IT'S one of those days. You know them, ones where you wish you could just get back into bed and dream about shoes.
One thing I've discovered since my latest bundle of joy has arrived, is that joy is not a word to describe my mornings.
Alarm goes, for the fifth time. "Snooze" and I have a pretty rocky relationship. In the past she did me a favour and managed to give me the extra Zs I needed to make it through the day zombie face-free, but of recent times she mostly makes me dangerously late and frankly a pretty frightful sight.
I rant, wail and plead with my big kiddos to wash, dress and eat as fast as humanly possible. Meanwhile, I frantically feed the infant like a woodpecker.
She's not at all impressed with my urgency and beautifully vomits across the front room floor. Yum. No time for fixing that little spray, I strap her into the car seat giving her a bottle to sup on instead. Thank God she can now hold it herself. Genius.
Throwing PE kits, children, lunchboxes and school poster projects into the car we are good to go. I inform son that my Peugeot 307 is no place for Hulk attacks on his older sister while trying to find the keys I have just used to open the door.
One brief game of musical chairs later I realise I have already put them in the ignition! Handy.
Arriving at the school gate I am pained to discover it is Photo Day! My fridge (that also acts as my noticeboard of life) has let me down. Somewhere among the scribbled drawings and photographs of my thinner days lies the reminder hidden by son's artwork.
I try to hide my distressed expression when nemesis mum informs me that the photos will take place first thing. Attempting to do daughter's hair at the gate while fixing son's wonky collar, I myself smell of eau de infant vomit. Lovely.
Desperate times call for desperate measures, my Licked Finger Of Doom makes an appearance. I despised my own mum doing this to me but I now realise the value of this cleaning tool. Even the Hulk can't stop me – it's for the greater good.
Other children pass in horror. Some avoid all eye contact through fear they may be slimed too. Note to self, if you ever need to clear a playground lick your finger and point, it works every time.
My pouting preteen and handsome boy head off. I watch and hope that my hasty investment into their appearance will pay off.
But either way let's get real, Mr Photographer has a harder job than me. It will take some serious luck to catch my offspring smiling in unison with eyes open and tongues in …
