Morning From Hell

Open one eye and squint at grey sun. Wonder whether women across land experience momentary blip in optimism at first light. Drag sunken heart out of pit of stomach and make plan of action to get to the toilet without stirring sleeping boy and thus instigating usual morning litany of political debate and bible questions you are incapable of answering because you must have been off sick on R.E days at school.
Trip over large plastic sword abandoned on landing and swear loudly.  Tell child rudely awakened that nope, we can’t be sure every cloud has a silver lining and head to bathroom to begin morning absolutions. Remove pesky, persistent spider from shower, tie hair into two bonkers bunches either side of your head and sing loudly in an effort to bring musical sunshine to your day. Throw fresh nightie on and go downstairs to find child simultaneously laughing uproariously at Jeeves and Wooster repeat on  obscure TV channel while perfecting American accent as he reads Sponge-Bob SquarePants out loud to audience of builders in hard hats sitting on garden wall at front of the house.
Builders in hard hats? Confirm that yes indeed church builders are holding Mothers meeting on your garden wall, and bang on window in preparation to threaten them with wrath of Vicar, then remember you look like scary fusion of Florence Nightingale and Lady GaGa, and duck down to floor. Crawl on hands and knee’s past child now drawing robot with special animal shaving powers. Don’t ask. Retire to kitchen and stand up. Boil kettle, write love note for child’s lunch-box,  sign permission slip for visit to Liverpool Philarmonic and remember that sum of £8.37 will be required for said trip. Walk casually past banana eating monkey on way to raid his piggy bank for money you forgot to withdraw.
Cajole child into drinking fake cup of tea and taking iron medicine. Drink rosemary sprig tea yourself . Run out into garden to pour remaining boiling water on very persistent weeds. Light candle and make wish for sanity and peace. Re-assure child that occupational therapist visiting school  to see him only wants to play games and teach him how to get dressed properly. Go into kitchen to spread blueberry jam onto tiny slithers of toast. Go back into living room to  find child fully dressed. Applaud! Worry about combination of clean school uniform and sloppy jam. Watch sloppy jam spread over face of child and have horrors when yoghurt drips down sweatshirt and shorts. Undress child. Go on hunt for more clean uniform. Find it dripping in washing machine that has given up the ghost. Pull out filter to see what’s wrong and find yourself, YET AGAIN in pool of water on kitchen floor. Throw freshly laundered sweet smelling towels all over dingy wet stinky mess and decide to worry about it later. Perform miracles with sponge on yoghurt uniform. Perform miracles with wet flannel on blueberry child.
Send him upstairs to wash hands and brush teeth. Stand stock still and listen to him demonstrating Cillit Bang advert as he gets washed and giggle as he declares “Bang! and the dirt is gone!” as he leaves bathroom. Race him to get dressed as you climb into something uninspiring yourself.  Agree that yes he is the clear winner because you haven’t strung bag across body yet and then agree to remove earrings when he informs you that they “don’t match the mascara you have rubbed into your face”. Give him a hug because you love him ten billion.
Grab bags, lunch-box, water-bottle and coats and try to leave house with chattering child. Freeze when he announces that he suspects there is something special going on at school today. Get on hands and knees and ask him to think very carefully about what it is. Have utter screaming ab-dabs when he says it is a non uniform day, and he needs to go to school wearing pink because his lady teachers are collecting money for their boobies. Stand flummoxed, then remember about teachers running  fun run for breast cancer cure and spring into crazy mummy, we are so late already action. Instruct child to get naked , then run upstairs in search of PINK. Find white t-shirt, jeans and pink scarf of yours he can wear, pop- star- student style around neck. Announce it is the best you can do to yourself and go downstairs to see children trooping by in ordinary blue school uniform. Point out anomaly to child  and consider offering him to Barnado’s when he asks whether it is Wednesday? Tell him no it is Thursday, and try not to have total meltdown when naked child announces non-uniform day must be next week.
Hand him envelope containing money for school trip and pull  him half-dressed to school. Greet iron lady head mistress at school door, foist list of dates at her from occupational therapist and have them swiftly thrust back at you, because dates are already in diary. Point out note from O.C on date list to school and insist headmistress takes it for her records, then have minor argument with her because stubbornness does not become a woman whose job it is to be all sweetness and light. Turn around to find child shaking empty school trip envelope and note he has sucked paper into a hole and thus left a trail of pound coins along the path to school. Explain situation to smirking headmistress, turn on heel in utter shame then get halfway home and remember you didn’t kiss child goodbye.  Run back to school to find very sad indeed child  standing next to now frankly appalled headmistress. Hand him lunch box you also forgot and hug him for all he is worth in defiance of woman who clearly believes too much love is the cause of  little boys undoing.
Walk home calm. Open door to hear bleeping of electricity meter and watch without surprise when house is plunged into silent gloom. Consider crying. Consider Prozak prescription. Consider ringing your Daddy just because you can.
Do none of those thing  and gather spirits and walk to post office to buy electricity like others buy milk. Find pile of lost pound coins on garden path. Worry about boyfriend driving halfway across England to watch Bon Jovi in worrisome car. Worry about contradiction that is one man loving  Bon Jovi, Cheryl Cole and Micheal Buble at the same time. Ring him to issue careful driving warnings. Buy electricity. Go home.
Light up your life again.