Wake Up Call
I never wake because I am ready to wake, I am usually woken by singing, being climbed on, or some times a six thirty fight over who lays next to me when they get into our bed.
Now I know I should be flattered by this but my body is screaming for just one more hour.
The singing is usually Tom, and at any other time of the day I would regard it as sweet, but at six thirty when Rosie, my eleven year old slams through our bedroom door and throws herself face down on our bed trapping my legs with a pillow over her head I know our day has begun.
As each child descends upon our bed and jostles for space and duvet, it seems an easier option to just get up rather than stay hanging on to the side of the mattress being kicked in the back. Knowing any minute the dogs face could appear at the side of me desperate, and then empty the contents of her bladder on my bedroom carpet.
So down we go, dog out, kettle on, and let the breakfast orders begin. They all want different and Rosie likes what we call breakfast trifle. This consists of granola, natural yoghurt, fresh strawberries and raspberries all covered in a raspberry jus, no pressure there then. Jack opts for something simple like banana toasties, Tom will have what he calls eggs in a cow (this is a boiled egg in a cow egg cup) and Poppy by now has eaten half a packet of cookies and downed a couple of drinking yoghurts.
Now don’t get me wrong, I know this period in my life will soon be gone, and I will long for my children to pile in our bed and throw orders at me like they are staying in a hotel, and thats why, although I sometimes feel hysterical and slightly claustrophobic the truth is I love it, in fact I relish it, and wouldn’t change a single thing, except possibly the time.