I woke up this morning with the grandest of intentions. Boatman and Bailey are fishing, and it’s just me, my girl’s and house that needs some TLC. Enter Jess, the domestic goddes, and all around super mum!
(You can see where this is going can’t you?)
So when I was awoken by my youngest daughter just after 7, asking me to play the baby game, I immediately agreed. (Primarily because the baby game involves me lying on the couch being told to go to sleep.) I was starting the day off on the right foot.
And then about 3 seconds later, the right foot was firmly replaced by the wrong one and I went from super mum to cranky mum in .0008976583 seconds.
My manuscript, which I have been carefully editing, and was stored in a folder in very precise order, was all over the floor.
And under the couch.
Not in a precise order.
Picking myself up from the despair of paper everywhere, and failing dismally as Wonder mum, I lay on the couch as instructed and played the baby game for a whole five minutes until Bridie joined in, and Ava graciously allowed me to go eat breakfast.
So kind of her.
Unfortunately, I was late to return the favour.
This is the part of the story where I admit to not being a morning person. At all.
Unlike the other five family members who would all rather be up with the birds, than enjoying an extra five minutes of shut eye.
Most days, on account of their early rising, the two old girls get breakfast for everyone, and so I just assumed they had done so today.
Which was not the best assumption.
Especially considering Ava came up to me, about an hour after my own breakfast, to inform me, that no one had fed her this morning.
Talk about parenting fail.
The icing on this particular cake though, arrived when I realised, I couldn’t remember the last time I had made her breakfast, and had no clue how many week bix she has.
What kind of mother am I?
Again picking myself up from the mire of parental despair I was close to wallowing in, I decided that I would redeem myself by being the cleanest, tidiest, most domestic mother ever, and what better place to start than with the washing.
Turns out I had forgotten that this happened last week.
And as a result, is that this is what has been happening every day since.
Right, of course in the middle of the one and only monsoon we’ve had this year. I’ve almost got a creek running in the backyard, that I can walk to, and then beat my towels upon a rock.
Failing getting much done in this department, I attempted to put away the ironing and the ironing board.
Check for the first point, uncheck for the second.
It seems it’s been so long since I last put it away, my ironing board has no interest in living anywhere but the lounge, and would not fold for the life of me.
It was beyond disheartening.
I almost gave up at this point. Playing on Facebook, and doing my hair in case I felt the need to take any more random selfless, seemed like a much more credible idea.
Even attempting to clean the bathroom was having it’s challenges.
Whose job is the washing and the mopping?
Do we need a chart to record how often the bathroom is being cleaned?
And that’s just the house stuff. The mum stuff has really confused me. I missed parent teacher interviews, because the note came home whilst I was away. I work during homework and bed times, and I’m usually catching up on writing for school pick up time.
I can’t remember the last time I had significant one on one time with any of the kids, and I can see them going to Boatman, for things they used to come to me for.
Am I now irrelevant?
Who am I, and what is my role in this family?
And how long can I bum around on twitter for to ignore the answers, because it all seems complicated.
Until I remember it’s not.
These little people are not hard to spend time with, or to get to know. I’m still their mum and can still meet their needs. Whether it’s reading the stories of Bridie, playing cars with Ava or playing games on the Wii with Taylah, it’s all easy stuff. Easy, and yet vitally important, and wonderfully role affirming.
So lunch time comes, and I may not have been a domestic goddess,(like it says on Bailey’s birth certificate. For reals), and I may not be a super mum. But I’ve done the dishes, cleaned the bathroom, and painted toe nails with my kids.
And I think that’s a pretty good place to start.