When statistics are right
The smell of coffee, toast, eggs and bacon. Spilt milk and sticky cheerios hardening onto the table cloth. Wails of ‘but I don’t WANT to go to school!’ and ‘Have you made my packed lunch yet?’ Toothpaste drool dribbled down clean school jumpers.
This morning I was frantically trying to plait Sophie’s hair whilst she was finishing off the dregs of her cereal. “Ow! You’re hurting me!” she whinges. “Sweetheart, I’m barely touching you!” I’m halfway down the second french plait when my phone rings. It’s Pete.
“I’ve forgotten my tie!” Every morning Pete cycles to work and takes his work clothes in a separate bag. It saves money on petrol but typically means when he forgets something, it’s always me he needs to drop it off for him. “I don’t suppose…”
“Where is it?” I sigh, dreading the thought of having to pull up to Morecaster High during school run time. The tiny narrow street is heaving with cars and buses. The place is like Fort Knox with eight foot high iron railings encompassing the grounds and a team of school staff and PCSOs at the entrance gate. It’s an intimidating place not to mention the fact it’s heaving with teenagers……terrifying!
“Fine. “ I relent. “I’ll drop it off after I’ve taken Sophie to school.
“Great, thanks!” he carries on talking to me when Sophie interrupts.
“Mummy I need to go to the toilet.” She gets up. I follow whilst holding onto the unfinished plait in her hair.
Pete asks. “Can you check my grey bag. I think it’s in there.”
“Well I can’t right now because I’m holding Sophie’s plait in one hand, my phone in the other and now I’m following Sophie into the toilet because she needs a wee!”
PLOP! PLOP! PLOP!
A distinctive aroma fills the air. “Okay, I was wrong about the wee.”
Breakfast News plays in the background, “Statistics now show that women in their thirties aren’t making enough time for themselves.”