Zero tolerance Fridays

I hate Fridays.

Those that regularly read my rants also know I don’t like Thursdays. No, I don’t despise every day of the week. It’s just on Fridays I’ve seem to have developed a child intolerance. Especially in the morning. I wake up with a severe aversion to those cute little girls who turn into cunning little gargoyles in the whole breakfast/getting dressed/get to school debacle.

Mondays are fine. We keep the weekends fairly open (though there always seems to be a birthday present to wrap and party to go to). But mainly it is appointment free. So by Monday I again have the patience of a nursery school teacher. Yes darling, I can make porridge for breakfast. No darling, how about we do that after we eat and get dressed. Please don’t poke your sister in the eye with a pencil, sweetie pie, you’ll blind her for life.

Everything runs smoothly until, say about Thursday, when my tone starts to take on a subtle change. Do you REALLY need to play that recorder while I am cooking dinner, HONEY. How about you just COLOUR instead? O-KAY?

Being organised doesn’t help. I organise my life to death. Our toys are in boxes. My personal papers are thrown into a pretty green box that sits in the office. I even have a birthday present drawer, full of small gifts appropriate for every relevant age group. I organise blogger carnivals, blogger networks. Everything has a place. I like it that way.

But no matter how much I prepare for Friday mornings — pack lunch the night before, reading done and recorded and in the book bags, clothes warming on the radiator — there is always a minor problem. The children.

Today is was Elizabeth. She’s been very entrepreneurial recently, and her favourite activity is setting up “shop” where she puts her wares on sale … boats made of coloured papers and toothpicks, cut out papers with pretty pictures … it’s very sweet really.

But not when we are trying to get ready for school. This morning she wanted to set up shop. I said not-on-your-life-you’re-eating-your-breakfast-and-getting-dressed-first. She said she wasn’t hungry, then paraded around in the buff. I tried to catch her. Get dressed. No. Yes. No, you’re mean mummy. Meanwhile the other two were dressed and enjoyed the entertainment.

We eventually made it to school. And as I walked home, slowly unwinding, thinking about the mug of coffee and croissant waiting for me, I bumped into a fellow Friday hater.

I don’t know what it is about Fridays, she said. Things just don’t seem to go to plan, and she bent down to try to buckle her squirming toddler into the pushchair, to try to avoid dealing with an escapee in the pouring rain.

Deep breaths, she said, take deep breaths…

Photo credit: tyla