21 January 2010

The Stress Time

Just been reading that 7.25am (although it’s 8.25am in the UK) is the most stressful time for parents as that’s presumably when the kitchen is full of kids grabbing the last few pieces of toast for breakfast before screaming at their father, who is looking for the work papers he was reviewing the previous night, to take them to school. Mother, of course, is trying to feed everybody and make sure her husband knows that she used the last of the petrol in the car when she went to her tantric sex class last night. The ‘late’ baby, born 10 years after the previous one, is now screaming in his high-chair and the gas man is due to service the boiler at 9am. Then she’s got to get presents for the kids across the road for their birthday party at the weekend. Her mother is in hospital and visiting time is at 10.30 this morning.

I’m sure you get the picture.

I’m so lucky. J is away this week, visiting her step-father in hospital in Manchester and I’m chief cook and bottle washer and I have to say it’s a pleasure. It’s all very civilized although I’m sure if we had a 6 month old and I was still working, it might all be totally different.

The kids get up without a problem at 6.30am every morning and appear for breakfast, which, as I’m an early riser, is no problem for me. A few minutes watching TV before they get into the car and are transported down to the bus stop and then back to a totally quiet house.

Even dinner time is a doddle. Last night I cooked whatever fell out of the freezer when I opened the door which just happened to be Fish Fingers which looked as if they’d been made when Captain Birds Eye was a boy. Guy had rabbit which J had brought back in a ‘doggy bag’ from her trip to Italy plus oven chips and sweetcorn. All very simple!

And afterwards the kids thank me for making dinner and then they help clear away the rubble.

Of course, life isn’t all a bed of roses. After dropping the kids off this morning, I returned to find a massacre of monumental proportions had taken place in the lounge. Feathers, blood and guts everywhere with Shadow just sitting there looking quite non-plussed. The cats had been particularly frisky last night with Bijou, normally a very quite cat, actually smacking Shadow on the nose with her paw because he wouldn’t lick her. She also attacked Coco and grabbed her round the throat in a vice like grip – most unlike Bijou but it’s good to see that she still has a bit of spirit in her.

So – instead of stressing out about kids and school and things – I go ballistic over a couple of naughty cats!

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