(The Daily Game tasks are every day simple tasks, that have become nigh-on-impossible with the addition of two small monsters and the subtraction of one husband)
* footnote – this has been made a trillion times more difficult by the fact the initial house I was buying fell through, meaning temporarily nursery is a 20-40 min drive dependent on rush hour traffic rather than a three minute walk. It’s not permanent. Thank the fucking Lord.
TASK: The nursery school run
DIFFICULTY LEVEL: Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit.
OBJECTIVE: to leave the house and make it to nursery school on time, all three of us being (moderately) clean, fed & dressed.
– why oh fucking why, after 3 years of very early rising have my children decided 6.45 – 7.15 is now wake up time when their previous 5.30-6am would actually be more useful. Awkward little shits.
– showering myself. See previous post: https://wordpress.com/post/98084780/28/. *Shudder*
– the threenager being uncooperative: ‘I’m NOT getting dwessed. I’m NOT wearing my nursewy uniform. I’m NOT eating ANYFING!!!! I DO NOT need a wee.’ 5 minutes into journey. ‘I NEED A WEE. Now.’
– the last minute baby shit. Shoes on. Coats on. Sniff sniff. Yep. He’s shit.
– rush hour traffic – FUCK ME.
– my sat nav telling me to ‘head west’. Oh ok. I’ll just consult my pocket compass you absolute bitch-twat.
– parking – the school gates. Reverse parking into a space that’s far too small with a three year old desperate to wee and a baby that just despises being restricted to his car seat twisting at the top of his lungs. I want Pinot noir. NOW.
– Teachers. It’s so much more formal than private nursery & I’m not used to it yet. I find it a bit weird. I used to really enjoy my chats at drop off / collection with the girls (& children) at private nursery but I suddenly feel judged. Judged for rushing in late, or because I haven’t got her a stupid book-bag yet and her jotter is a bit dog-eared already or judged because the baby has snot in his eyebrows.
– school gate Mums. *sigh*. Now that’s another story altogether…..
– Car snacks. That. Is. All.
– Strong coffee. Thank fuck for my Nespresso machine.
Room for improvement. Much room for improvement.
(I’m hopeful that the fact this has to be repeated every fucking day for the next 13 years it will become less traumatic.