Skip to main content

I repent

I am aware that only recently I waxed lyrical about the fun and games to be had on the school run.

I have now changed my mind.

Things that drove me crazy this morning:
  • Chronic exhaustion due to the Small(er) One waking up all night with a series of increasingly ridiculous demands
  • The Small(er) One spilling her breakfast all over her uniform and screaming when I tried to change her, then screaming when she decided that soggy cornflakes on her lap was too much to bear and that she wanted to be changed after all
  • The Small(er) One sitting in the hallway for ten minutes, refusing to go to school because she didn't like the pattern on her socks
  • Firstborn being attacked by the Small(er) One bacause she was wearing 'her' scarf
  • Getting outside the flat, finally, only to discover that it was pouring with rain. My suede coat and shoes are unlikely to look the same ever again
  • The Small(er) One shouting "I hate you mummy, you smell of wee" at the top of her voice and blowing raspberries at me... all the way to school
  • Firstborn freaking out because we were late (she is extraodinarily rule-sensitive and twists herself into knots at the very thought of having to go explain herself to the formidable school secretary)
  • Once at school, having arrived just in time, the Small(er) One refusing to enter her classroom, preferring to stand in the rain for a full five minutes looking increasingly bedragged and folorn before being carried in, all the time bellowing: "I don't wanna go to school! Wanna stay in the rain! Argghhh!" etc
  • Got splashed by a sadist driving at full speed through puddles on the way to the tube. The final death knell for the suede coat. RIP.
Maybe I should just go to bed and stay there for the rest of my life.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Grim Reaper

Firstborn is obsessed with death. It started with the odd comment, such as; "Mummy, what happens when you die?" OK, I thought, I was expecting this at some point, what a cute little curious brain she has. So I trotted out all the cosy Heaven stuff and left out all the things that could worry her, such as worms and bones and holes in the ground. This went down pretty well, although somehow Firstborn made the jump from my view of Heaven (filled with love, joy, always warm, never rains, has a huge discount designer shoe outlet and I never have to pay my Visa bill) to her own view of Heaven; a wonderous place where small girls don't have to eat their vegetables before they're allowed pudding, and where Barbie dolls grow on trees. Anyway, I digress. Last week Firstborn started shouting "Kill! Kill!" in a bloodthirsty tone while bashing her hithero-beloved teddy against the wall. This was topped by her purposely flushing her favourite My Little Pony down the loo. ...

What Price Romance?

Let's talk romance for a moment. Manhattan Mama clearly feels deprived in this department and this is one of the most bewildering aspects of life with her. My latest attempt to remedy this is to make a reservation at A Voce--some interpretation of Tuscan cuisine--that the NYT recently gave three very optimistic stars. I've been a few times on my employers expense, so I know it's nice but I also know what it's going to cost. I'm thinking lucky if we get out of there for less than $150. Tack on another $50 for the babysitter. Then drinks, cabs, etc. Better not to do the math. It's not that MM wouldn't be perfectly happy with a kabab or a trip to the hipster taqueria, maybe some flowers from the corner stand. None of that would register in her mind as this mythic thing know as a DATE, and thus would win me no more points on her end than remembering to take down the recycling. Making a DATE means you're thinking of her, which means you're engaged with h...