Morning Madness

Sometimes I wonder if I wasn't there to direct proceedings whether my boys would actually make it out of the house or not in the mornings. Clearly there are far more important and immediate needs than the boring old dressing, cleaning teeth and breakfasting. This morning is an excellent example of this fact.

The apparent joy of eating weetabix for breakfast is that you can stir it and mix it up into a pulp. This can last for at least 5 minutes before you actually put any in your mouth. Max mixed with full force this morning then, once pulped, he left it in front of him for another 5 minutes whilst trying to clasp his hands together 'inside out'. Once these important tasks had been completed, he was then able to begin eating.

After breakfast I had one of those highly successful pep talks with Toby. The kind of pep talk where they look above you, to the side of you and everywhere else but in your eyes. I asked Toby to try really hard not to distract Max from getting ready for school. Max has been trying so hard this week to be organised (except the breakfast pulping routine) without any reminders from me. Just when he worked out that maybe he needs to clean his teeth and entered the bathroom, Toby crept up behind him and roared loudly. So much for my pep talk. In the excitement of the moment, Max forgot what he was supposed to be doing and so we had to start all over again.

Jonah was dispatched upstairs to get dressed. This does not need to be a difficult task. His clothes are laid out for him. All he has to do is take off his pyjamas and put on his clothes. Simple. This 'simple' task proves far too boring and instead I hear non-getting-dressed shrieks and loud thuds as all three boys race around the upstairs of the house. It seems that Jonah has removed his bedtime pull-up (heavy and sodden) and is nakedly chasing the other two around, swinging it in their faces. He races down the stairs with a look of triumph on his face. He has now discovered a weapon that will beat his two big brothers.

Quickly disposing of the pull-up, I remind him that he is supposed to be getting dressed. Before putting on his clothes, however, there is another more interesting activity for him. Parading around the kitchen completely starkers, he chants "Look at my deadly 60 nipples!" over and over again. (Deadly 60, for those of you who are not aware, is a programme on CBBC about deadly animals and insects - my boys love it). By this point I am beginning to lose hope. I ignore his deadly 60 nipples and remind him yet again that he needs to get dressed. Eventually, when Toby goes outside to feed the chickens and leaves the back door wide open, Jonah whimpers about being cold and gets dressed.

There is nothing exceptional about this morning. That goal of leaving on time hangs in the air, until eventually when we do leave (after the shoes and coat putting on extravanganza - "Max, put your shoes on. Max, put your shoes on. Max, PUT YOUR SHOES ON!" and "No Jonah, you are a big boy now and I will not put your shoes on for you. No, I'm not going to because I know you can do it yourself. Oh, ok, I'll do one and you do one. Ok, I'll just do both.") the sigh of relief that exits my body must surely be audible by the whole town.