Woken at ten past six this morning, by the phone ringing.
My first thought, which I think I said out loud, was What the fuck?
The immediate following thought, given I’d already been woken at 1.23, 2.46 and 5.43 was not the standard Oh my god, someone’s dead, when the phone rings at such an hour, but Someone seriously has a death wish. Then I contemplated the fact that someone may be dead, and had to scour the depths of my brain to decide whether I actually cared or not, in my sleep deprived state, and could they please let me know of whoever’s demise at a more suitable time.
Anyhoo, it was Channel 9 and they really wanted to interview me this morning on Today, and could I be there at 7.30? Usually not an issue, except that Grumpy Pants is also in high demand, and had been asked to work three shifts at two different facilities at 9 O’Clock last night. He also needed to leave the house at 7 … so why not just add some adventure and fun and change of routine to the morning, because there’s nothing like a bit of stress to get the adrenaline pumping, so I said “yes”.
It was then that I thought about what needed doing. Oh, yeah. Kids probably need to get up and get dressed. Run into their room and yell “aga gooba blubba fenakka” with my arms waving over my head in the direction of the coffee machine, which had gone off, grinding the beans and scaring the shit out of me. Pour MUG, gulp from it and return to bedroom and request get-uppage of children in what I think (hope) is somewhat more articulate than earlier. Thankfully, it is early and they aren’t quite fully functioning as normal, thereby forgetting to whinge, delay and make life more difficult.
Manage to get organised whilst I wait three days for Grumpy to get out of shower. I’ve been advised to do my own hair, and makeup will be done for me. Hurrah! Always makes me feel a bit spesh. Race around in bra and jeans, organising suitable distractions for the kids, by which I mean yelling out some mumbly gibberish to Monkey Boy, who is very good at that sort of thing. Ensure Godizlla has his DS and reader bag for school. Still shirtless and running around organising, Grumpy enquires as to what is happening with children’s school lunches.
Oh … um … yeah. “Do they have to take lunch to school every day?” I ask him, then consider how grateful I am that I’m not a “bake all day every second day for stuff for school lunchboxes” kind of mum, and whip up a couple of Vegemite sandwiches and carrot sticks and cheese slices. Record time. Which is impressive, given that particular lunchbox combination takes under 3 minutes anyway. Thus my intense love for it.
Gather everyone and everything up; spare jacket, bags, snacks for Chippie, distractions and we’re all out the door together. Unfortunatley, Grumpy was also out the door with us, strapping kids into the car, only he hadn’t actually had time to grab things like, say, his keys to get into the car. I don’t blame him, I was “ooga booga”-ing quite a lot this morning, more than usual, so he was just being helpful. He took control, asked me to please stop trying to help and retreived his own keys and locked up.
Arrive only a few minutes late at Channel 9, am advised that there is no-one on hand to do my makeup but feel free to do my own (PAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA) and I’m shown the make-up room and the dressing room we can relax in till I’m ready. Or, rather, until they’re ready for me.
Unpack Chippie Distraction Paraphernalia, so that he may be distracted enough to allow me to do my own make-up (PAHAHAHAHA) and sneak out the door to do my segment without causing ear bleeds and causing distress to anyone in the vicinity.
Consider the thoughts friends and acquaintances have when they hear I’m on telly (again), and the “ooh la la’s” I get, recall fact I don’t have a nanny like majority of regulars and wish they could see the realness of my situation.
Thoughts quickly shifted from head as I remove jacket and kneel on floor to change incredibly stinky pooey nappy, just as knock on door and “Ok, we’re ready for you now” happens. Of course. When else were they going to be ready for me?
Sneak out, do segment, and am back in within five minutes, Godzilla still happily playing his DS and totally oblivious to fact I was even on, Monkey Boy playing trains which Chippie, who flat out refuses to leave and wishes to continue playing trains on that particular part of the bench.
Phone call arrives from producer, thanking me for segment, at which point I close the door to ensure no escapage of children and Chippie decides he has had enough of that particular bench area, races to the other side of the room and bangs on closed door with fists and trains and makes loud yelly type noises, which I am familiar with and know they are just loud, yelly type noises, but to the uninitiated, the sound somewhat like he is either being tortured or creating much destruction.
Assure them he is not really trashing dressing room. It just sounds like it.
Leave, drop kids off at school, head home and realise I’ve forgotten to eat breakfast in all the rush.
Whip up some scrambled eggs whilst Chippie smashes the lid of a glass, microwave dish, and not the lid we have leftover from when Monkey Boy dropped a glass dish and broke it, leaving a dish that doesn’t fit the lonely lid, then forced to share my breakky with Chippie. Apparently, the breakky he had whilst I cooked mine wasn’t enough for him and he needed more. Or just needed mine.
Finally have moment to sit.
Relieve stress by employing services of Aunty Thomas the Tank Engine DVD and give self some time to regroup.