I have decided that the fate of the whole day can be dictated by how my hair goes up in the morning. This morning it went badly: pony tail secured, lump of hair on top, undo, redo, pony tail too low, undo, redo. Time is running out, daughters need lunches and a tight war is erupting in the background. Re do, make do – something I’m always telling daughters not to do: don’t make do, aim high. I hit my elbow on the banister on my way downstairs and my tea slops onto the carpet. I growl. Tight war stops for a moment, as participants are momentarily distracted by mum’s bad hair day.
In the office, partner shows number 1 friend the blogo (blog logo) he has designed for me. But she looks too frazzled, she told him. She just doesn’t look like that. Partner remained silent, while I beamed. Partner and I get in the van to go and teach a taekwon-do class. His bum had hardly hit the seat when he said: she just doesn’t see you frazzled.
At the ladies taekwon-do class, post-class conversation inevitably turns to kids and specifically kids afternoon napping: those who do, those who don’t any more and the bitter ladies whose kids never did. Even on a 12 hour journey to France my two didn’t sleep, hassled mum says. Crikey, I think, I’ve taken my babies on laps of the Tescos car park at midnight in days gone by, but France seems a little extreme…