one of those mornings...

Well, we had one of those mornings.

The kids were in high spirits, yelling and screeching at the tops of their voices, laughing so hard they could barely stand up, pushing each other over and laughing some more, pulling each other around by skipping ropes and laughing some more...

A delightful scene of family harmony, except they were waking their sick father and moving extremely slowly on the jobs that needed to be done before school.

I had several options at this point:
a) join in, laughing and screeching like a banshee as I danced gaily around the loungeroom;
b) explain in quiet and soothing tones that yes, I enjoyed their high spirits, but it was time to knuckle down and get ready;
c) shout at them to stop screaming! hurry up! get ready NOW!
d) threaten dire punishments if they did not stop screaming! hurry up! get ready NOW!
e) enforce punishments without warning in a random and erratic manner;
f) spend the remaining 40 minutes before school expostulating with various children, whether or not they were doing anything wrong.

Well, I'm sorry to say that my response had more in common with options c, d, e & f than with a & b.

1 minute after time to leave for school, and Thomas (4) is attached to the computer like a leech ("just let me kill these people, Mummy!" - he's playing Age of Empires, a surprisingly bloodthirsty game); Ben (7) has still not packed his bag; Lizzy (9) is having her ponytail done and complaining ("that hurts, Mummy! why are you so cross, Mummy?")

4 minutes after time to leave for school and I can't find my keys ANYWHERE! I call Steve to expostulate ("you had them last! where did you put them?" left on his mobile) only to find them where I had left them under a pile of clothes, and to field a return call from him patiently explaining he never used them.

7 minutes after time to leave for school and we're on our way! At school, I cuddle Lizzy and apologise for being cross - can't let her go to school with a cross mother as her last memory. I cuddle Benny, then look in his bag and realise HE'S FORGOTTEN HIS LUNCHBOX! I let him go to school with a cross mother as his last memory.

Go home, pick up said lunchbox, return to school (and yes, if you're wondering, I do believe in letting kids take responsibility for their own mistakes, but I have visions of a hungry and miserable child.)

As I turn into a parking spot near Ben's classroom, I scrape the side of another car (not too badly, thankfully). AAARGH! Leave phone number with a very forgiving and sympathetic mother (who has also been bringing a forgotten lunchbox to school). Try not to think about the possible expenses we are about to incur. (My own heavenly father's discipline, more gentle and timely than mine?)

Go into the classroom and leave Ben's lunchbox. Feel so guilty about the morning, that I wait for Ben to appear (he's running a message for the teacher) so I can kiss him goodbye. He runs off cheerfully, and wipes the kiss off his cheek, apparently unaffected by the whole experience.

So that's it, a snippet of real life from the Williams household. Welcome to mayhem, impatience, anger, love, stress, apologies, and forgiveness.