Same Old New Year Me
Posted Thursday 9th January 2014 By Ericka Waller
So this year I resolved that I was no longer going to be the mum who looked like she had been dug up on the school run. I was NOT going to be the late, sweaty, shouting, swearing woman dropping poo bags and fluffy polo's and 'Sorry I forgot your reading bag, dinner money, PE kit, homework, shoes' any longer.
This year I was going to take the power back.
So today I got up before my alarm and hopped in the shower while the children ate their cereal. (Coco Pops, but STILL, at least they ate something before school).
I used my special ESPA cleansing, toning, exfoliating, refreshing, uplifting shower gel. I towel dried my hair. I moisturized head-to-toe. I even dug out foot cream and some stretch-mark-oil for my camel-testicle-tummy (six years too late but never mind).
Then I dusted off my make-up bag and got cracking. I put on primer and concealer and foundation. Then I did it again. I used everything in the bag actually. I didn't even know what half of it did or which bit of my face it was for, but I slapped it on anyway.
Finally, I walked through a light mist of perfume before trotting down the stairs to dress the girls in the clothes I had laid out THE NIGHT BEFORE and collect the lunchboxes prepared THE NIGHT BEFORE.
All was going well. Hairs were plaited. Teeth were brushed. Coats zipped up.
And then Thing-One asked me where her reading bag was. After spending ten minutes looking for it, we realised it was in the back of Nanny and Grandad's car, seventy-miles away.
"Don't make a fuss and I will buy you a whistle lolly"! I told her, (a resolution broken already.)
It worked and we skipped down to the car, where I spent ten minutes loading kids and bags, and chasing the dog round the block before he deigned to jump in the boot. Then I turned to get the buggy and he hopped out again.
At last we were ready. We were not going to be the first people in the playground as I'd hoped, but we were still going to be there in plenty of time.
I turned the engine over and it did.... nothing. Not a thing. Not a bloody, poxy, sodding thing.
It seems someone had not turned off their DVD player. Again. Even though we had all New Year Resoluted to check them before getting out the car.
I panicked for a few seconds, swore at the steering wheel under my breath and then heaved everyone back out the car. We were going to have to walk.
The dog ran off. Thing-two refused to take a step near the road without her Fireman Sam safety helmet on. The clock ticked.
My make-up slid down my face and onto my neck as I chivvied kids along the busy main road, where it met with the river of sweat pooling between my breasts in their 'New Year, New Me!' bra.
Thing-two's safety helmet was two sizes too big so she could not see where she was going. She walked into three lamp-posts and the glass shelter of a bus stop. (Not so safe after all then.)
The dog did three poos. Not all of them were solid. No one wanted to carry their lunchboxes or PE kits (unwashed!) or walk near me because I smelt of "dog eggs."
As we got closer to school, we bumped into all the other mums, on their way back home, make-up still in place. They gave me a "Poor you, still struggling with your load" look then screwed their noses up against the awful smell. I grinned and waved and sweated back at them, then thew Thing-Two into Pre-School before racing up the lane.
The dog howled like a banshee when I tied him up. "WAIT THERE!" I screeched as I charged into the school office, where I explained, between wheezes, about the flat battery and reading bag and fireman Sam helmet and New Year New Me Bra. The receptionist listened and smiled nicely, then wrote "LATE" next to Thing-One's name.
Thing-One, embarrassed at being the last one into school, and probably at being seen with me, begged to go home, tears spilling down her face. Her cheeks pink. Her hands cold.
Outside I heard the joyous barking of our dog slipping free from it's leash.
I had to kiss her and run off shouting about MORE WHISTLE LOLLIES. All the running and bouncing was compromising the strength of the heavily loaded poo bags as I chased the dog down the lane.
I caught the dog, stopped by a poo bin, and decided to call the husband for a rant.
And that is when I realised that at some point, I had lost my phone.
I trudged home with my Alice Cooper makeover slipping down my face, searching in hedgerows and dustbins for my beloved phone, while people I knew drove past, beeping and waving but not stopping to offer me a lift.
Maybe next year I will get on top of things.
Right now, I am sat in my grey-marl jogging bottoms (yes husband, the ones you hate. The ones I promised to throw away on the 1st Jan) and comfiest hooded jumper (no bra), medicating myself with lashings of tea and Green and Blacks Chocolate.
One must start as they mean to carry on afterall.
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