Although the house is full of crazy and chaos at the best of times, it was almost as though Insanity had infiltrated the household and settled in for the day.
It had joined Murphy’s Law, it seems.
I found myself on the “Get dressed” merry-go-round, minus the ‘merry’, with Chippie.
Given he had slept in the clothes he wore yesterday, insisting at bedtime last night “I be okay sleeping in this one”, technically he was dressed.
When he pointed out that “I ALREADY DRESSED!” I gave up discussing that mutually agreed upon moot point.
“Get your socks on then,” I stated, blissfully unaware I’d stepped onto another form of carousel.
“I’n a zombie. Rah, rah, rah. I’n gonna eat your brains!” he replied, clearly on a path of cooperation.
I moved about with school lunches, reminding other children about other things, asking them the same thing repeatedly, but not because they required me to. I did so because I kept forgetting I they had already answered me and what they’d answered me with.
Grumpy finished off the coffee and we had much discussion about that. The Coffee Remaining In The Pot has always been mine. I don’t know when this rule changed.
It came to my attention, much like being slapped in the face with a wet fish, that I had done the “Get your socks on” thing about 47 times with little – nay, NO – result.
“PUT YOUR SOCKS ON NOW!” I said with determination and in my Serious Voice.
“Hisssssssssssssssssssssss,” said Chippie, hissing at me as he does when he is pissed off and not getting his way and getting yelled at.
“Go to kinder with no shoes on,” I relented. “Then you won’t be able to play outside, so, whatevs. Your call.”
I returned to going about my business, realising they needed to leave in ten minutes to ensure Chippie was at kinder on time.
Grumpy hopped into the shower at this point.
Chippie wandered up with his socks in his mouth.
*sigh* I said.
“They are brains. My socks are brains. I’n eating brains.”
“Just put the fuckers on,” I reply, resigned.
It is approaching Well Past Time To Leave when Grumpy emerges from the bathroom and we commence the discussion pertaining to who is doing what, when, who is picking whom up and, basically, what the fuck is going on.
Finally, at Kinder Start Time, we are organised to leave. Grumpy Pants will be taking Chippie and Godzilla and I will be combining my morning walk with walking Monkey Boy partway to school.
The zombie child is socked and shod, his kinder bag packed and his library book remembered.
Grumpy and I lock eyes as we leave the house, a silent communication that we are both sorted and can lock up and a mutual relief that we have managed to get to this point with vocal cords intact.
It was a crazy morning.
I open the car door to put Chippie in and … no car seat. You see we currently have three cars due to a recent purchase of an appropriate vehicle for Grumpy’s new venture and haven’t get offloaded (or even had the time to discuss and work out exactly how we’re going to offload) the Second Car, the small runabout designed for short trips for Grumpy’s previous job and picking up kids in times of need.
Murphy and his Law had come for a visit, and a further five minutes was spent locating Chippie’s car seat, removing it from one car and installing it into another.
In the front yard of our rented house, Grumpy and I locked eyes again and …. just laughed.