Morning! I say cheerily to daughter 2. Why are you all annoying me so much, this morning? Is the reply. Ah ok, it’s a morning when the floor is strewn with egg shells.
In the kitchen I am making their lunches. Daughter 2 is stomping around and declaring, loudly, everything that is currently disgusting her: there is dog hair everywhere, I hate beetroot in my salad, there is nothing I like for breakfast, why is there never anything I like…We’re all zoning out, including the dogs, who are flat out on the floor, ignoring the hormonal fuss. She trips over dog 1. It sets her off again: why is he there, why isn’t our kitchen bigger, why are you all ganging up on me…
I contemplate voicing my irritation at her early morning ranting, but there just isn’t room for two of us going on, so I resort to the breathing techniques I learnt in my NCT classes 16 years ago, when one of the drama queens was but a cute little package, surrounded by calming amniotic fluid.
She’s flounced off upstairs, where her grievances are continuing to be aired to her sisters: why do you have to use my hairbrush, why don’t you get your own moisturiser, why are you wearing my tights…
She’s back downstairs. I brace myself. Muuum. I know that voice. That voice can only ever mean one thing. Can I have a friend over for a sleepover on Friday night? I look into her pleading eyes. Well, the thing is, I reply, I wouldn’t want you to be embarrassed bringing your friend to such an awful place, filled with such irritating people…and before she has a chance to respond, I gently ease her out the door to school.