Memory Monday - Planning

When the children were all young, everything had to be conducted like a military operation, planned and executed to the nth degree.

I had my last daughter when my son was 5 years old. He had just started primary school and hence it was the beginning of what I think of as my 'super organised' life I was to lead from then on. Between the two of them, I had another daughter, making 3 children of 5 and under, a handful indeed.

The morning routine on a school day would follow a similar pattern day in, day out. At least most mornings it would, if I had been out the previous night, as was often the case come Friday morning, I would tend to make it up as I went along and even that was a struggle.

On the rest of the week days, the first half an hour of my morning would be spent trying to convince the eldest 2 that they actually wanted to get their backsides out of bed. "Get up, come on, you have school" .... "Wakey, wakey, rise and shine".... "Is anyone actually listening to me?"...

With baby tucked under one arm, bottle held with hand of said arm, my morning cuppa would be drunk intermittently with the other hand, usually luke warm before I had gotten half way down the cup. Winding baby (that's winding as in pat on back, not winding as in crank her up!!), obviously took both hands, and this would delay the next task, but always one to utilise my time effectively, I would use this time to stand quietly at the bottom of the stairs and listen; what was I listening for? The scurry of feet, the running of water, the sound of drawers being opened and closed again; and what did I hear? .... silence usually ....

"Will you two get up, I'll not tell you again. It's nearly half seven, now come on"

"uuhhh, huh, sigh" came the replies

Reluctantly, and eventually, they would leave their warm, cosy duvets and head for the bathroom in turn, arriving in the kitchen, bleary eyed and hungry. By now, baby was fed, and happily sitting in her bouncy chair, watching, surveying the scene of her sorry looking brother and sister as they clearly struggled to appear to be of human form, and she, full of the joys of spring would chuckle and gurgle away in her own fantastic baby language, clearly finding what she had to say quite amusing.

Finally, with all three where I could see them, I would prepare my sons packed lunch, and finish the half a cup of stone cold tea I had left. With their breakfasts eaten and the human heads firmly in place, the next battle would be to prise the two of them away from pulling faces at, tickling and generally making baby laugh, and they were good at it too. They both loved her to bits. Eventually, I would get them upstairs to clean their teeth and get dressed, although somehow, their toys and books always seemed more appealing to them at that point in the day, can't for the life of me think why. They knew the routine though, and they were fully aware that I wouldn't check up on them for the next 10 minutes or so as I would be changing baby and laying her down to sleep in her pram, so as not to disturb her again when it was time to leave for school.

Once she was taken care of, it was my turn. I would climb the stairs, noisily. It meant one less hurry up needed to be issued as they would immediately get on with the mornings necessary tasks, cunning I know. Eventually, somehow, and always in time, they would be ready. My son standing there with his smart school uniform, freshly laundered and pressed, school bag at the ready and lunch box in hand. He was always so cute as a young boy. Even now, at 22, he still has the same 'aren't I cute' smile! The bag and the lunch box would be laid on the tray of the pram, along with another bag of PE kit on the days it was needed. My eldest daughter would be excitedly waiting for us to leave. She knew that once her brother was safely ensconced in school I would take her to the bakery and we would share a little 'us' time with a drink and a sausage roll before we walked round the corner to her playschool.

Once she was dropped off there, I would walk the mile home, just me and my gorgeous baby, for a morning of 'lets see how much housework I can get through before she wakes up'. Invariably, of course, she would wake up 5 minutes after we got home, which was fine by me, it just meant the housework would wait a while. I loved her being awake. She was generally a very happy and contented baby, and I loved to just cuddle her and breathe in that all too familiar 'baby' smell that I will never grow tired off til the day I die.

By lunch time, I would do the reverse trip to collect my elder daughter from playschool.

At 3pm I would do the trip for the third time that day to collect my son from school.

It's no wonder I was always fit, walking 6 miles a day.