With our nanny still in mid-air on her way back from Australia and my wife off to court, I was left to look after the kids. I always dread days like today. Not, I should make clear, because I dislike spending the time with the kids. It is because, for some reason, the days always consist of me staggering from one micro-crisis to another. Ladies and Gentlemen, my day:
P’s alarm skills are weak. She fails to switch it off properly 7 times. I get up.
As I rise, the dog retches melodramatically and regurgitates a single, pristine black olive. There is poetry there.
Pack gear for gym. Discover awe-inspiringly unpleasant dog turd on the soles of my new running shoes. I clean them.
Creepy man stands motionless just one foot away from me for 10 mins in the gym changing room. We are alone.
Turns out creepy man was hoping I’d fail to notice I’d left my iPod on the bench. He was right. It’s now gone.
Collect kids from morning activity. Return home. Dog has found box of chocolates and is trying to poison itself. Since this is attempt number three, I put it down as a cry for help.
Take dog for walk. It finds chicken bones. Another suicide attempt? I intervene.
Dog finds and munches more chicken bones. Has our park become a chicken graveyard?
Try to put girls’ hair into buns for ballet. I fail.
Arrive at ballet. Sophia has trodden on a dog turd. I clean her shoe. A theme emerges.
As I wait for Sara’s class to begin, a solicitor calls me with an urgent question. As I reply, Sara somehow manages to fall over opening the door to the loo and bumps her head. I hang up.
There’s more (so much more) but I find I’m crying too hard to type. I am brought down by minor inconveniences like a tree felled by very very annoying ants.
I’m sorry I laughed … that I’m still laughing lol
After my mum died, Dad did my hair brushing and ponytailing in the morning before I went to school. I think (hope) he was better than you at it, but either way you’ll get better. Buns are hard, anyway.