A dangerous question

A dangerous question



Why are you so tired? It takes enormous strength from deep within to make sure my head doesn’t propel in a disturbing exorcist style when these innocent words are spoken. A little crazy? Maybe. A little OTT? Possibly. Let me tell you though, nothing good comes of these five words. They have a power to unleash some serious unpleasantness.

Fatigue you monstrous beast, we meet again. Actually you have never gone away, only lain waiting in the shadows, ready to pounce on my weary being and ferociously suckle the energy from body. Oh wait, that’s the kids.

OK, let’s look at my morning and reflect. I am sure this is where we will find the answers to that odious question.

Wake up to a soft whisper and caresses on my arm. It’s 5.04 and it’s not my husband looking for a warm embrace. It’s my three year old saying he needs a poo. Drunkingly stumble (not drunk though) out the bedroom door and fall over a truck in hallway. Swear and beg shamelessly at whatever poor God or mythical creature is listening that this event will not wake my older child. Place three year old on the toilet. What’s this kid been eating? Nod off again waiting for the pre-dawn poo to arrive. Oh goody it’s here. Extensively praise my youngest for producing such a specimen and evacuating his bowels into the toilet instead of his night nappy. Oh look, here is the rest of the family ready to examine the produce. What a clever boy. Coax kids back to bed and spend a strenuous half hour getting them to nod off again. By which time I am wide awake, hair a jungle of sin and my eyes belying my (fading) youth and looking more like the eyes belonging to my Nan. Our best friend coffee machine has already anticipated my stumble into the kitchen (you magnificent piece of machinery). Until it sprays the contents of a capsule at me in a misfire. Damn you to hell.

Oh look at me, now I am up so early AGAIN, I can get some paid work done before dawn, before my non-paid work shift. What fabulous time management. I need another coffee. How many can I reasonably have before 7am? Trying to concentrate and I hear a wail upstairs. Husband is in the shower and so I charge up there like the caffeine charged wildebeest I have become. Lovely, nothing like sorting out a dawn brawl over a toy. ‘Sharing is caring’ is being yelled by my 5 year old and my 3 year old is not accepting this as he deeply believes that everything in the world belongs to him just now. Life lesson about the benefits of sharing in society ensues and relative calm is restored. Holy shit is that the time!?

Nutritious breakfast making reinforcing for the 187th time this year the benefits of breakfast to start the day. Empty dishwasher and provide information to the best of my ability on who I think would win the fight between a shark and a crocodile. I sling cereal in a bowl making a mental note to go to Coles today, like I don’t do every day anyway. We should just get the salary paid into Coles. At the very least we should have our own personal trolley there…

Nutritious lunch making – forage in pantry for any non-expired food items and chop some fruit found down the back of the fridge. Definitely have to squeeze in Coles today. Maybe if I forgo eating myself and going to the toilet I can use that time to buy food for family. Yep, that should work.

Homework – reader and magic words. Who called them bloody magic words? I am beginning to hate them but have to put on an enthusiastic face for my 5 year old who I suspect is beginning to loathe the magic words too. We still have a few levels to get through. Make up song to rally enthusiasm. Definitely had enough coffee now. For the week.

Sustenance – I eat a brown banana I found at the bottom of the fruit bowl.

I shower while discussing the artistic merits of play doh with my five year old and giving in to three year old who has stripped off his fresh new clothes for the day and is now frolicking gaily in the shower with me.

SHIT is that the time!?

I can’t find the library bag. Tear house upside down and notice it is also in desperate need of cleaning. Maybe we will just go and live at Coles. Oh wait, it’s not library day.

Yell up the stairs that I am not going to ask again my 5 year old to brush his teeth and get his uniform on.

I ask again. And then run back up the stairs and check. He is half done. I help him finish.

3 year old need another poo. Stare at him for a lovely quiet moment, analysing if he is serious. Think yes and then yell for school shoes to be put on.

Run past mirror and notice I forgot to put moisturiser/makeup/ anything that will assist in the reduction of looking old, and also notice hair is wet and plastered down the side of my face. Wipe bum. My 3 year old’s.

Client calling. Will have to call back. Need to wash hands and praise son on his excellent new found toilet habits. SHIT is that the time!?

Send email to client. Nearly forgot that. Yep, totally all over it. So professional. Shit, I think I put a X at the end.

Scoop up kids, bags, keys, phone and pile down the stairs. Kids are wrestling and so I yell to get shoes on. AGAIN. Mad scramble. Park at school, realise I should have gone to day care first. Reverse, day care drop off, school drop off and back in the car.

Work day begins…and damn it, I have already exhausted my coffee quota.

And so when my husband asks ‘Why are you so tired?’ I try to keep my voice level, my blood contained in its veins and not spewing out in a fit of rage, and carefully and calmly reach for a wine. And breathe….

Why are you so tired? Hmm, let’s have a look SHALL WE?




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