Surrounded by big ones

Cheeky Chops needed some new shoes now the weather has changed, so we made the journey to Clarkes en route to picking up Lucky from school. The nice young Clarkes' girl measured his feet on one of those scanning machines that force little ones to stand with their backs to the adults, hands pinned to wall and feet spread apart, like mini criminals waiting to be frisked for hiding their brother's mini cars in their pockets...She commented on the sizes of Cheeky's feet - 'sizes' being used deliberately here as one foot is a whole size bigger than the other.

Clarkes' girl: 'What big feet you have for such a little boy!'
Cheeky Chops: 'I'm 3 and I've got a big willy as well'

His comment was wasted on Clarkes' nice young girl, who was clearly not mature enough to handle such a comment and wandered off to the stock-room muttering 'that's nice.'

Mature is not a word I would use for the Moany One in the office earlier today. Tuesday is a work day, but I could only get cover for this morning, so had to leave at lunchtime to meet Cheeky out of pre-school and Lucky from school. Some days - OK, all 3 days I am there - I feel as if I have lived a lifetime before even making it into the office. Once out of bed, there's lunch boxes to tackle; stray dishes to clear away from the night before; little boys to coerce out of bed; school uniforms to get ready; little boys to coerce out of bed; quick shower; underwear on; boys, out of bed!; panic what to wear, clothes on; boys stop messing about and get dressed!; slap on a bit of make-up; threaten to slap a pair of bottoms...finally, everyone downstairs for a quick bowl of cereal and toast. Biker Boy is good to help in the morning. Somehow, we have fallen into a new but unspoken agreement. I hop around like a mad thing in the morning to get them up and dressed whilst Biker Boy takes a lesiurely shower and shave, then wafts down when they're sitting at the table and turns on the TV for them. I take the opportunity to sprint upstairs to finish make-up, to put on shoes and generally make myself look the part of the (part-time) Board Director of a respectable agency I am supposed to be. Quick wash of faces, brush teeth, fleeting kiss to Biker Boy which rarely even touches skin (he gets quite annoyed about that) and off we go into the car, Biker Boy waving from the porch and blowing kisses to his boys. This is just how he imagined it. No more long commutes down the motorway, no more hot and smelly tube journeys. His morning is leisurely, he can sleep 'til daylight even in winter and he can drive to work inside of 30 minutes, cross country with no traffic queues to contend with. He is happy. Half a mile away, I am guiltily indicating left once again, through the school gates into the car park at the far side of the school, as it is 08:58am and the second time we have been late for school this week (and remember it's only Tuesday...) I can see some of the mums out of the corner of my eye, standing around chatting, having dropped their precious loads off 10-15 mins earlier, probably commenting on the cheek of the new mum from London who continually flouts school rules by parking up in the out-of-bounds-to parents car park - WHY? there are always - ALWAYS - spaces to be had there - and then leaving one child in the car (Cheeky doesn't need much persuading - he's a lazy little fella. If his feet stopped growing, those new shoes would last 'til his 21st birthday) before lurching along with the second child who is a bit of a worrier and is concerned if I have given him peanut butter in his lunchbox as it's 'not allowed.' He also knows that parking in the school car park is 'not allowed' but I have convinced him that he gets special treatment as the new boy and next year we'll park in one of the side streets like all the other parents. He's bought it for now but hope he doesn't share with his teacher. Finally, he's in the classroom, I wave and nod then enter into a gentle jog to get back to Cheeky. Cheeky has just started a new pre-school and is a bit clingy, so I know it will take me quite a while to extricate myself and get back in the car and into work. Luckily, he is distracted by a climbing frame which has been erected in a side room and happily waves me off.

So, I finally get into work for just after 09:30am and I immediately hear the Moany One on the phone proclaiming how stressed she is and how much work she's got to cope with, yaddy ya, same old, same old. I take in her beautifully ironed clothes, her manicured nails, her blow dried hair, her painted toe nails and her perfectly made-up face and I think, stress? Walk a mile in my shoes in the morning love, then tell me about stress. Give me a million pound campaign to run any day of the week over trying to get two little boys and myself out in the morning, looking semi presentable and ready to face the day. I start to get ready for my 10 o'clock meeting and decide that I'll confront the Moany One tomorrow about the bitching she's been doing in our department and the massive porky pie she has instigated which is now doing the rounds.