Working Mum: My military morning goes awry

What's the harm? Damage to a morning schedule, so finally tuned that every second is accounted for.

As is normal with my weak-willed self, Beelzebub had the last word - and the last laugh. I never learn.

Annoyingly, I didn't even really enjoy the stolen seconds, all the while one eye half open checking the clock to see how much time I had left before it shattered my peace again.

It was a game of catch-up from the moment I slipped on my slippers and sprinted to the bathroom.

Master A in predictable fashion had no real urgency about the morning. While I flapped, trying to claw back every second, he mooched.

A casual flick through a book here, a jump on the bed there, some playing with Batman Lego figures in between set to a soundscape of my raised voice, urging him to go and brush his teeth, put on his pants, concentrate, stop jumping around...

"Put on your pants, now!"

Leaving him upstairs, I flew downstairs to continue with the military-style operation: prepare breakfast, make sandwiches, wash and dice Master A's mid-morning fruit snacks, pack up his PE kit, pack up his after-school club tuck box... I know! I know! I should have done most of these tasks the evening before.

Breakfast hastily thrown together, I called up to Master A to come down.

Still not in the kitchen a vital two minutes later, I bounded back up the stairs.

Master A was bouncing on the bed, naked save for a pair of pants... on his head.

Working Mum, wondering what kind of a morning my fellow Jubilee line commuters and Wharfers have faced. I know I am not alone...