For my children, Scarlett and Amelie, who were not utter horrors during the lockdown of 2020 xxx
‘Ava, are your teeth brushed yet?’ I yell up the stairs in vain. When I scoop Henry out of the baby chair, I notice his nappy is swollen and damp. ‘Bugger.’
‘Coming, Mummy.’ The light thud of Ava’s feet travels down the stairs. I look her over in horror.
‘It’s half past eight and you’re not even dressed!’ I sound like a banshee as I do most mornings because most mornings, Ava really likes to test my patience and after another sleepless night, I’m on the edge.
‘I had a cut on my knee so I put some wet tissue on it and—’
‘And nothing. Get your uniform on now!’
‘But, Mummy!’
Give me strength.
Henry starts to scream. ‘Ava, you have one minute to get dressed or I’m taking you to school in your vest and knickers. I mean it.’
‘Mum, where are my football boots?’
‘Oh, Ralph, I don’t know – you had them on in the garden the other day. Try the utility room.’
Henry is still screaming. It’s now eight-forty. ‘Ava?’
‘Coming, Mummy.’ She appears in the kitchen, thankfully, for the most part, dressed bar her tie but I’ll tolerate the disapproving looks at the school gate for one day.
Otis, our dog, is doing supersonic circles at the prospect of a walk to school.
‘Sorry, Otis, we’re running late today.’ He doesn’t get it; instead, he’s the only one sitting nicely by the door ready to go. ‘Okay, let’s get to the car,’ I say, thrusting a banana in Ava’s little hand.
‘But I haven’t got my shoes on.’
‘Put them on in the car,’ I say, shepherding her to the front door. Henry is still screaming – his cheeks red and puffy – but I haven’t got time to change him now.
‘Ralph?’
‘I’m here,’ he says, banging his football boots so big clumps of mud fall all over the hallway floor. I sigh but say nothing because I don’t have time to argue.
‘Take your brother,’ I say, pushing Henry into his arms and scooping Ava into my own. ‘Right, let’s go!’
The school bell rings as we pull up outside. ‘Ralph, take Ava to her teacher and run – I’ll watch you from here.’
‘Okay, Mum.’
‘Love you both,’ I say as they climb out.
There’s a moment of silence whilst Henry looks out of the window. I sit and breathe for a moment, relishing the tiny slice of tranquillity before the torture of Monday supermarket shopping begins. As I put the car into gear, Henry wails again, prompting me to realise I’ve forgotten the changing bag.
‘Buggering hell!’ I do a U-turn and a car honks at me because there’s an unwritten rule about not reversing near the school gate. I wave apologetically hoping it’s another bedraggled mother who’ll give me a sympathetic smile. It isn’t. It’s a smart-looking lady in a flashy BMW who looks less than impressed at having to stop and wait for my U-turn (okay, three, maybe five-point turn).
When I’ve retrieved the changing bag and Henry is changed and happy, I make it to the supermarket. It’s a small victory that I’ve remembered my carrier bags and I’m feeling ready for the challenge of battling with the trolley. As I’m unbuckling Henry’s car seat, my phone pings. It’s a message from school. Hoping there isn’t another outbreak of nits, I open it.
URGENT REMINDERS
Please could all parents / carers remember that children must be accompanied onto the school grounds by an adult as per our safeguarding policy. We’d also like to remind you that as part of our commitment to keeping your children