There is no 'I' in team
There is no ‘I’ in team….don’t I know it.
There is never an ‘I’ when my team is around me!
I can never eat a biscuit alone or leave a can of Diet Coke on the table without one of them taking a cheeky swig (or three). I have witnessed my children going to extreme lengths to ‘sneak’ a sip of MY drink! Sometimes they think they’re clever and work together; planning in sign language to each other and whispering loudly. I’m talking full on ‘stealthy ninja’ style creeping around; acting mysteriously and believing they truly are nimble on their feet. The truth is I can hear their elbows clunking clumsily on the wooden floor as they adopt an army crawl; I see them stopping at foot of the coffee table to perform precision manoeuvres; they reach up slowly in an inconspicuous attempt to steal the can for a mouthful of fizzy naughtiness, before carefully placing it back prior to me noticing. Mission accomplished!
Who are they kidding...?. I do, however, actually admire their determination to complete the mission and they seem pretty pleased with themselves too. I absolutely pretend to be none the wiser; and so I allow them the sip as a reward and for shear effort:
What is it with kids wanting everything you have. And never wanting anything they are given... even if it is the same!
My neighbour witnessed this just the other day. I walked outside with a meringue nest left over from lasts night’s dessert gripped in my teeth - classy! It occurred to me whilst waiting at the school gates that I’d accidentally skipped lunch and I was starving. It was the first sweet treat I grabbed as I opened the cupboard in search of a quick fix. Our children were chatting outside after getting in from the school pick up, and as soon as I reached the front path; it was gone. I surrendered the sugary goodness without hesitation to avoid the begging and pleading for MY food in front of the neighbour. I managed a bite or two before it was demolished by two of my children (who squabbles over it, resulting in shards of it scattering the stones) I didn’t even get to the chewy bit - sigh.
The school pick up! (you know the one that should be an easy journey from A to B, where the children greet you with huge smiles and open arms to prove how much they’ve missed you; place their shoes by the front door and proceed to take off and hang up their uniforms independently, dress themselves in suitable clothes and pop off outside to play... we’ll get to my version in a minute!)
I had walked outside for the third trip to the car, just to unload the mountain of crap that comes with having 4 little lovelies. 2 school cardigans slung in the car foot well, 3 hoodies, 3 drinks bottles. 2 book bags (1 opened and sprawled all over the back seats) 2 raided snack boxes that weren’t fully eaten at school but were munched on again on the way home, in the car that the husband says we are not supposed to eat in; 2 school letters, 1 PE kit, a handful of clementine peel and a partridge in a pear tree! Not to mention the poor baby who sat there waiting patiently whilst I ran in and out of the house like a maniac with the ‘stuff’. Because my kids, you see, become completely dysfunctional after a hard day at school and cannot possibly comprehend the idea of carrying any of their own belongings in from the car to the house. Poor number 4’s little eyes lit up every time I approached the car, followed shortly by a heartbreaking little look of neglect as I once again didn’t unstrap her, yet continued to lug more things into the house. All 4 car doors are open, the boot too, and so my vehicle looks like a something out of the Transformer movie - mid transformation. Cue ANOTHER trip out to shut all the doors (because kids cannot close them either), finally bring in the baby, round up the kiddies and meringue crumbs and shut the front door!
As I negotiate the newly formed obstacle course in my lounge, comprised of rucksacks, scattered shoes and shopping bags, and before I even reach the kitchen, the children are already raiding the freezer for ‘after school ice poles’. One is grabbing the big scissors from the cutlery draw and I have to swiftly take control in fear that one will chop another ones finger off along with the plastic top of the ice pole wrapper (you know the bit you always find in the plughole when you've finished the washing up!). And I still have a PE bag over my shoulder and a baby on my hip! (Is it bedtime yet...?). Number 2 has a complete meltdown because there are no ‘red’ ones left. Her sisters ‘stole’ them before she got her mitts in the freezer drawer. Cue a full on tantrum, bum on floor, massive over dramatic sobs and squeals which quite frankly I don’t have the patience nor the time to deal with: and so to compensate (and just for an easy life) I let her have my last white Magnum - sigh again.
They are eating their frozen treats whilst still wearing their school uniforms. I already did a quick scan at the school gates of the gingham dresses they are wearing. Upon inspection I was pleased to see no evidence of school dinners down them and so decided there and then that they would pass for another ‘wear’ for the next school day.
That will not be the case after they’ve finished swigging the melted juice at the bottom of the wrapper. Tipping it up and subsequently all down them. Number 2’s Magnum is dripping.
The clean gingham dresses are screwed up at the bottom of the ironing pile...
Let me deal with dinner first!