You gotta love ‘em
I’m at my best first thing in the morning, hair sticking out at all angles and a face that needs ironing. The kids, on the other hand, wake up as though they’d never slept – their eyes might be a bit droopy, but the energy bubbles just under the surface. Such “tail-wagging” is reserved for the weekend of course, when I want to lie in. On a school day they have to be coaxed from bed and scooped into their uniforms with a shoe spoon. Daniel never has his hair brushed, and ignoring his feet, I sometimes only realize he’s forgotten his shoes when we get to Tyla’s school (having removed them to jump on the bed). Tyla has her hair brushed, but inevitably the skirt is rucked to the side, her shirt is partially untucked and her socks are inexorably slinking south – and this is how we arrive at school. Carrying satchels and silkworms and mulberry tree leaves and flowers and extra glitter (Xmas is almost upon us – the decorations are going up, and come December 24 we will all be ready to murder anyone who sings “jingle bells”!).
But at the weekend, you are prodded and whispered at and when Daniel gets impatient you might get a finger full of slobber in your ear – otherwise known as the “wet willy.”
So I started writing this on Sunday morning, closer to 5am than 6. Aunt Jen gave Daniel some fishing lures; plastic worms with all sorts of wiggly bits and colours to fool the fish, and both kids have taken great delight in hiding them where I will inadvertently find them. My shrieks, the first genuine, the rest contrived it must be admitted, are mirrored by happy squeals and giggles. As I sip my coffee, they are busy planting lures all over the bed where Graham is still sleeping, or trying to, their giggles are hard to suppress and tip-toeing is out of the question. I am unashamed at having made the suggestion and obstinately ignore the lure wedged between my toes. It must be the best part of my day.