Mornings

As the Sanitarium ad goes: Let me tell you the truth about mornings. One is pretty much like another.

But that is where the similarities end. There’s nothing “dull” about mornings in our house. In fact, it’s like a tornado hits at 6.30am.

I admit, it’s not as bad as it was. The kids no longer wake at 5.30am but this sets us on the back foot in terms of getting anywhere on time. They also now dress themselves, make part of their breakfasts and brush their own teeth in the mornings. But no matter how prepared I am – making lunches the night before, laying out outfits (if I don’t, Miss Four is likely to show up to kindy wearing a purple polka dot boob tube with an equally loud but mismatching bottom piece), we still can’t seem to get out the door by 8.30am.

Well not without World War Three breaking out.

Recently I was describing our mornings to a friend. It went along the lines of repeatedly requesting three kids with painted on ears to get dressed, make their beds, pull their curtains, finish their breakfast, brush their teeth, pack their bags and line up for sunscreen. These requests become louder and less patient (okay, that’s a euphemism) culminating in the part where we all tumble into the car late and no longer on speaking terms. Then there’s the one-minute drive up the road taking deep breaths and calming down so we can part on good terms.

“Is it like that for you?” I finished, expecting an answer in the affirmative.

Instead she looked horrified.

“No! My god Jodi, that sounds terrible.”

I chose not to believe her. I once asked a mother of so many kids I’ve lost count how she stays calm. She simply shrugged nonchalantly like she took it all in her stride. Then, some weeks later I happened to be walking past her People Mover as she went completely off her nut at her tribe. It was like music to my ears and I just stopped myself performing an air punch.

Still, I decided to reassess my morning strategy.

I tried several methods: 1. Drawing up a chores chart which they each had to tick as they went along, resulting in a small amount of pocket money at the end of the week. This lasted two weeks before the novelty wore off and the meager pocket money forgotten.

2. Hiding the tv remote but they soon replaced tv with building block houses down in the kid’s lounge.

Finally I resorted to the good old oven timer. I resent the fact that they respect the oven timer more than their mother but whatever works right?

It was like a bomb had been put under them. There was a frenzied flurry of activity and, within ten minutes, all their chores had been done. There was no fighting and they all played happily while they actually waited for me to get ready! The washing was hung out and all the breakfast carnage cleaned up so I returned to a tidy house, sans children and ready to start my day.

We were like a different family as we drove to school and kindy. I breathed in well-being, breathed out calm and felt benign goodwill to all – especially the mothers still exhaling toward their fringes.

The kids must have felt it too for they now willingly do their chores without prompting (or threats).

Now, shall we start again? Let me tell you the truth about mornings …

Coffee

I’m one of those rare freaks of nature who doesn’t drink tea or coffee. But, last weekend, after only one hour’s sleep (which wasn’t even self-inflicted, unlike the weekend before) and faced with three energetic kids on my own all weekend, I decided to take up the practice.

Any visitor that comes to our house knows they’re not going to get a good brew – the world of flat whites, cappuccinos and chai lattes is foreign to me. Plus the standard coffee in the jar is so seldom used, it’s now ground solid. Therefore one can either take to stabbing it with a knife to loosen the granules or select from my array of proudly collected sachets (the contents of which are also foreign to me) but saved for this very reason.

While the kids had long been tearing the house up, I eventually prised myself out of bed and opted for a lucky dip of the latter.

Once I got past the pleasant enough frothy milk the real taste of coffee hit me. It was foul but, over the course of an hour and with a fair amount of gagging, I eventually downed it.

And then, suddenly, as if I’d been plugged into the mains, I was awake and fair bouncing off the walls. Okay, slight exaggeration there, I’d only had one hour’s sleep after-all. But with this surge of energy that enabled me to function like a normal human being, I was now beginning to feel like I’d seriously ripped myself off in life.

Had I handicapped myself by only running on three cyclinders all this time while everyone else was running on four or more?

And, in an epiphany, I realised maybe that was the reason why I didn’t pass School C maths! Suddenly I could blame all my failings on not drinking coffee.

Was it too late to sign up for the Beach to Basin? Perhaps I could beat my last year’s PB after-all.

Instead it generated a maelstrom of house cleaning frenzy – after-all the house had been rendered a bomb site by now.

But with any high comes a low and I came down with a thud. I guess this is where most people would have round two but, even if it was because I made the world’s worst cup, I concluded that my taste buds and coffee are just not in tune.

So it’s safe to say I will not be taking up that addiction. Besides, who needs School C maths? I’ve survived thus far counting on my fingers.

Lies

When it comes to telling lies, the days of innocent oblivion are gone with my lot. I first discovered this just before Christmas last year. 

Innocent oblivion

It was round about the time all the chocolates in the advent calendars began to mysteriously disappear. Their wide-eyed innocence was so believable I actually pulled the calendars to bits thinking the chocolates had merely slipped down the back. When it became apparent they had truly gone AWOL I simply couldn’t believe that a child of mine could pull off a lie with such apparent ease.

Butter wouldn't melt

Although I guess it shouldn’t have come as a shock: growing up with my mum, whose true calling, I believed, should have been as a detective, you had to be pretty sneaky to get away with anything. As a result, I thought I’d become a fairly deft detective myself until I couldn’t, for the life of me, figure out which one was lying.

Then one day after lining them all up against the wall in the midst of yet another grilling, I had a brainwave.

“Right,” I said beyond frustrated. “If you won’t tell me the truth, I’ll phone the police and they will find out who the liar is.”

And as I marched to the phone their combined muteness suddenly burst to life behind me.

“No mummy!” they shrieked chasing after me and clawing desperately at my clothes in an attempt at halting further progress towards the phone.

I ignored them and, trying not to laugh, reached for the phone, which was subsequently knocked from my hand.

I turned to face them and was astonished to see all three in tears with Miss Four doubled over clutching her stomach gasping and sobbing.

It seemed my threat of phoning the police had truly put the fear of god in them and I was actually starting to feel a little sick myself from causing them such distress.

“Well then who was it?” I demanded.

“It was me mummy, but don’t tell the police,” wailed Master Four, wide-eyed with fear.

“Yeah Mummy please don’t call the police on Jai,” begged his sister (whose chocolates he had eaten) still grasping her tummy.

Although I felt awful that I’d scared them so, it was nice to see they cared for each other. I let him off with a warning that if it happened again I would be calling the police.

It only happened one more time. This time I did “call” the police. Master Four and his siblings were beside themselves but I had to “follow through” with my threat.

While we waited for the police to come I tried to calm him down and have a talk. Eventually we agreed that it would never happen again and, as I claimed to hear a siren in the distance, I hastily made another “call” to tell them it was a false alarm.

That evening I went on a girl’s night out. My friend’s babysitter was having trouble getting her five-year-old to bed. She was constantly on the phone trying to cajole her and it was ruining her night.

“Have you tried “calling the police?” I leaned across the table and whispered.

Finally she threw in the police threat while one of the others in our group began wailing like a siren. Apparently her daughter whimpered and went straight to bed. She didn’t get another call that night and visibly relaxed.

Following that, a collective light bulb went off amongst the mums at our table and I almost began to feel guilty for being the instigator if their kids reacted the same way mine had.

Anyhow, as I tell myself, the world is a better place without liars and thieves and if it’s going to stop them in their tracks, so be it.

At my house, the chocolate thief is no longer and, as far as my re-tuned detective skills can pick up, no one has lied since.