Pulling the duvet up around my head in a last attempt to shut out the incessant snoring of my husband was proving to be of little use whatsoever.
The long grunting, pig-like snorts as he breathed in and then the raspberry blowing of the lips as he breathed out was too much to bear for another second. These were the moments I plotted his demise, stifling him with a pillow was usually the least psychotic of my murderous thoughts. I throw him one more disgruntled look before I stomp out of the bedroom and head downstairs towards the kitchen.
The dog snoring at the bottom of the stairs doesn’t do much to lighten my mood, what was with the snorers in this house?
A moment of tranquility
With a large black coffee in hand I snuggle into the sofa burying my feet beneath my body, enjoying the soft comfort of the feather stuffed cushions. Yet again I was awake long before the alarm sounded, thanks to the wailing banshee I shared a bed with.
This time of day is quite surreal in my house. The usual screaming, shouting, arguing, TV blaring, farting and general mayhem, was a million miles from this peaceful scene. I’ve often pondered on the thought of setting my alarm an hour earlier just to be able to enjoy the calm before the storm.
Thirty minutes from now World War III will descend on these quiet, peaceful surroundings. World War III being my three kids for want of a better name.
Fifteen is grumpy, lazy, dirty, loud and he knows everything. Seriously! He knows everything about everything hence we call him Google.
Thirteen is a pretty, sassy, argumentative, bathroom dwelling, phone loving, fashionista who leaves a whirlwind of mess wherever she goes, aka Tornado. Yes, two teenagers under the same roof, God help me!! Now the dog whisperer is all very impressive but can someone please pass me the number of the “smartass teen whisperer”?
Lastly but by no means least, Eleven, my cute, cuddly, geeky, mama’s boy, aka Tiger, who is still untarnished by the poisonous teen tentacles that await to turn him from a cute and cuddly teddy bear into a ferocious grizzly.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my kids with all my heart, especially right now as they all sleep like precious angels, but they can be challenging, and that is putting it very lightly.
I hear my own bedside alarm burst into life upstairs and I feel rather smug in the knowledge that Sir Snorealot will have to try to reach it. Something he isn’t used to, as I always catch it on the first ring and spare our ears from the imminent abuse.
Today, however, it is ringing loud and long and his first approach will be to bury his head under his pillow. When he realises I am not running to his rescue he will try and slap his hand around in the dark to find it before having to physically get out of bed. My smug, evil grin widens as I hear a thud, suggesting he may have fallen off the bed in his attempts to silence the shrieking alarm.
7.30am: Morning has broken
Not with a songbird tweeting melodically outside the window in dulcet tones bringing life to a new day. No, in my house morning has literally broken and just to confirm my thoughts the dog farts a little fanfare to start the day. Just lovely!
With the peace well and truly shattered I begin my daily kitchen shift as skivvy. First the hunt for the little darlings lunch boxes, my favourite morning game. Let me find your school bag and get out your lunch box, remove yesterday’s remnants and fill it lovingly with food again. I love how my kids keep me entertained like this!
Secondly, fill the breakfast table with everyone’s morning favourites, cereals with hot milk, croissants with Nutella, pancakes, jam and anything else that the feeding of the 5000 necessitates. Then, obviously I need more coffee and Sir Snorealot needs a mug full before he finally finds his real voice and ditches the snore like grunt.
World War Three has begun.
Google has laid claim to the bathroom before Tornado with a victorious slamming of the door, causing her to morph into something that I can only compare to that little girl in The Exorcist.
Tiger has his Spongebob audiobook turned up to ridiculous volume to drown out the death threats being hurled at the bathroom door. The dog is barking at the letterbox in a bid to impress, or scare, the postman. I’m never quite sure which.
My bedside alarm clock, which was obviously mistakenly flicked onto snooze, is now screeching again and Snorealot is mumbling obscenities from the shower.
I make my way back upstairs, piercing my foot on a random Lego piece embedded into the carpet. Jeez!! Those things are bloody dangerous underfoot.
I hobble up the remaining stairs in pain. The screeching alarm like an air-raid siren, the machine gun of teen abuse back and forth from both sides of the bathroom door, SpongeBob singing “I’m Just A Poor Sponge” at the top of his lungs. You see, anything less than World War 3 would not do justice to my morning routine or my children. I turn off the alarm as Snorealot emerges from the bathroom all pink and fresh faced from his shower.
“Did I wake you again with my snoring sweetheart?” NB: he only calls me sweetheart when he’s in the doghouse.
“Darling, you woke Mrs.Schofield from four houses down who is partially deaf. Of course you woke me with your bloody snoring!” Sarcasm is the only language I speak at this time of day.
“Sorry”, was only just audible through the toothbrush and foam that were filling and spilling from his mouth. His next move will be to wipe all the offending toothpaste onto my beautiful, plush navy blue towels, but not on my watch. I snatch the towel before he can reach it causing him to turn and look at me like a lost little boy. The toothpaste around his face now making its way South and onto his chest.
“How the hell do you manage to get toothpaste everywhere? Why can’t you wash your face off with water first and then dry it on the towel so I don’t have to wash the bloody thing every day?”
He does as he’s told, he knows better than to retaliate, especially when I haven’t had a full nights sleep thanks to him.
The tirade of abuse has now become personal on the bathroom front. Tornado has Google’s phone and is threatening to send a picture of him in his Batman underpants to some girl he has the hots for at school. She is smart, she knows exactly how to push her brother’s buttons.
Google shoots out of the bathroom to retrieve his phone while Tornado makes her move into the bathroom and slams the door behind her. This brings peace again, momentarily.
“Guys! breakfast is on the table, you now have 30 minutes before you have to leave”, I don’t know why I bother because no one is listening.
The next 30 minutes consists of mumbling, grumbling and the exchanging of insults between the two teenagers. Breakfast is devoured, bags are claimed, shoes are found and finally…
8.30 am. Peace is restored with the final slamming of the door
The mobsters have left the building, along with Sir Snorealot who is doing the school run today, and once again it’s just the dog and me. One hour of mayhem has been handled with military precision and the smug smile returns to play across my lips. Even the house just breathed a sigh of relief.
Silence is broken as the dog farts again and looks around himself in total surprise as if he’s looking for the guilty party. His face the picture of “Who did that”? Why do dogs do that? Maybe because everyone blames the dog in this house. That was my cue to get him out for his morning stroll. I still remember the day I gave in to the begging and pleading and tears of:
“Can we have a puppy please?”
“We promise to feed him and walk him, please mummy”
“You are the best mum in the world and we love you so much”
And it went on and on until I caved in and said yes – and here I am walking and feeding the dog daily.
I do my rounds of the bedrooms, make the beds and pick up dirty clothes that lay on the floor beside the laundry basket. I have never understood the logic here. Everything gets left near where it should go but never quite makes it to destination. The ironing that I leave on their beds gets moved to the floor beside the wardrobe. The same goes for the dishes they leave beside the dishwasher so I can put them in the dishwasher. Maybe I should make a point by leaving their washing beside the washing machine or leaving the Sunday Roast beside the oven and not in it. Actually, that’s a good idea, I make a mental note to myself!
Chores done, I make myself look respectable and slip into yesterday’s outfit that is still casually strewn across the bedroom dresser. Navy blue, loose fitting, cotton pants and a blue and white striped sweater. I can’t find the tights I was wearing but decide that it’s not too cold to go out without them. I slip on my navy blue flats, add a splash of colour to my lips, adjust my hair and I’m good to go.
It’s fresh and breezy outside but not cold, the burst of sunshine breaking through the clouds is already warm. The morning air always wakes my senses that are still semi-conscious and puts a colour in my cheeks. A stroll across the park, through the village market and then back up the main road and I will be ready to tackle the rest of the day.
A noisy group of teens burst pass me in a flurry of whispers and giggles. I smile with them, giggles are always so contagious, a few of them turn around and smile back in a cheeky kind of way. Why can’t my teens be so adorable?
I wave back at a couple of passing neighbours also on dog walking duty and make my way to the busy market.
The hustle and bustle of the village market is music to my ears compared to the wailing and screeching that was filling my head only 30 minutes earlier. Every one is smiling and happy, busy going about their day and it feels good to be alive. Everyone seems to be smiling and nodding at me today which is giving me a confident spring in my step. I nod and wave my way through the busy streets with Buddy loyally at my side, hoovering the floor with his nose for any food remnants, in true Scooby Doo fashion.
I see a couple of the hot daddies from school nudging each other and smiling in my direction which spurs my confidence to the next level. I do my best bottom wiggle past them, sashaying my hips like Kate Moss on a Dolce & Gabbana catwalk. I swing my hair back over my shoulders, “tummy in, shoulders back, head high”, I repeat my mantra silently. Damn! I should’ve worn heels, I can do it so much better in heels. I glance back sexily over my shoulder and smile. They were both still gawping at me. “Damn girl you’re hot” I tell myself, my confidence and my head growing by the second.
What was different today?
I swing my hips all the way home with a huge smile on my face, I feel like a million dollars. I lost a couple of pounds last week, maybe it shows more than I thought. This morning feels like everyone on the planet has noticed me and smiled at me. That just proves the power of a smile doesn’t it?
Bursting with self awareness and confidence I sashay sexily into the kitchen and flick on the coffee machine and the radio. Taking advantage of the full length mirror on the back of the door I do my best Kate Moss once again so I can see just how fabulous my strut looks. “You certainly turned a few heads today you sexy lady”, I mouth to myself in the mirror giggling. I don’t see any difference today, I look exactly the same as I did yesterday, but I’m happy anyway.
“Dontcha wish your girlfriend was hot like me” I sing along with the Pussycat Dolls on the radio, giggling at the irony. I do a little dancing pirouette on my way back to the coffee machine and am surprised to find my lost tights swinging around my waist. I quickly return to the mirror and turn around to see my tights entangled with my Bridget Jones sized knickers hanging from my waistband down to the back of my knees. I stood and stared, mouth agape, taking it all in.
I see the picture in my mind of me swaying my hips with the tights and knickers swinging proudly from side to side behind me as I passed all and sundry. It slowly dawned on me the attention I’d been receiving all morning was due to my underwear being on the wrong side of my clothes. The tights I couldn’t find from yesterday were there all along, tucked inside my trousers.
I can feel the flush rising from my ankles all the way up my body before it lights up my face like a stop light. I can literally hear my ego deflating at one helluva pace. How can I show my face outside again?
Oh My God! The hot daddies from school, nudging each other…
Today is one of those days that I should have quite literally stayed in bed. And all this before 10am. Sigh!
By Amanda Carrington ~ Desperate Housewife