This is what happens when I make Grand Plans

For some reason, I never quite manage to get to school on time.  I shout and roar at the kids (ah!  That’s probably the reason) and tell them WE’RE LATE WE’RE LEAVING NOW, and I do intend to leave “now” but there’s always something – someone needs a last-minute wee, or a library book is remembered, but lost,  or I look down to see that feet are shod in slippers or Disney Princess plastic monstrosities, or the traffic is hell.  Whatever – we are always the last ones to class, and have now acquired the title of The Late Ones.  So last night I was determined to start afresh this morning, to sleep well and get up early, and throw off this unwanted mantle.  (Of course having made this plan, the night went to hell in a hand-basket, involving a pissed-in bed, a pissed-on bathroom floor, a sore-throat and endless non-stop coughing and, most bizarrely, a vampire bat in a cot.) 

Notwithstanding our nocturnal travails, I stuck to the plan, setting my phone alarm for 740am (time to STOP EATING AND GET DRESSED NOW!), then again for 745am (time to GET OUT THE DOOR NOW!), and – lo! It worked!  We were in the car by 750, and On Our Way.  That is, until the Boy announced, as we pulled out of the carpark, that he needed a wee, so we stopped and off he ran “AS QUICKLY AS POSSIBLE” ringing in his ears.  He wasn’t quick at all, however, and slunk back to the car, ashen-faced, about 7 minutes later, mumbling something about a scratch.  But still, it was before 8, which is almost guaranteed to get us to the classrooms for 830.  We drove along through light traffic, and at one point I glanced over at the Boy (he sits upfront, his reward for being a giant) and then made the mistake of glancing down, and nearly crashed at the sight of nether-regions out on display FOR ALL TO SEE.  “It hurts, Mummy, I pinched myself by mistake and IT HURTS.”  “It can hurt INSIDE YOUR PANTS.”

So we got to school at 822 – RESULT! – and made a quick detour to the disabled bathroom to check out The Scratch, me muttering and carrying the Baby and her usual assortment of stuffed animals and the Boy’s school bags, and my car keys, and I expected nothing and had my eye-roll on standby – but there it was:  a testicular welt. Oh God.  Poor Boy.  I have no idea how he managed it – his uniform is zipper-free -  so I picked up the Baby and the bags and the animals and off we galloped, across the square, down the stairs, through the carpark, down various corridors – to the Nurse’s office.  A short wait, then a quick whispered conversation to minimise the Boy’s mortification, some hastily applied anti-septic cream, then... Where are my car keys? BUGGER.  Up with the Baby and the bags and the animals, and dragging the Boy in tow, through the corridors and across the car park and up the stairs and across the square and into the toilets... No keys.  By now it was 8.37 – we are officially late – but still, let’s try to be as least late as possible;  so, up three double flights of stairs, bags, animals, babies etc, into the class, quick apology, and out to go... where?  

My worldly possessions at that moment amounted to: one large, unhappy, squirming toddler (“PUT ME DOWN!”) and two stuffed cats.  Nothing else.  No phone or money or anything vaguely useful.  I threw myself at the mercy of the principal’s office.  No one had handed in any keys.  But they did have a stack of stuffed animals if the Baby would like one? (Bears, woods.) So from there, additional toy cat in tow,  down the stairs, across the square, down more stairs etc etc to the Security office (which, incidentally, is next door to the health centre) and – PHEW – there were my keys.

And THEN the Baby upended her water bottle all over the car, and having deposited her at nursery I came home to find the sick Girl prancing about and forgetting to pretend to have a  sore throat, and I actually considered putting her in the car and driving back to school, but common sense prevailed and so I went to bed and put a pillow over my head instead and tried to ignore the fact that I had promised both myself and my accountant that I would sort out my tax returns today.

And that was my morning.  How was yours?