I am eating a banana whilst standing and directing the family to their various positions on a Monday morning. I am wearing my running kit so that I don't have an excuse to debate with myself about the sanity of running in the rain on a Monday morning once I have dropped the kids off.
"Pack your bags, eat your toast, drink your juice, clean your teeth!" I bark.
The dog looks distinctly worried and goes into Submissive Mode, shuffling back to her basket. The Cats yawn, stretch and go back to sharpening their claws on the furniture.
"Why do you always go running in the morning?" asks Small Boy, as a diversionary tactic. "Is it because you are afraid of being fat?"
"Mum is not fat," says Daughter, supportively. "And William's mum says that William's sister says that Mum is one of the only Sporty Mums to be able to carry off wearing her running kit into school."
William's family is regarded as the Fount of all Wisdom by my kids, so I gratefully accept this as a compliment and note with relief that I have been promoted from Weird Mum to Sporty Mum in the space of a week.
Small Boy looks me up and down dubiously. "You know, when I am older I am going to invent the FatNav," he announces decisively.
My moment of self-satisfaction has evaporated in the blink of an eye.
"The WHAT?" chorus Daughter and Husband.
"The FatNav," Small Boy explains patiently. "It would be like a SatNav except it would tell you where all the fat people are in the world."
"What would be the use of that?" asks Husband.
"Well obviously it would mean that you could round them all up - the fat people," Small Boy sighs, "and then you could . . . burst them!" he finishes, waving his arms wildly at the brilliance of his idea.
"That's not very nice!" I exclaim.
"OK then. I'll invent the NaffNav instead," Small Boy says, not to be deterred from this sudden surge of creativity.
"The NaffNav?"
"Yup, the NaffNav. It would find all the naff people in the world."
"Ri-i-i-ght," I say slowly. "And what would it do with them?"
"Un-naff them, of course," says Small Boy.
Daughter nods sagely and sucks her teeth at me, as if I am in danger of being hunted down by said machine myself.
I consider trying to come up with a Nav of my own - possibly one which would enable me to get everyone to organise themselves without me having to behave like a Gauleiter in Lycra. But it is Monday morning and I am barely conscious. Instead I look pointedly at the clock and bark: "Teeth! Hair! Shoes! Bags!" until normal chaos is resumed.
"Pack your bags, eat your toast, drink your juice, clean your teeth!" I bark.
The dog looks distinctly worried and goes into Submissive Mode, shuffling back to her basket. The Cats yawn, stretch and go back to sharpening their claws on the furniture.
"Why do you always go running in the morning?" asks Small Boy, as a diversionary tactic. "Is it because you are afraid of being fat?"
"Mum is not fat," says Daughter, supportively. "And William's mum says that William's sister says that Mum is one of the only Sporty Mums to be able to carry off wearing her running kit into school."
William's family is regarded as the Fount of all Wisdom by my kids, so I gratefully accept this as a compliment and note with relief that I have been promoted from Weird Mum to Sporty Mum in the space of a week.
Small Boy looks me up and down dubiously. "You know, when I am older I am going to invent the FatNav," he announces decisively.
My moment of self-satisfaction has evaporated in the blink of an eye.
"The WHAT?" chorus Daughter and Husband.
"The FatNav," Small Boy explains patiently. "It would be like a SatNav except it would tell you where all the fat people are in the world."
"What would be the use of that?" asks Husband.
"Well obviously it would mean that you could round them all up - the fat people," Small Boy sighs, "and then you could . . . burst them!" he finishes, waving his arms wildly at the brilliance of his idea.
"That's not very nice!" I exclaim.
"OK then. I'll invent the NaffNav instead," Small Boy says, not to be deterred from this sudden surge of creativity.
"The NaffNav?"
"Yup, the NaffNav. It would find all the naff people in the world."
"Ri-i-i-ght," I say slowly. "And what would it do with them?"
"Un-naff them, of course," says Small Boy.
Daughter nods sagely and sucks her teeth at me, as if I am in danger of being hunted down by said machine myself.
I consider trying to come up with a Nav of my own - possibly one which would enable me to get everyone to organise themselves without me having to behave like a Gauleiter in Lycra. But it is Monday morning and I am barely conscious. Instead I look pointedly at the clock and bark: "Teeth! Hair! Shoes! Bags!" until normal chaos is resumed.
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