“Right. We’re late, kids. Lets go.”
I can’t find my son’s coat. My son tells me he hasn’t done a poo. Says his sister hasn’t either. He has a remarkable nose. I change her nappy anyway. He was right. No poo.
We are now five minutes late.
Can’t find my son’s coat. He’s only got socks on his feet. “Where’s your shoes, son?” He runs away. I trudge around every room before finding them. Find son. “Where are your socks?” He looks at his naked feet and shrugs.
We are now eight minutes late.
I find more socks upstairs. Downstairs daughter starts screeching. “What did you do, son?”
“I pushed her over.” He says happily.
“That’s very naughty. Say sorry to your sister.” He says sorry, patting her angry head. Son’s socks and shoes on. Grab my daughter and start hunting for car seat. Put her coat on as we look. Where’s my son’s coat? Put nappies in nappy bag. Find car seat. Strap daughter in. She starts to cry again.
“Right.” I rub my hands together. I feel better now one of them is restrained. “Sandwiches.” I hurl together a packed lunch. I take my daughter to the car. No keys in my pocket. We go back inside. Start searching for keys. Where’s my son’s coat? He runs past, barefoot. My teeth start to grind.
Find keys. Daughter in car. Son’s shoes and socks back on. Consider taping them on his feet. Seventeen minutes late.
“Drinks.” I open the cupboard and plastic containers avalanche onto me. Put drinks in bag. Finally find son’s coat. Son wont wear coat. Son has melt down. Find different coat. Son wants toy. Can’t find toy. Second melt down. Twenty two minutes late. Daughter wailing from car.
I’ve forgotten something. I tap my pockets, remember what I’ve forgotten. I go up stairs, son following, shouting at me. I forget what I came up for. I go back down stairs. “Phone!” I yelp, startling my son. I go back up stairs. Can’t find phone. Back down stairs. Ring phone from house phone. Find phone in my coat pocket. Still forgotten something. Can’t think what it is. Have to leave anyway. Twenty nine minutes late.
I start reversing the car. “Daddy!” My son screeches. I slam on the brakes.
“What?” I gasp. He points at his sister and informs me happily that she’s done a poo.
I slump over the steering wheel.