Real Mothers of Dunedin

As a postscript to Mothers’ Day (hope yours was fun), thought I’d share my unconventional yet I suspect typical one. Forget the expensive jewellery and cafe brunches – this is the Real Mothers of Dunedin…

6am(ish) Wake up in spare room due to hubby’s snoring resulting from previous night’s rugby watching marathon and me not pulling down blinds in aforementioned room so as not to wake everyone else at 2am.

6.05am Attempt to go back to sleep but am covered in yesterday’s semi-dry washing. The dryer has died so the bed is covered in school uniforms, work clothes, towels and rugby gear. Couldn’t be bothered moving the pile at 2.05am so slept under them. At least the room smells nice.

6.06am Spend the next 120 minutes listening for signs of life.

7.50am Prop myself up in bed. Start folding washing.

8.05am They’re here! Hubby and boys arrive. My gift (80% of which I bought yesterday) is securely wrapped in Xmas paper. “Agh,” ¬†moans the teen, “don’t rip it so loudly.” (He has a “ripping paper” phobia – like nails on a blackboard apparently. This is an issue when paired with hubby’s sellotape fetish – suspect he was a PlaySchool presenter in a former life.)

8.10am They leave. I scoff vegemite toast, knock it back with cold tea and fight off the dog who has been let in. Hubby and Master 10 head off to rugby. The teen returns to bed.

8.20 My back is sore so I get up pick up the paper, finish folding the washing, strip a few beds, put more washing on, clean up breakfast debris and think about making meals for busy week nights. Decide not to.

8.30am Read magazine. Listen to Radio NZ.

9am Take dog for a run. She’s reasonably well-behaved but sits out the last 200m – middle age, it seems, gets us all.

10.30am Head down to Artisan State with my Mothers’ Day gift (reusable coffee cup).

11am Make those meals. Vacuum and mop floors.

12pm Catch up on work work (aka the stuff you get paid for aka not housework).

1pm Help Master 10 learns lines for upcoming school production. Watch with mixture of admiration and horror as the teen tackles maths homework. Sub out at that point.

2pm Head to a friends’ to celebrate the impending removal of a leg frame she’s been encased in for six months. Like Edward Scissorhands but worse.

6pm Head home but one vino too many means plans to make cheese sauce and Yorkshire Pudding to go with Sunday roast are scarpered. Ah well.

7pm Get ducks in order for Monday. Write this.

8pm Ring Mum.

9.30pm Collapse in own bed. Knackered. Hopefully I get to stay here all night.

 

 

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