the last of the fancy-dress stuff together (we went to a Halloween Party on Saturday), take all the coffee cups to the kitchen.  I start screaming down the passage ‘everyone get in the car, we are leaving.”

I am trying to brush my hair, which is dripping as I have had no time to dry it.  Make-up of any kind is a nicety I have totally abandoned.  I am thankful I have shoes on at this point.

I grab my bag. Isabelle starts to cry as she realizes I am leaving. I am trying to say goodbye to everyone – my mom and aunt will be leaving a bit later, so I won’t see them tonight, so we are doing the “good bye have a safe trip” and I am trying to sooth Isabelle.

Fortunately Pepe comes to the rescue and takes Isabelle’s hand, and they sort of stand around on the stairs and Isabelle looks content enough.

Kids are in the car, I am grabbing odds and ends as I go and I am making my way to the garage.

Georgia comes up the stairs screaming.  She cannot find her orange fairy bag and is having a total melt-down of epic proportion.

Now we are doing a hunt around the house to find the flaming bag.  Finally find bag – always in the last place you look it would seem – we throw ourselves into car.

I then realise I have forgotten my diary.  Sh*t, so I race up the stairs, go back to the room, grab it, get back in the car.  I am way past irritable now (not surprisingly as you may be able to empathize).

In car, start car and  then realise the remote to the garage door is not in the car.  Fek!!  I get out of car – after cussing severely – and go and find that.

Get back in the car, open garage, reverse, and get on our way.  The kids are all looking a little wide eyed and scared of crazy mommy right now!


While we are driving I am telling Connor that I am tasked to remember all his stuff, Georgia’s stuff, Isabelles’ stuff, dad’s stuff as he keeps forgetting stuff and then my stuff.

It is unfair to expect me to remember everyone’s things and my own.  And when I ask him to do something, he needs to do it.  And he knows he needs to get home from school, sort his school bag out, and give me any notes/letters/requests for baked goods at least the night before.

I explain this is a common theme of my rants and I am a little bit at my wits end.

I said next time he does it, I will be taking R10.00 from his saving-for-a-DS-fund.  If he does not give me the note (because he has forgotten, and does not want to lose the R10.00) and I find out, I will then take R20.00.

Begrudgingly he agrees – he is not happy about it, but he agrees.  So on we drive.

Georgia meanwhile is making spider shapes with her hands and wants me to keep looking.  I explain I am driving and can’t keep checking on her designs, to which she then goes “aaaaawwwww” and does a little sulk.

I am trying to  calm down, and think: “Just get to work.  Do not take out your frustrations on the kids.  You do not want to have the kids going to school upset, or telling teacher that there mom is a screaming ranting psychotic freak!  You have got about 12 minutes to change their perception of you …. you can do it…. just take deep breathes and calm it down ……the worst of it is over, you just need to drop them off … come on, the end is in sight!!”

Me talking to Connor: “Okay, so you are ready with your oral.  Please put your school book in your bag, so you do not forget it.  I hope you remembered your poster!”

Judging by the look of horror on his face I realized he has forgotten the poster – the one I made on the History of Transport and the one I have reminded him to pack in the car at least six times this morning alone!



I do a 180 degree hand brake turn  in traffic.  I drive back to the house.  Thw difference here is that I was dead quiet.  Because I am  now so cross, that if I said what was in my head, I would be contributing to childhood-therapy-with-a-psyciatrist for the rest of my children’s natural life.

I stop the car, he gets his poster, I drop him off at school, it is now 08h15.  He is late, Georgia is late.  I walk in to my 08h30 morning meeting – late, and really angry!

Fabulous – I fekn hate Monday mornings!

Georgia has reminded me on several occasions that fek’n is a bad word – I might just revert back to saying fucking because it would seem I am living in hell anyway, I might as well go there for cussing …..

I speak to the trees…

I really am struggling with my five year old.  She is at a stage where she is just not listening.

I know she hears me, it is just that she seems to filter my instruction out. She will often go to do what ever it is that I have asked her to do.  However when I get there to check on what she is doing – I find her dancing around the room with her panties on her head – or what ever – and she has totally forgotten that I sent her to the room to do in the first place.

This was amusing the first dozen times it happened, now it is less so, and has started to really test my patience (of which I had a rather short supply to begin with).

Kennith and I have always admired the independent march-to-her-own-drum spirit that Georgia possesses.  However, when it starts to impact on me getting her dressed and into the car in the morning then I like it a little less.

End of last week there was an incident where she did not do what I had asked/told/instructed her to do.

I had repeated the request at least four times.  When I got to her room I was faced with Georgia doing something totally unrelated to the instruction i.e. get dressed versus have a tea party with your teddy bear, that sort of thing.

(I had asked her at least four times at this point, and Pepe had asked her a further two times – so it was not for lack of instruction or direction – the child was just not doing what she was told!)

Georgia does not respond to threats of “no television” or “naughty chair” or “I am going to burn your Barbie”– threats really do not phase her in the least.  You can actually see the words “see if I care” flash across her face if you threaten to take things away from her.

With Connor, I just threaten to threaten to take away television or send him to his room and he immediately desists from anything and even offers you a back and foot massage as penance.

Anyway the way, to cut a long story short, I had to go into Georgia room with slip-slop in hand and give her a hiding for not listening.

I was more traumatized and I nearly broke a nail.  I think she was upset that she had received a hiding rather than crying because it hurt.  She did not have tears (which she would have had if it was sore) and was more doing a whine-cry for sound and effects.

Unfortunately I can’t say it helped so all the spare-the-rod-fanatics can just please refrain from bombarding me with emails about how I must not smack my child.

This entire week has been an exercise in repeating instructions five times and then going in and screaming at her.  To be honest it has not just been this week, it seems to have got worse over the last six months.

This morning she comes through and asks me to put toothpaste on her toothbrush, which I did.  I then send her on her way to go and brush her teeth, get her hair sorted and take her school bag down to the car.

I finish dressing and doing whatever I need to do.  I go through to the kitchen.  Georgia has not brushed her teeth.  Her hair has not been sorted and she is dancing down the passage with Isabelle and a wet towel.

I grabbed her, did teeth brushing, sorted out her hair and told her to get in the car.

Georgia went down the passage to her room, and returns trying to hide her “pink pig slippers” behind her back. The pig slippers are huge.  An adult would have a problem concealing them – they are has big as you would imagine a large fluffy pig would be if it went on your feet.

Now the issue here is not that she is taking pig slippers to school – but that she had already asked me and I had said no, she could not take them to school.

Now I am really angry – because not only is she being disobedient, but she is being deceitful and really just being a naughty girl on all counts.

I obviously screamed at her to get in the car and then said some unsavory things to just indicate that I was a bit less than happy right now.

I drove to the kids schools.  Connor decided to tell me all about fish (as he has been doing for the last five days, both to and from school – it is this monologue that does not stop.)

What I wanted to say was: “I do not care about fish.  I actually could not care less who lives where and what bait you use to catch them.  Please for the love of God stop telling about about fekn fish when ever your mouth opens!  Can I just have 5 minutes silence in the flipping car so my brain has a moment to think about what I am going to do to punish your sister because she has decided my authority has no value.  For fekn sakes just give me some silence already!”

What I said instead was: “Really?  That is very interesting… mmmmm”

I drop Connor off and then decide to use the few moments of “no fish talk” to reprimand Georgia.

I was not being cruel or over-reactive (which I will admit I can be at times).  I was just explaining how annoyed I was. For effect I closed it off with: “And you are being a very naughty girl!’ and then started the car to get her to her school.

Of course then I thought, imagine if we are in a car accident and I die or she dies and the last memory she has is me telling her she is a naughty girl, how’s that going to be?

I promptly pulled over, and explained that she is doing some really naughty things, and that they are not nice, and that I am very unhappy with her behavior, but that I still love her and she is the best Georgia in the whole wide world.

Mother’s guilt is really quite a strain.

I am not convinced that my heart-felt message hit the spot.  However when I told her we were going away this weekend to Franskraal, she did ask if I was going to leave her behind because she was being naughty.

I am off to find a hair shirt and some form of self-flagellation tool.

How you know moms read your blog …

In my last post I lamented the fact that I just was not able to get to sleep late in the morning without a child coming to tell me something irrelevant or bring me homework to sign …. on a Saturday morning for goodness sake.

Last night I was at dinner with friends – and my one friend Joyce reads my blog.

So Joyce pops up: “Did you notice that in all the comments on your last post, not one person seemed to have a problem with the fact that you drank water out of a cup that you recently used to clean poo out of the bath with?  Did you not find THAT just a bit strange?”

I agreed – but for moms who are trying to sleep late, and not being able to, small bits of floating shit in a cup of water sort of pales in comparison …. and such is our life.

Of colouring in …..

This week I was further reminded what a stickler for detail Connor is, and how upset he gets when he can’t do something along the way that he feels it must be done.

He is the kind of child who not only wants to colour between the lines, but needs to colour between the lines.

I have watched how stressed he gets when he is quietly drawing and Georgia is sitting next to him.  She takes her crayon and just goes “bos” – colouring with total abandon, and like she is possessed.  She just freaking colours like her life depends on it.

The harder and wilder her crayon strokes are, the happier she is.  The more wild and exaggerated her strokes are, the more concerned Connor gets that she might leave her page and end up on his neat page – every now and then she does and he totally freaks out.

Next to her Connor sits and painstakingly draws each stroke with care and diligence – often with his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth in concentration.  Totally absorbed in his task, with everything perfectly just so.

This morning we were running a bit late.

I can blame the lack of cold water, so I needed to boil pots and kettles so I can have just enough water to splash around in rather than stand a cold shower.  I had about 2cm depth of water in the bath, once I got in to it.  But it beat the crap out of a cold shower, or going to work stinky.

I can blame the fact that I forgot it was Speech Therapy day.  I had to find Georgia’s book, then find Pritt and sit and stick all her homework stuff in her book –her homework stuff that I did not do <sigh>.  The Speech Therapy teacher probably has me on the “shit parent” list already – and no doubt tut-tuts that this is exactly why my five year old speaks like a three year old.

I could also blame the fact that Georgia was arguing with me about wanting to bring something to school and a little power struggle broke out in the passage.

I could also blame the fact that I had to turn back and go home, as Georgia had forgotten to put her Speech Therapy book into her bag, though I had reminded her four times, and had actually seen it in her hand on the way to the car.

While driving I casually said: “Georgia have you got your Speech Therapy book?”

To which she answered: “Mommy I think we need to go home….”

I could blame all of those things, but the honest reason is I did not get out of bed until 07h05 – so that compounded with all of the above, made me leave home at 07h55 – for the second time this morning.

That being said, traffic lights and traffic flow were on my side and I drove/flew into Connor’s school at 08h05.  There were still tons of kids being thrown out of harassed parents cars at that point, so I took comfort from that.

I say to Connor: “Listen follow that boy, he is going around the back end of the school and you can just walk to class and go and sit down and no one will know. You are barely late.  Look at all of these kids.”

Connor: “I need to go and sign in and go through the front entrance as I am late.”

Me: “Just walk around the side here by aftercare, and go to your class, I bet the kids are not even inside the class yet, the bell probably just rang.”

Connor: “I need to go and sign in….”

Me: “You really do not need to, you are not really late, but if you feel you want to …. well….”

Connor: “I am going to go through the front entrance and sign in …. Bye mom, bye Georgia!”

So off my son goes, avoids the shortcut that I showed him, so he can walk past the receptionist’s office and sign in, as the rules are the rules.

I think he is going to have a hard life with the need to always have to keep his crayon in the lines.

Mondays should just start later ….. or not at all

This morning was an exercise is total chaos.

On Saturday Connor was playing with his cousins and hurt his arm.  It was still really sore yesterday, so I took him to Panorama Medi-Clinic and it seems he has broken a bone in his wrist.   They put his arm in a splint and that was that.

This morning started with damp school clothes, and Connor not being able to get into his clothes by himself, and then not being able to get his shirt/jersey and jacket  over his cast.  So he started to get upset.

I was still trying to come out of my drug induced sleep and focus, so I told him to just put on his black polar fleece and his black polar fleece jacket.  I was sure that could go over his cast.

Connor is a very “the rules is the rules” kind of boy, and the idea that he was not dressed in his school clothes to go to school got him very upset, and actually a tad hysterical.

He is crying and pleading for me to phone his teacher.  Of course this highlights that fact that I actually do not have his teacher’s number – the ineptness of some parents!! I tried to lie and say that I did not want to wake Ms S, but he said, it was no problem as she would be awake.  Damn it.

Georgia on the other hand is giving me a blow by blow questionnaire of every piece of clothing I have packed out for her.

Besides the Connor’s thing going berserk in his room, which is now spilling in to mine, I have Georgia dancing around asking me questions about things and I can’t even understand her questions.

She has sock issues. I did not realise I had put one sock out instead of a pair, so this of course has given her fresh ammunition and she is going on and on about her socks or sock if you want to be specific.

Instead of her just walking over to her cupboard, opening the door, and getting a flipping pair of socks out – she kept asking in this repetitive voice:

“Mommy, what must I do with this sock?”

“Mommy, what must I do with this sock?”

“Mommy, what must I do with this sock?”

Of course mommy has a classic answer as to what she should do with the sock, but feels it will be lost on a five year old, so I need to bank that comment for later.

All the while Connor is climbing the walls about not wearing his uniform.

I think Kennith was also prattling off about some piece of wisdom, as he gets himself ready to leave.

Bear in mind, I have barely woken up properly. I have not put in my contact lenses. I am still smarting from Georgia telling me my bum is hanging out of my panties … because my bum is too big…. this nugget she threw at me as she went past to use our bathroom earlier on.

I have not had a cup of tea, I am struggling to stand up, or string a sentence together.

I march down the passage with my ass hanging out, because the effort to find jammie bottoms was too hard last night, and this morning will be excruciating.  I figured Pepe has just had an increase, and this should cover this minor infraction on good manners.

I go to Connor who is like a child possessed.  Try to calm him down, tell him I will write a letter and I will walk him in to school and go and see his teacher, it will be fine.

Go to Georgia and solve her sock dilemma – granted she is telling me that I am a Mommy Queen which helps me feel not so bad about my arse hanging out and it being too big for my panties.

I glance at the time – 07h20 = LATE. (Kids need to be at school latest at 08h00, my work starts at 08h00)

Head for the shower.  Figure I will skip going to the toilet as I really do not have time.  As I step in to the shower I hear my phone ring.  I know it is probably Kennith.

Kennith has the inate skill of always phoning me as I am either with my fingers inside a poo nappy, or trying to hold Isabelle down as I disentangle pke out of my hair, or when I am leaning over the toilet wiping poo of someone’s bum – usually not mine – but when ever I am in a position that does not lend itself to answering a phone, I can pretty much guarantee it is Kennith on the other end of the line..

I hear my phone ring twice, but I am already in the shower and trying to shower, brush my teeth, wash my hair, get dressed, and get out the door before 07h30.  I figure they can leave a message and I can deal with it later.

I am in the shower, conditioner on, brushing my teeth – I need to combine tasks to get myself out the door.  I hear this almighty knocking on the bathroom door.  It is not so much knocking as the sound of an 18 kilogram child throwing themselves against the door to get it open.

Georgia rips back the plastic curtain and hands me the house cellphone.

I am naked, my sense of humour has officially left me.  I am in the shower.  I have conditioner leaking down the left hand side of my face into my eye that I am trying to keep closed.  I have a mouth full of Aquafresh toothpaste and most of it is running down my chin as I have been screaming to “leave me alone” every time I heard the thud against the door.

But there Georgia is handing me the cell phone.  You know the only way it could be worse is if it was Pepe handing me the cell phone.

I am thinking – this had better be fucking good!

It is Kennith on the line.

Am I surprised? Not so much.

I attempt to put the phone near my ear.  Can’t actually put it on my ear, as I have conditioner and water out of a shower head spraying on to me – so I go “yes… ” in the most polite voice I can muster – again spitting toothpaste everywhere – I am a charmer I am!!

Kennith then goes on to explain that Connor is really upset about going to school without his school jacket, and maybe I can fit it on his good arm and then sort of drape it over his crippled arm!  Seriously – he calls me now, to impart this gem of advise?  What the hell does he think goes on in our household in the morning?

My initial reaction was to scream at Kennith and tell him is that seriously his best idea and did he need to phone me three times to impart this brilliance – instead, I opted for, “sure great idea, really need to go now!”

Did I ever tell you the time, I was in the shower and Kennith handed me money he owed me …. I was in the shower …. where does he think I will be spending it or putting in … I am in the shower.

What a fek’n morning.

Shirts and Socks ….

This morning all I wanted to do was sleep … just a little more.

What I got instead was Georgia complaining that she wanted to use my bathroom but dad was in it.   I had to wake up enough to tell her to go and use the other bathroom – her bathroom, which she duly did.

I was then roused further from my slumber as Connor was standing complaining that he really needed to go the bathroom and dad was in the one bathroom and Georgia was in the other bathroom.  Now there are many problems super-mom can solve, creating a 3rd bathroom for my boy is not one of them.

But I heard him pleading with Georgia to please hurry up as he reaaalllyyy needed to go.  I tried to pull the duvet over my head and just let everyone sort out their morning ablutions by themselves, but then I realized that if Connor had an accident while waiting for his sister he would be devastated.

I dragged my sorry arse out of bed and made my way down the passage to see if I could solve the logistical problem of too few indoor bathrooms.

By the time I got there Georgia had given up her place on the throne and relinquished this to Connor, who clearly had a case of Dehli-Belly.  But I could only stand and absorb that scene for so long as Georgia was complaining that I had not put clothes out for her.

Honestly when did the last servant die in our house from over-work and I had to step in?  How lazy are these kids?  When I was their age …. I will spare you the stories.

So I find Georgia some jeans, a pair of knickers and I pull out her they-fit-and-they-keep-her-feet-dry-boots-so-she-is-going-to-wear-them-every-day boots and then I realise I am facing the same problem I am facing since last week… shit!!  She has no socks that fit her, she has gone through a growth spurt and all her socks are too small.

Not a problem is summer, but as winter has hit us hard and with fervor, I am seriously struggling to put socks on this child.

So I fish around in Connor’s cupboard and find reasonably suitable socks, put these on her bed, leave her to go and attend to Connor who is not feeling well.

While I am attempting to have a caring-mom conversation all I can hear in this rather high-pitched (and rather piercing voice when I have not had my first cup of tea of the morning) is:

“these socks are too big … mommy these socks are too big …. Mommy these socks are too big …. Mommy these socks are too big…”

So I go through and realise that yes the socks are actually too big.  At this point I am feeling really tetchy with the entire sock situation, and kicking myself that I forgot to buy socks on the weekend as planned.  I just want my tea, and this high pitched demanding to stop!

So as I am again scratching in Connor’s cupboard looking for socks I hear the same little voice:

“mommy, you did not put a shirt out for me …. mommy, you did not put a shirt out for me …. mommy, you did not put a shirt out for me …. mommy, you did not put a shirt out for me …. mommy, you did not put a shirt out for me ….”

So I find the socks, stomp back to the room – en-route reminding Connor to wipe properly and to wash his hands – I go and put her socks on her feet and put her boots on, find a shirt for her, put this on, get her pull over on and then tick that off my list.

I wander up the passage to the kitchen and start making myself some tea.

I think about Connor who is not sick enough to stay home, but has a horrible cough and looks off colour and feel bad that I cannot sit and mother him more.  I also have not put his clothes out, and feel bad that as the older child in a three child family he is just meant to sort himself out.

So as the guilt consumes me, I take my tea and turn to watch them eat breakfast – Connor was slurping his milk out of his bowl at the time … I resist the urge to reprimand him – instead I just ruffle his hair as I walk past – I thought I would give him this freebie and make me feel a bit better.

Of items lost and found …..

I am permanently searching for miscellaneous items in our house … the vast majority not being for me.

I place my car keys on the cow-design key holder when I come in to the house.  I put my shoes in my cupboard or next to my bed.  My clothes go into the wash box, and my smaller items go on the side table next to my bed, right next to my book and my cell phone.

I know where my things are, as I do not have time to find them later as I am too busy finding stuff for other members of my family.

My kids come to me when they can’t find their clothes, shoes, bags, toys, books and so on – as if I have a built-in radar to locate these things.

They tend to get upset as kids do – so often misplaced things are treated like critical emergencies.  I have to stop what I am doing and go and assist them to find it – which actually means they sit on the bed and start telling me arb and seldom interesting stories while I am on my hands and knees looking in cupboards and under beds.

Kennith has also taken to asking me where things are – which I find really annoying.  Kennith’s ability to put things away in their correct place is often left wanting.  He will usually go: “I can’t find my xyz – have you seen it?”

I will always reply – with a slight condescending tone in my voice: “where did you leave it?” implying that where he left it is the reason that he is now including me in this rather jolly version of hide-and-go-seek.

Kennith’s answer will inevitably be – on the floor, next to the bed, in the lounge, on the dining room table or some other random spot.  Somehow his inability to put anything back in its correct spot and the fact that he spends ages looking for it, and then asking me to be part of the search has not really correlated in his mind.  So he continues to place items randomly about the house and then gets himself worked up when these items cannot be located.  It often appears to be the “maid’s fault…”

Our maid takes her job rather seriously in terms of tidying up and packing away – which again seems to come as a shock to those who leave their precious possession lying around.

Connor and Georgia are both at school.  Fetching them in the afternoons has really become more a game of remembering what they were wearing, what they were carrying and then retrieving all these items before we get into the car.

If I am distracted, we will drive off and I will realise we are missing shoes, juice bottles, lunch boxes, school bags, jackets and various other items of a personal nature.

None of this affects them directly.  It only seems to affect me as I will need to go and find them the next day.  If they are really gone, then I will need to purchase another one.  It seems you cannot send your child to school without lunch, shoes and a jacket and be expected to be viewed as a good parent – even if you send a note to school explaining that you are teaching a valuable life lesson.

Last week Connor lost his book bag.  It is a large blue zipper bag – and contains all his work that he is doing at school, including homework book, any notices of events, flip files that contain current work – in short it is really an important bag that he needs in class every day.

So he loses it on Thursday.

Friday he says he has looked everywhere for it.  Now I am not sure how he has looked everywhere when he cannot give me a list with one location that he has looked.

We go off to lost property on Friday afternoon and it is not there.  We cannot go to his class as it is locked, so I am convinced it is at home.  I spend a fair bit of Saturday morning and a bit on Sunday looking for this bag, sure that he has brought it home and he has misplaced it there, as he has so clearly explained he has looked EVERYWHERE at the school.

There I am crawling under beds, looking inside things, checking the boot of the car and so on.  Connor, has no idea where this thing in – I think the only reason that he is looking mildly upset is because I have explained how serious it is if this bag is lost for good.  I have used my angry-mommy voice, which is very much like my angry-bridezilla voice at the moment.

Monday I leave work early, as now I am going to school to collect him and play project-find-the-flipp’n-book-bag.

I arrive at school, and happiness is – he has found his book bag.  Yay!

My natural question is “where was it?” He sort of mumbles a bit. I lean forward to extract an answer.  It seems it was in after care.  The same place he said he looked – exhaustively – on Friday.  After care is only so big.

From this I gauge  – and from his manner of talking which is a tad sheepish – that Master Connor actually spent no time at all on Friday looking for his book bag.  He used his time wisely playing with his mates on the field.  Which I concur is a good way to spend your time if you are eight years old.  But not if you are losing things, and making your flipping mom spend ages looking for something that is not lost, was never lost and now mom is leaving work early to come and look for it.

So clearly even though Connor found his book bag  I am slightly less than excited.

Why you might say, in that judgemental tone you reserve for moms who are a tad too hard on their kids.

Well simply because at the time, I was reversing back into the school so Connor could go back to after care to find his lunch bag which he had now lost!

And this my friends, is why mothers MUST drink!