Been waking up about 7 every morning, which is hard to do for me. After the initial stumbling about and splashing of water I finally return to myself and begin to enjoy the earliness, the freshness and the quiet of the morning. The kids and I play a little while I sip on lemon and water or caress a cup of coffee.
Then there's the struggling of little arms against uniform seams and the tying back of unruly hair. It always comes back looking like a rat's nest anyway, but the serenity of the morning demands orderly hair.
Then there's the thrusting of little bodies into the car and the bickering until mummy finally yells that there will be silence until we reach the school.
Then a bout of Dr Evil-esque shushing goes on as they keep talking and head-butting against my orders. Finally, silence ensues and as we sit in a line of dumb drivers, I long to start a conversation, but alas! they don't speaka my language, the dears.
Then after the blessed drop-off there is a quiet drive home while I contemplate how long I can hold out before I reach for a fag. Usually, I last till about lunchtime, because, believe it or not, I think it's bad to have a smoke on an empty stomach! (I think the mind is a mysterious thing) I also think of my lungs as having cleansed themselves overnight and put off smoking till I've had at least four hours of KL air first. Mustn't kick start too many things at once, it's bad for the body and peace of mind.
Then a lonely moment as I wonder whether they are crying or have fallen or if some untaught kid has sneezed all over them. Then I thank my lucky stars that they are enjoying school and that now I have a guilt-free day to myself again.
About this time the sun has risen above the hilltops and is blinding bright and has a kind of knock-out effect on me. "close the curtains" my eyelids say as I battle the urge to drop the car into neutral and coast onto a grassy roadside and snooze.
But I somehow make it to the office, set up my laptop and look busy for a while before I go pick up Pickup No 1 (my youngest). After a quick stop back home to lob her into the house, I go back to my desk at the office - completely child and stain-free at the moment - to potter about doing un-mummy things and generally feeling like a unique individual.
Then lunch hits and I take a fag hit and then Sleepy-Time (Can't Touch This) starts playing and I wanna, I just wanna go home to a well-made bed and close the door and have a nap for thirty minutes. Without a pleasant prod in the ribs, without a whisper to "please look at this drawing I made of you because if you don't I will be lost", without yelps or tickles or poking or thumping.
Then I remember, actaully, now I probably could, because Pickup No 2 (my eldest) is still at school and that means that my youngest would probably lie beside me with a bottle or blanket and just wait peacefully till I wake up. Then there's a phone call or I open up my blog and wonder which of my lovely readers has logged on today, and then my mind gets a little second wind and I order a coffee and have a fag.
I honestly don't think I've slept properly since 1997, about the time I got married to dear hubby boo, who doesn't really understand time. Panini once told me, having studied anthropology, that most people work on monochronic time - time that progresses in a logical and linear fashion. She said my boy works on polychronic time - apparently there are some old cultures that do or something. Think several planes or dimensions of time intersecting from various points at one single point that is my husband's brain.
Anyway, my sleeping habit of 9 hours a night and sleeping before midnight went out the window. Sometimes I look outside and wonder if it will ever come back. Last year I could afford to sleep in in the mornings, but now, that's out the window too, with my other old habit.
I don't have bags, I have ridges under my eyes. I get tired watching someone walk up the stairs. But I manage to engage with my children well, which I sometimes feel surprised about.
I never ever really wanted children. I grew up thinking I'd get married at 30 and maybe have a kid then. By 24 I was hitched, a mother at 26 and then 29. I also own a company and am doing what so few people have the luxury of doing: work that I love. As a teen I was always avoiding little children, even afraid of them. They had this frightening knack of knowing how to embarrass you (which, back then, was virtually anything). There was a way to talk to little children which I never understood. Even with my first child, I had trouble speaking baby talk. And I felt weird speaking in proper sentences to her, so she didn't really pick up speech till about 2.
Now I'm fine with kids, but I still like having my own to myself, rather than be around loads of other kids with them. Not for any other reason except that I love my own space and my home is a sanctuary, and sometimes home is not the physical place but a little moment or a little space somewhere when your closest ones are with you.
I do have great, unique relationships with both my sprogs - the older, neurotic, caring beauty who never ceases to amaze me with the depth of her emotion and compassion; and the younder, stoic, stubborn, fiery-tempered stunner who always asks me to smell her hair and asks if it's fwesh, just like a pwintheth.
I'm rambling... it's the snoozelessness. Another 5 hours and I have to get up, oh bother! I think I'll come straight back to lie down...
The ratlings while young...