And then there are the constant reminders that we have to dish out: ‘finish your
breakfast/leave the babies alone/stop crawling up the stairs/leave the Foxtel
machine alone/stop arguing!!’ Put all this together with trying
to get general stuff done like a load of washing, changing the bed sheets or
even making a freakin’ cup of tea, and it gets CRAZY-MAKING.
Gawd, it exhausts me just writing this stuff out. Sometimes
I pretend I’ve got a family day care business. Only I’m really bad at it. And
I’m prone to the sudden urge to run out of the house screaming at various
intervals throughout the day.
I won’t bore you with a ‘day in the life of’ us,
because we would be here all day. Our days are full, chaotic and only mildly
interesting to other people. But just to give you an example of what it’s like,
this is what happened at dinner-time yesterday:
I start cooking
sausages, rice and vegetables.
The babies whinge incessantly, being hungry
themselves. They crawl between my legs, each wanting to be picked up. I start
making them a sandwich alongside the sausage-cooking, thinking I can swiftly get them eating and quiet.
Miss P comes into the
kitchen and says, ‘Mum, I want to paint.’ I quickly say, ‘No, you’re about to
have dinner.’ She comes back with,
‘Mum, I need a poo!’ Dammit. The deal-breaker. I stop what I’m doing and rush
her off to the toilet, then leave her there to do her business.
The babies continue to
cry.
Mr B comes into the
kitchen, balancing a bowl on his head. The bowl falls off and breaks on the
kitchen floor. Husband and I quickly remove all children from the kitchen due to sharp bits from
the bowl being scattered everywhere.
Husband gets cross
with Mr B for being silly with the bowl. Mr B cries loudly. He seems to be
competing with the noise from the babies.
The kitchen is getting
a bit smokey from the sausage-cooking.
Miss P doesn’t do a
poo. Instead I go into the toilet to help her off the seat and step in a
massive puddle of wee. She has missed the toilet bowl. I hop around with a wee-drenched foot trying to clean myself and the floor up.
House is very smokey. Babies are still crying and Mr B refuses to
speak to Husband.
I put the fan in the
middle of the room to move the smokey air out. The babies immediately gravitate
towards the new dangerous object.
Babies are put in
their highchairs. Dinner is served.
During dinner, all the
children make a huge mess with their food. Mashed up broccoli and carrot, and
thousands of individual rice pieces are scattered all over the floor. After they're finished, I painstakingly pick up every morsel of food as I can’t be bothered getting
the vacuum cleaner out. It’s buried in a pile of crap in the cupboard under the
stairs.
I’m not joking, it
takes me longer to clean up all the food than it did to cook the stuff. When I
have it all collected in the kitchen bin, the total amount looks suspiciously the
same as what I’ve just served up.
Finally, the floor is
clean, and the highchairs and kids' table is spray ‘n wiped. The children all
seem a bit calmer. I think about putting the kettle on.
Baby J goes exploring in the kitchen, tips
over the kitchen bin, and the food I’ve just disposed of spills all over the
floor. It’s mixed in with old teabags and a couple of dirty nappies. I get down
on the floor and start cleaning it up again. It is a massive and evil case of déjà
vu.
Ah, the urge to run out of the house screaming. It’s like an
old friend that lives in my brain. Right next to the one that tells me I need a
drink.
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