Getting the Kids Ready for School - Take Two

Getting the terrible twosome ready for school is no joke. It can be like a military operation (not that I want to downplay an actual military operation), but instead of having total respect for their commanding officer, at least on the surface, there is little but disdain. There is tiredness, which is often impacted by how wild my littlest girl had been at bedtime, or how much my little girl had procrastinated and played the fool (or maybe I’m the fool for giving in to half of it). There are play ups (sometimes mine), but more on that later. There are many unforeseen obstacles that can only be overcome once they’re in front of our faces, with plenty of patience and endurance, of grit and determination.

It all starts with the wake-up call (not theirs, but mine). I can’t function without a shower and a coffee, the former of which is I need to have at around 6:20am, as the kids sleep (thus not risking a downstairs riot if I leave them unattended later). Prior to that, I’ll commence with ironing their clothes (providing we haven’t done it the night before), to be pulled away by the wife when it is determined that I’m not doing an adequate job. This is often done using the flashlight from my phone, as my little girl has been known to pay us a permanent visit in the middle of the night after a bad dream; and we do not want to wake her up so early. Speaking of which, it’s soon time to wake her up.

Dad is incapable to doing her hair to the required standard (I’m sensing a theme here), so mum needs to before she leaves for work at 7am (mum, not child, we’re not in the 1800s now!). Waking my little girl up is no easy feat; as often she’s akin to a plank of wood. I’ll habitually need to pick her up into an embrace to get her to stir (luckily, she usually wakes up in a good mood). My littlest girl is not so bothered about her appearance at this point, so she sleeps a little longer and has to make do with daddy’s shoddy hair tying job.

Following the first wake up call, I’ll make a coffee and dare to sit down for ten minutes. Not too dissimilar to her mum of an evening , this is the time my little girl will decide that she needs an array of items. She will not ask for them all at once either, no; I’ll be up and down more times than a jack in the box (I’ll swear I can hear the boing sound of the spring). Ultimately, I’ll get fed up and storm upstairs to wake up her little sister, and so commences the part of my day that I dread the most (and I work for seven hours of it!)

Waking my littlest girl up is trying. Even as she’ll stir at the mere mention of her name; she is certainly not a morning person. She’ll toss and turn, she’ll moan and groan, she’ll be deaf to her daugh…(sorry, got caught up then), she’ll implore with me to leave her alone; but, of course, I can’t if I want to get to school on time. Eventually, I’ll pull the cover from over her head, she’ll pull it back, and on and on we’ll go; like a seesaw (which, ironically, is her favourite playground implement).  I’ll get a resounding “no!” to every question or statement (do you want breakfast?), and I imagine I’d receive all forms of expletives, if she wasn’t three years old and actually had the capacity for such language.

As I start to become anxious that the clock is ticking, I’ll drag the covers off her and pick her up before carrying her downstairs as she screams “put me down!” All is well when she sees her big sister, however, and she runs over to give her a hug (unless it’s one of the rare mornings that she cannot shift the grouchiness, at which time she’d just push big sister away). This is the riskiest time of the day, and all hell can break loose with the terrible twosome here, which is why I’ll be praying as I walk into the kitchen to get on with the rest of my morning jobs.

After my littlest girl’s Hey Duggee bag is packed and breakfast is made, it’s time to put together my little girl’s lunch box. I cannot get through this without being mithered for something or other off one, if not both, of them, though. I’ll be cutting up fruit and the eldest will want some, I’ll be separating ham and the youngest will drag me to the fridge for some yogurt or a cheese string. It could be a jam sandwich, more drink, toys from upstairs, paper to draw on; anything to delay what I’m doing. It gets worse once I’m done though, as it is time to get them ready!

No thanks, my littlest girl will insinuate, not so politely, as I enter the room with her toothbrush. Now the battle will commence, as she ducks, dives, and moves her head at a speed that I can only compare with a pro boxer. Putting on her clothes can be a challenge too, and I’ll generally find myself passing her the tablet to keep her still (which can be a problem later in the morning); as can ensuring that my little girl is kept on track with all the distractions on show within the living room. Then it’s time for homework – either reading or spellings.

When it comes to reading her book, it very much depends on the mood of my little girl as to how difficult a task it is. She’ll sometimes sit and complete it perfectly in 10 minutes, other times she’s fidgety, distracted and shows little concentration – and we don’t get through the full book (a five-year-old, I suppose). It can be infuriating when I know she can do it, and how that’s gone can determine the manner in which her books are put back in her bag (placed or shoved).

Then it will be time to fill their drinks (easy task) and finish getting ready (often not so easy). There’s a further fight with my littlest girl as her big sister is being awkward, unhappy with some choice of clothing or other. She once attempted to refuse to wear her thick, water-proof coat, opting for her thin summer coat in -1 degrees and torrential rain. Her fear of having a late mark soon turned that around though, as I refused to leave. Now the 50-minute round-trip commences, or does it? Usually there’s a further delay (my littlest girl will have had a wee or my little girl will need one), which will leave me tearing through the streets in a (100% successful so far) attempt to avoid that dreaded late mark.

By Calum Dewsbury