Mornings in our house are chaotic, ear bleedingly noisy and exhausting. The day begins with an attack on the kitchen debris, a round of washing and the feeding of the animals.
Three smalls will then either awake with far too much energy accompanied by far too much whining (the younger) or need dragging out of bed amid much attitude (the elder).
Smalls must then be cajoled into appropriate clothing. When cajoling doesn't work, screeching is employed. Breakfast is whatever there is time for and usually ends up on clothes, in hair (theirs and mine) and on the cats.
My getting ready for the working day varies from a quick shower to a hasty wet wipe wash and liberal squirting of perfume, depending on the success or otherwise of wrangling the smalls into a state of readiness. The entire process is accompanied by a relentless chorus of 'I want', 'where's my', 'can you just' and 'its not fair'. Moods are erratic, patience is tested beyond reasonable limits and something is always forgotten.
But these moments of cute makes it all worthwhile. Smalls in PJs melt my heart.
Three smalls will then either awake with far too much energy accompanied by far too much whining (the younger) or need dragging out of bed amid much attitude (the elder).
Smalls must then be cajoled into appropriate clothing. When cajoling doesn't work, screeching is employed. Breakfast is whatever there is time for and usually ends up on clothes, in hair (theirs and mine) and on the cats.
My getting ready for the working day varies from a quick shower to a hasty wet wipe wash and liberal squirting of perfume, depending on the success or otherwise of wrangling the smalls into a state of readiness. The entire process is accompanied by a relentless chorus of 'I want', 'where's my', 'can you just' and 'its not fair'. Moods are erratic, patience is tested beyond reasonable limits and something is always forgotten.
But these moments of cute makes it all worthwhile. Smalls in PJs melt my heart.
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