As anyone who has spent any time (like more than 10 minutes) with me will attest to, at the best I times I have a little touch of the manic about me, just a wee glimpse of crazy in my eye and a slight propensity to the 1000 yard stare. This is mainly due I suspect to what psychologists and zen type people will call the ‘inability to live in the present’, and what I call ‘being a working parent who has also decided to start a business’.
Well today, I am sorry to say, that little bit of crazy just went full on postal. I put this down to a nasty combination of an overconfident sense of what I could manage a year or so back and some idiot biological function that means humans can only focus fully on tasks if they had a reasonable amount of sleep and down time.
Today my day looked like this:
Children up, make porridge, feed it to children, clean up porridge from hair (mine and theirs), change children, stand on abandoned nappy, trip over the cat, inhale coffee
Check emails, respond to emails, play lego with children and get told I am doing it all totally wrong, remember to get dressed- showering can be optional.
Do day job. Research consulting and writing on maternal and perinatal health. In breaks check emails for muka, post to facebook, talk to the pattern maker about the precise nature of the type of topstitching detail I want on the neckline of a garment (yes people all jobs have tedious aspects), and stop the older child from killing the student nanny with a bit of electronic circuitry she is building.
Walk older child up the road for first school visit, during which time I am required to come up with semi-intelligent questions that would indicate at least a passing interest in the future of my child’s success at school. I think that was a definite parenting fail. I may have even looked a bit ill when taken into a huge room of at least 50 yelling shouting 5-7 year olds doing activity afternoon.
Home and more thinking about maternal health data and what it means that our local area has a high caesarean rate for first time mothers who are over 35 (or as we disrespectfully term them ‘elderly gravidas’).
Start dinner for marauding and shouting midgets
Feed midgets. Less shouting. Also fill out tax return, email mother-in-law (my accountant) about how to fill in business tax return – ask her the exact same question I asked last time I emailed about my tax (she politely does not mention this).
Consider how on earth to develop a technical specification sheet template for the manufacturers in India. Consider that it would be a lot easier if I was not trying to be director, social media marketer, production manager, and sustainability leader for muka kids all at once from the front room. Then recall I get bored having an easy life…..hmmmm
Eye martini and vodka bottles with desperation then remember it is only Thursday.
Stop oldest child from killing herself by standing on a chair on the sofa next to a large picture window two stories up. Then engage in a conversation with her in which we determine it was not in fact the Llama that were made extinct through hunting and deforestation in New Zealand, but the Moa. Oh…..
Etc Etc Etc.
And here people present you with my secret weapon which means tomorrow I will still be crazy, but at least I will be sufficiently caffeinated.
La Peppina – our 1960’s hand lever espresso lugged back from Amsterdam in a suitcase. Worth every bashed ankle on the Underground.