Instant shit, just add water . . .

Source: Google images

As a self-respecting mother of three and general fucking extraordinaire I got to wondering about my coffee drinking habits.  What has driven me from grinding my own quality Illy coffee to have in my nice glass plunger with matching café style glass cups to frantically gulping Nescafe Expresso instant coffee in interrupted bursts?

Let’s ignore the irony in pairing ‘self-respecting’ and ‘instant coffee’ in the same paragraph for just minute.  We find the answer in the descriptor; ‘instant’.  I need a hit and I need it now!  But this is a mis-nomer as you will see in the following account; there is nothing instant about ‘instant’.  As with all things, it takes time to get around to enjoying it (a euphemism for kick-starting a very tired body) and who, pray tell, has the time?

This morning I managed to make toast and coffee while chatting to a friend on the phone.  Master 3 was busy with YouTube and Master 22 months was busy climbing on me and whingeing for ‘cuddells’ (he’s well again and back to his old tricks).  Master 3 months blew bubbles calmly at me from his bouncer.

After a while Master 22 months went outside to play and with relief I re-heated my coffee in the microwave for 20 seconds and sipped with pleasure and continued my conversation.  Suddenly Master 22 months came back inside and proudly showed me his fingers covered in his own poo and took me out to point at his ‘wee’ on the verandah.

Hanging up quickly I went into emergency poo overdrive.  I carried him into the bath and washed and disinfected mouth (oh yes!), fingers and bum and then the bath.  I then set him up with a clean bath and toys while rushing to clean up the mess before Master 3 took an interest.

I threw my toast in the compost bucket as I was certain flies had been at it.  I then had to breastfeed a very patient Master 3 months who was sick of waiting for me and was beginning to cry loudly.

I sat down and breastfed Master 3 months.  And with everything clean and calm I re-heated my coffee for 20 seconds and put a sleeping Master 3 months down in his cot.

At my suggestion the older boys and I went outside for some fresh air and to pick up the toys from all over the grass so it could be mowed easily.

That led to them playing on the tiled back verandah with their trucks.  I continued picking up toys and then heard a sudden scream from Master 22 months.  He had slipped and fallen in Master 3’s wee and hit his head on the tiles.  It was time for another bath and another clean up; all the while Master 22 months was crying (he didn’t want to get into the bath then didn’t want to get out!).  Both boys are well toilet trained and know if outside they can go in the garden; but not today.

After all were washed, dried and dressed and propped up in front of a Chuggington DVD with a drink and a banana each it was time to reheat that cup of coffee – again.

Master 3 months was awake.   His cries were telling me it was time for a nappy change and a top-up breastfeed.  As soon as I sat down to do that, Masters’ 3 and 22 months decided they too wanted a drink of milk and a biscuit and some cashew nuts and some cake and some apple . . .

Master 22 months climbed up onto my chair behind me and played ‘boo’ and I forlornly gave up trying to reprimand him.

I burped Master 3 months and put him in his bouncer where he happily kicked his chubby legs and flapped his arms until he fell asleep.

It was time for an early daytime sleep for the big boys too and I dutifully read ‘Benjamin the Rescue Boat’, ‘Tom the Towtruck’ and ‘Thomas and Grandpa and the Green Umbrella’.  They both began to cry when I said goodnight and left the room.

After a few minutes Master 3 stated he needed to use the toilet.  What a nice surprise.  I know it’s a ruse but how can you deny the want to use the toilet when they have just been told they need to use it instead of the floor?  He had me.

So out he came with a handful of books to read on the toilet like an old man.  I asked him if he was doing a wee or a poo.  He said a poo so I left him and tried to settle a ratty Master 22 months who was having none of this go to bed business.

I realised that Master 3 was only using the time to study his books.  I got him off the toilet, pulled his pants up and washed his hands.

Then Master 22 months said “Meeeee, weeeee, tooooo”.  It’s the same story.  I got them both into bed with the stern warning that I was serious.  Master 3 says “Are you happy Mama? What does serious mean?”  I can’t answer so I say goodnight and tell them to stop mucking around and shut the door.

It worked.  Finally, there is quiet.  I dared to start typing this post.

Coffee?  It was time for a fresh cup . . . And a mint slice biscuit.

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