My mornings start early.
Usually by 5:30 am.
Often it is a reluctant start because insomnia is a part of my make up these days.
Most often I am woken by Noah’s high pitched boy babble, telling me about some car or train that he might like to have.
Sometimes it is to two snuggly (almost) four year olds pushing in on my personal space and I can lie for a while and listen to nothing at all.
Most mornings, by 6:30am, my bed is full to overflowing with long, lanky teenagers, middle sized children and the littlies.
All talking, laughing, squabbling.
A nest resting in the crook of a tree, filled with baby birds.
Feed me! Notice me! Teach me to fly first, I was here first!
Somedays I just want to let it all wash over me and sleep.
Somedays
but not most.
Some mornings I laugh so hard that I cry with the back and forth banter and carry on: roleplaying mostly.
Something all of our kids have been expert at.
All said in an Aussie - American accent (yes, even the two littlies).
“Oh Kelly**, I told you, it’s over”
“No, Kelly, I won’t go to the mud piles with you, Miss Jenny*** is mean“.
” Don’t come near me. I told you, I would fish slap you.”
“Be careful, if you fish slap me, I will crane tickle you”.
Or I am woken with a request:
“Mu - um! Can you make me some blu tac shoes for my person, with fingers?” (Don’t ask).
Some mornings we are all slow to move, except Dave, who leaves before the small boy stirs.
Then it is loud and busy as we rush to get ready for school.
Quick!
Get dressed!
The bus leaves in twenty minutes!
Ivy come and have your medicine.
Don’t spit… it… at Mummy *sigh*
Have you done your chores?
Have you got everything you need?
No, Ivy you cannot have chips for breakfast and no, you can’t have sorbet either.
Would you like peanut butter on your toast?
What do you mean you don’t want toast, Noah? You asked for toast.
No, you can’t have porridge.
Walk.
Walk!
Mummy said walk!
After the big kids leave it is kind of quiet again
and most days I have mixed feelings about this.
I covet silence but it is never really quiet in our house and so I miss the fullness and the conversation that I am accustomed to.
Noah will suggest some inappropriate activities for a cool Spring morning.
‘Some syringing time’ is his popular request at the moment.
You know you have a chronically sick kid when you have spare syringes lying around to be used as water pistols.
I’ll make promises of later, when it’s warmer, as I wipe down the bench and put in my third load of washing for the morning.
Ivy might be playing or drawing in her room or the TV may be on, Curious George blaring into the loungeroom.
By 9am I am tired again but the pair are back in the kitchen asking for homemade playdough,
or for me to make some cornflour glue for pasting
or some paint
or, like this morning, if I will make them a crown.
I give in and fashion a paper hat, with spikes.
I wonder how this will transfer over to my CV when it comes, that I go back to work.
Crown maker extrordinaire.
Noah requests some sea creature stickers and Ivy is all about the spangles, so I give her some stars to stick on.
This pleases them greatly and they run around for a while pretending to be royalty
and I laugh at their words and wonder how two (almost) four year olds can know and apply words like “admirably” in an appropriate way.
I’m sure the others weren’t like that at this age.
A legacy of being the babies in the family, perhaps.
The two have been uwell.
Spring is notorious for allergy and asthma in this house and the first few days of September have lived up to expectation.
There is a new antibiotic that is not being tolerated too well and lots of upset tummies too
but
today has been a good day, with not much of anything but happy noises and play and I think they may not need a morning nap, as they have every other day this week.
I wish that they would though, because then I could mop down the toilet floor.
Again.
Noah is so proud that he can do a ’stand up wee’.
Me?
I miss the sit down kind.
It was less messy.
The Play School theme song heralds 10am and Ivy rubs her eyes.
“I’m tired” she says.
Noah requests to stay up and watch the five minutes of the Plonster’s antics so I chase Ivy to the toilet and put her to bed and then repeat the process with Noah.
I kiss their soft heads and wish them sweet dreams and tell them no mucking around.
I can hear Noah quietly wheeling a Thomas train back and forth but soon there is real quiet.
I’m hoping for a couple of hours
and then the afternoon will be here.
** Kelly is a crane, from Thomas the tank engine, of course.
*** Miss Jenny is the foreman of the quarry.
