I get that to so many people Mondays aren't great. The Boomtown Rats even sang a song about it after a teenager girl was asked why she shot up the school across the road and she said something like "I don't like Mondays." Let's not forget about Garfield, that furry mother fucker HATED Mondays. Well, not only do I like them - I enjoy them.
I am a Mumma of two babies, 5 & 3 (the 14 yr old outgrew this bit long ago) who absolutely must know every single move I'm making and why. I have at least one attached to my side from wake up to go to sleep demanding my 100% attention. The Birthday Thief wakes up at sparrow's fart every single day and the very first thing she does is throw open my bedroom door and proudly sing out "I wake Mumma, get up" and when the response is not immediate "Mumma, I wake. Chu watch something with me?" she will then launch into a conversation about who knows what with gusto. She's excited by what she's saying but she's only just turned three and an entire conversation that is so expressive means that the words only make sense to her. She'll laugh at herself and slap her leg or forehead. This is now the moment her demands for the day begin to be listed; she's needing a juice, she's needing something from the 'something to eat' cupboard, she's wanting to watch Gabba or Magic Dance or Shrek or Adventure Time (it's ok if one isn't put on immediately after she wakes, each one will be watched at least once during the day) and she'll give these orders as I trek down the hall to take my morning piss. She absolutely MUST join me in the toilet where she'll ask "peep or poop Mum, peep or poop?" She might do a little dance or she'll very kindly take her toilet step, put it against the toilet door and pop it open. At some point, usually within half an hour of his sister The Slayer will waken. Depending on his mood he'll either come out and snuggle up for a hug and a kiss or he'll be pissed off about something and NEED breakfast right this very second. If he's in the mood to take out his remote control car or scooter he'll open the back door and hell crashes down if it's raining.
The day continues with a barrage of questions; Mum, Mum what's for dinner? I'm not sure, how about you eat your breakfast and I'll think about it. Mumma, no stool today? No, no school today. Mum, where are you going? The toilet. Why? I need to... Mumma, my a good girl? Yes my love, you've been a good girl for one whole hour. Mum, how can I make the ninja turtle win? I'm not sure love, I don't really know how to play many xbox games. Mumma, Muuuuuuuummmmmmma I have a milk? No, you've been asked to sit on your bed because you did something naughty.
On and on we go, so many days I'll look at the clock and count the hours til 7pm - bedtime. Every single night we have; Baby, go grab your bottle it's time for nappie and bed. Please go to the toilet son. Get your bottle please it's time for bed. Toilet son. BOTTLE... NOW... TOILET. The bedtime business involves a good ten minutes in each bedroom, my girl likes to be surrounded by all her fluffy toys and baby dolls. Big toys, old toys, tiny toys, soft toys, hard toys and if one of her friends is missing, just one, she knows and it's a catastrophe until that sneaky toy has been located. We have to have hugs, we have to have kisses. "Chu pat me Mumma?" I lay beside her and pat her and sing Zip-A-Dee-Do-Dah. "Nigh, Night. Luff you see you in the morning."
The Slayer is sometimes not as easy as his sister when it's time for bed. Sometimes he likes to watch The Smurf movie before bed, sometimes he wants to play with his tablet. Sometimes he wants a story. Sometimes he'll disagree that it's bedtime and sometimes he agrees it's time for sleep and climbing into bed is easy. He absolutely must have a bottle of drink with him. He has an entire way he sets himself up and it's the same every single night (that's autism for ya). Now... sometimes it's as simple as that but rarely, mostly I'm lucky enough to get called every few minutes for the next hour or two by both or just by one or the other.
But then there's Monday... My week starts with both my babes going to daycare, the rituals are the same but then there's the whole; Please don't shove your sister out of the way. Let your brother in the van first please. Keep your hands to yourself and you move out of the way. There's arguments and complaints all the way there - less than a 5 minute drive by sometimes the longest I've ever driven. We get into the rooms and I hold my breath waiting for one or both to protest which can be done with baby bodies thrown against my legs or little tears or screaming bellows. When I finally leave, feeling a little sad (because even though they bring me to my knees and my exhaustion is incredible I really do miss those little bastards when they aren't stuck on me) I'll make my way up to the servo on the corner for a big fat can of V (don't you sass me, I know it's bad but so is coffee and cigarettes and I don't do either of those) then drive home. I'll head down the hallway, placing my can on the table, then picking up my book I'll take a seat on the dunny. On Monday mornings I get to take a shit all by myself. No kids talking at me. No noise of squeals and giggles and tv or two cheeky monkeys chasing each other up and down the hall. I don't have to try and push that thing out as quickly as I possibly can because the situation is uncomfortable and frustrating. I can quietly get about my business with ease, in peace whilst enjoying my book.
I am a Mumma of two babies, 5 & 3 (the 14 yr old outgrew this bit long ago) who absolutely must know every single move I'm making and why. I have at least one attached to my side from wake up to go to sleep demanding my 100% attention. The Birthday Thief wakes up at sparrow's fart every single day and the very first thing she does is throw open my bedroom door and proudly sing out "I wake Mumma, get up" and when the response is not immediate "Mumma, I wake. Chu watch something with me?" she will then launch into a conversation about who knows what with gusto. She's excited by what she's saying but she's only just turned three and an entire conversation that is so expressive means that the words only make sense to her. She'll laugh at herself and slap her leg or forehead. This is now the moment her demands for the day begin to be listed; she's needing a juice, she's needing something from the 'something to eat' cupboard, she's wanting to watch Gabba or Magic Dance or Shrek or Adventure Time (it's ok if one isn't put on immediately after she wakes, each one will be watched at least once during the day) and she'll give these orders as I trek down the hall to take my morning piss. She absolutely MUST join me in the toilet where she'll ask "peep or poop Mum, peep or poop?" She might do a little dance or she'll very kindly take her toilet step, put it against the toilet door and pop it open. At some point, usually within half an hour of his sister The Slayer will waken. Depending on his mood he'll either come out and snuggle up for a hug and a kiss or he'll be pissed off about something and NEED breakfast right this very second. If he's in the mood to take out his remote control car or scooter he'll open the back door and hell crashes down if it's raining.
The day continues with a barrage of questions; Mum, Mum what's for dinner? I'm not sure, how about you eat your breakfast and I'll think about it. Mumma, no stool today? No, no school today. Mum, where are you going? The toilet. Why? I need to... Mumma, my a good girl? Yes my love, you've been a good girl for one whole hour. Mum, how can I make the ninja turtle win? I'm not sure love, I don't really know how to play many xbox games. Mumma, Muuuuuuuummmmmmma I have a milk? No, you've been asked to sit on your bed because you did something naughty.
On and on we go, so many days I'll look at the clock and count the hours til 7pm - bedtime. Every single night we have; Baby, go grab your bottle it's time for nappie and bed. Please go to the toilet son. Get your bottle please it's time for bed. Toilet son. BOTTLE... NOW... TOILET. The bedtime business involves a good ten minutes in each bedroom, my girl likes to be surrounded by all her fluffy toys and baby dolls. Big toys, old toys, tiny toys, soft toys, hard toys and if one of her friends is missing, just one, she knows and it's a catastrophe until that sneaky toy has been located. We have to have hugs, we have to have kisses. "Chu pat me Mumma?" I lay beside her and pat her and sing Zip-A-Dee-Do-Dah. "Nigh, Night. Luff you see you in the morning."
The Slayer is sometimes not as easy as his sister when it's time for bed. Sometimes he likes to watch The Smurf movie before bed, sometimes he wants to play with his tablet. Sometimes he wants a story. Sometimes he'll disagree that it's bedtime and sometimes he agrees it's time for sleep and climbing into bed is easy. He absolutely must have a bottle of drink with him. He has an entire way he sets himself up and it's the same every single night (that's autism for ya). Now... sometimes it's as simple as that but rarely, mostly I'm lucky enough to get called every few minutes for the next hour or two by both or just by one or the other.
But then there's Monday... My week starts with both my babes going to daycare, the rituals are the same but then there's the whole; Please don't shove your sister out of the way. Let your brother in the van first please. Keep your hands to yourself and you move out of the way. There's arguments and complaints all the way there - less than a 5 minute drive by sometimes the longest I've ever driven. We get into the rooms and I hold my breath waiting for one or both to protest which can be done with baby bodies thrown against my legs or little tears or screaming bellows. When I finally leave, feeling a little sad (because even though they bring me to my knees and my exhaustion is incredible I really do miss those little bastards when they aren't stuck on me) I'll make my way up to the servo on the corner for a big fat can of V (don't you sass me, I know it's bad but so is coffee and cigarettes and I don't do either of those) then drive home. I'll head down the hallway, placing my can on the table, then picking up my book I'll take a seat on the dunny. On Monday mornings I get to take a shit all by myself. No kids talking at me. No noise of squeals and giggles and tv or two cheeky monkeys chasing each other up and down the hall. I don't have to try and push that thing out as quickly as I possibly can because the situation is uncomfortable and frustrating. I can quietly get about my business with ease, in peace whilst enjoying my book.