On Any Morning
The day began with a squint at the radio alarm clock next to the bed, which had begun filling the bedroom with the local radio station. Ispent a minute or two staring at the ceiling before an elbow met my ribs, accompanied by a muffled voice. An imaginary babel fish translated the noises.
“Go and wake the kids up”.
Really? Leave the amazingly warm duvet? Now? I was half-way through working out how many more minutes I could potentially remain staring aimlesslyat the ceiling, when some foreign part of my brain took over, and swung my legs out from under the duvet to the bedroom carpet. Damn.
I left the bedroom with an armful of clothes, and switched the kids bedroom lights on as I passed.
“Morning!, Time to get up!”
Miss Ten woke with a start, and blinked theatrically before reminding me that there was only one more sleep until her birthday. She then reminded her sister, the cat, and anybody else that might be listening.
After trudging down the stairs and wondering why my achilles tendons were so tight, I turned the shower on, shut the bathroom door, and stepped into the stream of hopefully warm water – completely forgetting that we turned the immersion heater on when we woke up.Have you ever wondered what it might feel like if a kettle of boiling water is tipped over you? I can tell you now. It hurts. A lot. Within a few tenths of seconds I had hopped into the far corner of the shower, and craned myself around the source of pain to adjust the shower as a pickpocket might lift wallets on an underground train.
It occurred to me while bushing my teeth this morning that I never think of anything while brushing my teeth. I gaze absent mindedly into the bathroom mirror, scrubbing this way and that for a minute or two, spit, and walk. It's like my brain goes on standby.
By the time I arrived in the kitchen the rest of the house had awoken, and were running in all directions – making lunches, breakfasts, finding school books, uniform, shoes, games kit, and whatever else. Our youngest stood on the stairs in her nightie still, asking whoever would listen where here school clothes were.
“You had Judo after school yesterday, didn't you.”
“Yeah.”
“I gave you your Judo bag last night and asked you to get your clothes back out of it, and put them away.”
“The're not there”
After a few moments we found the Judo bag thrown behind the bathroom door. Apparently this passes as “put away” when you really want to be playing on your Nintendo DS before dinner.
Somehow, we always make it out of the house on time. We're not entirely sure how it happens, but it does. We all go in our seperate directions, looking half-way smart and organised as we leave the house. Of course those passing by our front door don't see the absolute mayhem that leads up to the orderly exit.