A Typical Saturday Morning

I am not a morning person, but I wish I was, because my kids sure seem to be. In our house, we have a Play Room that was originally a rear verandah, so all the bedrooms have windows that open into this room. This means that whatever time it is when the first child wakes up and goes to the Play Room is wake up time for me. It is fairly hard to sleep when you can clearly hear what sounds like a 2yo climbing up an eight foot bookshelf to get his older brother’s toys that I have purposely placed out of his reach. If I manage to roll over and sleep through that, it is a lot harder to sleep through the ruckus that ensues when the newly wakened 6yo arrives in the Play Room and discovers aforementioned 2yo with his toy. So, despite not being a morning person, I am usually awake by 6:30am.

I often try to read my Bible over my breakfast. This requires that I first sort out the ruckus in the Play Room between the two boys and also help my 3yo daughter find a toy that the 2yo, now deprived of his older brother’s toy, will not want to steal from her. In order to do this I must also help the 2yo settle with his own toy, which may require a short time of playing alongside him. Then I need to calm down my 5yo, who is also not a morning person, but who has been woken by all this commotion. And admire the beauty of the 3yo in her dress-ups, the magnificence of the 6yo’s Duplo creation, and the realistic nature of the farm animal sounds that the 2yo is emitting in a voice that, shall we say, could be a touch quieter.

Having done all this I am able to retreat to the kitchen to make my breakfast and sit down at the table to eat and read. By this time, however, the children have realised, en masse, that they prefer being in the same room with Mummy to playing in their Play Room, so they congregate around the table clamouring for me to get their pencil cases down and provide them with pictures to colour. Once they are all seated at the table with paper and crayons, pencils or textas (according to age), we have silence. For about two minutes: Until the 3yo has her crayons stolen by the 2yo and decides that the best recourse is to throw the 5yo’s pencils to the floor. So I move the 2yo to the lounge room, still in his high chair, and face him to look out the front window, then instruct the 3yo to pick up the pencils, hand them back and apologise to her sister. Then I escort the 3yo to the 2yo so he can apologise to her, before we both settle back at the table and I finally get a second spoonful of my yoghurt. Shortly after the third spoonful, the 6yo asks me to explain what his picture is about and so, after encouraging him to read the caption himself, I listen and prompt and encourage him through the reading. Around the time that I finish my bowl of yoghurt, having read and thought about the Bible passage, the natives are once again restless. So I tell them to pack up their stuff and, after supervising that, I herd them off to the Play Room once again.

It takes a while for them to pick up the toys they were playing with earlier, despite the knowledge that when it is done they can watch the Mr Men DVD. The 2yo needs me to stay with him and walk him through the process of picking up his toys, and I briefly reflect that I need to spend more time training him in this vital responsibility. If I don’t be careful, he will suffer the terrible consequence of my neglect; or rather, I will! The 5yo wants to share the foam couch with the 2yo to whom it belongs, rather than sit in a plastic chair, so I help her negotiate that privilege. Then the 3yo cannot decide what type of seat she wants so I guide that decision as well. I briefly wonder where the 6yo has gone, but realise that he is almost certainly playing with the little Lego in the Small Games Room, which is fine by me. About thirty seconds after the strains of the Mr Men theme song finally begin, I realise that the kids are all still in their pyjamas and the 2yo has yet to have his night nappy changed. So I press the pause button and let them all know they need to get dressed and make their beds with pjs under their pillows before I will press play again.

The 3yo picks out her own clothes and gets dressed while I coax the 2yo into taking off his beloved Tigger pjs and help him dress him for the day. Meanwhile the 5yo is also nearly dressed, but she has a hissy fit when I won’t help her make her bed because she didn’t say please. The 3yo asks the correct way, and when the 5yo sees how quickly I help her, she asks much more politely for help, receives it, and we all head back to the Mr Men DVD. In passing, I tell the 6yo to get out of his pyjamas and put his clothes from yesterday in the wash basket, and also grab the hairbrush from the bathroom. The second time the Mr Men theme song starts, I take the opportunity to brush and plait the girls’ hair while they are preoccupied with the screen.

It is only when my husband emerges in his dressing gown that I realise none of them have had breakfast yet and I am still in my pyjamas as well. Three hours have gone by in what seems like the wink of an eye.