Breakfast wars
Mornings seem to follow a pattern at the weekends.
Inevitably the children wake up first. Then for my husband and I, it's a slow and painful regaining of consciousness that reaches its zenith as the girls have their first set-to of the day. They love each other, there's no doubt about it. But they seem intent on fighting too.
I've come to the conclusion that there are three possible reasons for their combative nature early doors.
1) Hangriness - they're not them til they've eaten. If I don't catch it right, my sleep-scented, cuddly monkeys flip straight into diva mode, with killer breath to boot.
2) Hormones - reasonably, it's pushing it a little for mini-me, but micro-me? She's four!
3) Hellhounds - the anxiety of every parent - have I raised monsters?
Once we've managed to shake off the zombie impressions we have to negotiate the menu choice. Neither wants the same as the other, and my husband's Saturday motto "who wants eggs" is met with silence. So it's a smorgasbord arrangement with the girls centre stage in the chairs and my husband and I doing dodgems around the kitchen as we respond to their requests without colliding.
This morning's catalyst of chaos has been toast wars - good quality bread, unsalted butter, micro-me eating beautifully and a clash with mini-me over a square inch of uneaten toast. She may have won the battle, but the war is mine, all mine. Once I've finished this cuppa, it's homework time *evil mummy laugh*.
I used to enjoy waking up at the weekends (Before Children AKA BC), with a day of leisure ahead: a cup of tea and a cheeky biscuit; a snuggle back under the duvet; another chapter of my current read. I wouldn't be without them, and on the odd occasion they have a sleep-over, I miss them terribly, but I hope there's a future more morning glory, less morning gory.
Inevitably the children wake up first. Then for my husband and I, it's a slow and painful regaining of consciousness that reaches its zenith as the girls have their first set-to of the day. They love each other, there's no doubt about it. But they seem intent on fighting too.
I've come to the conclusion that there are three possible reasons for their combative nature early doors.
1) Hangriness - they're not them til they've eaten. If I don't catch it right, my sleep-scented, cuddly monkeys flip straight into diva mode, with killer breath to boot.
2) Hormones - reasonably, it's pushing it a little for mini-me, but micro-me? She's four!
3) Hellhounds - the anxiety of every parent - have I raised monsters?
Once we've managed to shake off the zombie impressions we have to negotiate the menu choice. Neither wants the same as the other, and my husband's Saturday motto "who wants eggs" is met with silence. So it's a smorgasbord arrangement with the girls centre stage in the chairs and my husband and I doing dodgems around the kitchen as we respond to their requests without colliding.
This morning's catalyst of chaos has been toast wars - good quality bread, unsalted butter, micro-me eating beautifully and a clash with mini-me over a square inch of uneaten toast. She may have won the battle, but the war is mine, all mine. Once I've finished this cuppa, it's homework time *evil mummy laugh*.
I used to enjoy waking up at the weekends (Before Children AKA BC), with a day of leisure ahead: a cup of tea and a cheeky biscuit; a snuggle back under the duvet; another chapter of my current read. I wouldn't be without them, and on the odd occasion they have a sleep-over, I miss them terribly, but I hope there's a future more morning glory, less morning gory.
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Thanks for ranting!