Or worse, where no one asks.
I get up, and deal with the normal ruckus that goes on in our house in the morning. We had a few late nights in a row, so we’ve got some over-tired kids.
K can’t find her jumper. “It’s in the wash, remember, it’s been raining, I’m still trying to catch up.”
M storms through the house, banging cupboards, bumping into kids. I send her away for some quiet time.
Miss S sits at the table, waiting for breakfast. Not so patiently.
I call N to the table, and she promptly bursts into tears. I ask her to come back when she’s finished the waterworks.
Master D comes and tells me he’s got a headache. I tell him I don’t care, I’m dealing with a million-and-one other things right now.
I serve breakfast, with only half the kids in tears.
Later, I feel Master D’s head. He’s really warm. Poor kid is actually sick. And I told him I didn’t care. Crap. A case of Mummy Guilt strikes.
The phone rings, “Hey honey,” says my Mother, “how are you doing?”
“Fine,”, I say, “just fine.”
This post sponsored by Mom Forum