Aimee Horton

When you need that cup of tea.

May
17

If you follow me on Twitter you are probably aware that I’m not a morning person.

I used to be. I’d happily wake up, and whilst Matt was still asleep skip downstairs make a cup of tea, heading to the study to do some work. This was probably at my peak of enjoying my marketing career, the retail peaks were exhilarating and created a natural buzz I used to love logging on and seeing what was happening.

Then I had the boys.

Suddenly my early mornings aren’t a choice any more. I no longer lie in bed for a few moments taking in the silence, before springing out happily preparing for my day. No. Not any more. I can’t say I don’t have a variety of wake up calls, because I do.  Its not just the boring alarm turning on Radio 1 (ok 2) and iphone ring tone for me any more. No. It can be any one (or more) of the following:

  • “MUMMMAYYYYY I NEED A WEE”
  • “MUMMMAYYY I NEED A POOOHH”
  • sob>scuffle>thud>*sobs proceed*
  • “MUMMMMAYYYY – BLACK SPIDERMAN’S HEAD HAS FALLEN OFFFFF”
  • “Hellooo puppy calling do you want to play with me, let’s have fun together while you learn your A B C”
  • “I NEED RECTUS NOW MUMMAY” (rectus = breakfast)
  • “DIIIDDDDDYYYYY AHHHHH MUMMUMMUMMUM MUM MUM TAHHHHHH” Thud *sobs*
  • noise of a door opening > thump of giant fat baby footsteps > dribble in eye as mouth closes over my nose
  • “MUMMMMAYYYYYYY CAN I WEAR HIGH-UP SLEEVES TODAY?”

The list is endless, but whoever said variety is the spice of life is lying.  It’s not.  I liked waking up quietly, calmly, traditionally.  In a routine if you please.

Now my morning brew is required more urgently.   That sweet taste of tea and kick of caffeine is a must of a morning.  I often lie there next to Matthew and whine grunt “TEA”.  He used to be rubbish, never used to do anything, just headed straight for the shower leaving me with nappies, pooh, dribble, snot and general noise without having anything other then left over water to sip on and wake my brain up.

So one morning, after a particularly rough night where he was foolish enough to claim he was “exhausted” after I’d been up five MILLION times whilst he was snoring away, I formulated a plan.

When I say the words “plan” it may sound conniving. Perhaps makes me sound a tad manipulative. NO.  It’s a survival mechanism.  If I am going to make it through the day, even through the next few hours, I NEED a brew.  With two sugars. NO DARLING I DON’T CARE IF IT’S BAD FOR ME – STOP PUTTING ONE SUGAR IN, I NEED TWO!

Anyway, it’s not that bad.  I’ve just recently not found the time (I’m very busy at the moment *cough*) to iron him any shirts for the week.  Therefore, I crawl out of bed and throw myself into the shower, and leave him to nip downstairs, iron a shirt and while he’s there he might as well make me a cup of tea.  Is there anything wrong with that?

No. I didn’t think so.

I even let him take a sip of it.  If by “let” you mean “have no choice”.  By the time I’ve witnessed it from across the room and leapt across the bed dropping my hair dryer on the way, I can’t stop him, I can’t catch him, my “noooo” comes out in slow motion.  The first sip of a Mum’s cup of tea is sacred.  EVERYBODY know this!

No, I’m not being dramatic, it’s just that it’s probably the only warm taste of tea we’ll get in twenty-four bloody hours and we want to bloody enjoy it.

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