Working Mum: My military morning goes awry
By Tabitha Ronson
Just one tap on the snooze button on my iPhone, an extra 10 minutes buried under the duvet, sent my morning routine haywire on Monday.
I knew as I lay there it was a wrong call. Angel on my shoulder was urging me to "get up - you know you have to" while the tricksy little chap in red on the other was encouraging me to make the most of my snug position: "What harm's another couple of minutes?"
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...