The best of intentions

Intention no. 1:

I will prepare everything for the morning the night before. This means when I wake up at the crack of dawn instead of dashing about, bleary eyed, like a blue-arsed-fly version of Worzil Gummidge I can actively engage with my children so our day gets off to a good start. We will get dressed together, eat breakfast together, brush our teeth together - all while singing silly made-up songs and having a gay ol' time.

Reality:

Get woken up before the crack of dawn. Children have no intention of actively engaging with mummy in a game of 'let's all snuggle in bed together for another two hours'. Or even 'let's help mummy get dressed for a change'. They cannot be swayed from their usual routine of 'let's beat the crap out of each other with light sabers until one of us gets hurt and both of us are in tears'.

The prepared milk and cereal snacks, usually so rudely demanded before I have even thought about setting a foot out of bed, get ignored and then thrown all over the bedroom and trodden into the carpet for good measure. The lovingly prepared packed lunch for Captain Underpants gets kidnapped by Johnny Drama and strewn all over the living room. A dismantled ham sandwich decorates the sofa. The banana gets used as a telephone to call Darth Vader before being shoved into a shoe. A half chewed apple is discarded by the front door. Pirates Booty rains down over the cat tree and is instantly inhaled by both boys, so by the time they are presented with their nutritionally balanced breakfast they couldn't be less interested and ignore it completely.

Mum resorts to daily habit of hiding behind a large cup of extra-caffeinated coffee and the computer, before seeking refuge for approximately three and a half minutes in the peace and solitude of the shower.

Intention no. 2

Engage the boys in a fun game of 'short straws' to determine, without prolonged argument or whinging, who gets to sit behind mummy in the car and what we get to listen to first on the iPod.

Reality

Each boy starts to wrestle each other to the death to gain ownership of the long straw. Mum's eye is practically taken out when she foolishly attempts to intervene. Mum makes an executive decision on both the sitting and listening options and is instantly overruled by both boys, who suddenly materialise into the firmest of allies in their show of defiance. Mum caves. Arguments abound the instant the key is turned in the ignition and continue for the rest of the journey. Mum attempts to placate her mutinous crew by throwing stale sweets, found in the deepest crevice of the passenger seat from the weekend's party bag, over her shoulder at 2 minute intervals.

Intention no. 3

I will arrive at work with a positive can-do attitude and enthusiastically teach with great passion and high energy. I will eagerly volunteer to do the leg-work on a book I am potentially co-authoring with my boss.

Reality

By the time I get to work I am exhausted and feel like I have been hit with a nap hammer. I begrudgingly smudge on a little lip gloss and then plaster on a smile before going through the motions while teaching an uninspired class. I sit and natter nonsense with clients to prolong the inevitable meeting with my boss. I have great ideas about the book but realise, somewhat belatedly, that I am an ideas gal...a person with grand visions but actually no real work ethic to speak of anymore. Unless I have a role which plays to my strengths (delegation) and not my weaknesses (doing the actual work) then the whole thing is likely to go tits up.

Intention no. 4

Create a magical evening with the kids, play with them, eat a lovingly prepared Shepard's pie together, snuggle while we're watching TV, enjoy bath time, put my heart and soul into funny voices during stories and kiss them all over before saying goodnight.

Reality

The boys banish me from their games ('it's not for girls mum') so mum gladly loses herself for an hour in blogland and pretends to be busy bashing things about in the kitchen. The Shepard's pie is greeted with loud cries of 'we're not eating this...it looks like poo...yucky!' so mum wolfs down her plate without a morsel touching the sides and then spends half an hour force feeding both boys with the promise of chocolate for desert. Whilst the boys snuggle watching Tom and Jerry for the 3000th time, mum is on her hands and knees attempting to detach minute specks of playdoh that have been ground into the living room rug.

Captain Underpants refuses to get into the bath. Johnny Drama refuses to get out. Mum refuses to play the game of 'chase me around the bedroom to get me into my pajamas' and goes for a lie down. Mum can hear the boys jumping off the beds with wild abandon, with their underpants on their heads shouting 'Let's get this party started...let's get this party started'.

Naked boys with underpants on their heads finally find mum curled up in the sanctuary of her bedroom with her head in her hands. The pajamas have been thrown onto the ceiling fan out of physical reach of anyone bar the Jolly Green Giant. Mum is risking life and limb to rescue nightwear when the doorbell rings. Mum returns after answering the door to tell the boys that a man has come to take them both to big boy jail and IF THEY DON'T GET INTO THEIR PAJAMAS AND STRAIGHT INTO BED THIS SECOND then he is coming upstairs to take them away. Mum then spends another 10 minutes reassuring two inconsolable boys that they really aren't going to get taken away and everyone has to go downstairs to check that the jail man has left the building.

Intention no. 5

I will reflect an image of sophistication and intrigue - and not answer phone the instant it rings from anticipated Date Man. I will maintain the illusion of being in constant high social demand and keep firm with my book club plans for the only evening that I have a babysitter. Whilst also possibly insinuating that I am being taken out to dinner, to the swankiest of venues no less, by another person of male origin.


Reality

The phone is checked every hour, on the hour, but no call. The phone is recharged. The phone is turned off and back on again. The phone is called from the home phone just to check there isn't a fault on the line. Still no call. Finally, at 8pm there is a text. How romantic. 'hi. how ru? how is tomorrow looking?'

Busy actually, dickhead. You really have the arrogance to believe you can just send a 7 word text - after 6 days of silence - and expect me to go on a date with you with less than 24 hours notice? Am so pissed I down half a bottle of Pino in under 15 minutes and then I am truly pissed and have the munchies. Eat 10 cubes of Cadburys, when the maximum daily allowance for a grown woman under the influence of fermented grape juice in this house is strictly 8. Ponder morosely on the meaning of life and how a guy that is an inch shorter than me, looks 10 years older than me and has a face perfect for radio has the confidence to assume that he is God's gift to women and be so laissez-faire?

Intention no. 6

Wake up tomorrow. Get through the day without killing myself or providing the children with additional material for their future therapists. Go back to bed. Repeat.