The truth of it is that I was woken up to the theme tune of the Lego Movie by Olly. At 6.15am.
Yeah cheers thanks a lot Pops. I stayed up too late reading (again) and was not at all ready to raise my head from my pillow and face the world. But as my blurred vision started to focus, I saw sunshine. Proper honest to goodness sunshine. Early morning sunshine. My favourite kind of sunshine. The sunshine that says "Hey! Good morning! Everything is awesome!"
It was warm too. Maybe not warm warm, but warm enough that I wasn't shivering as I let Beryl and Jean out and gave them their breakfast. And for the first time in months there were eggs. I think that my recent makeover of their space has done them the world of good. They were warm in my hand as I carried them into the house, and showed them to Pops, who was multi-tasking....
Cereal, sequins, glue and a picture of the sun. Off I wafted. Up the stairs to wake up Alfie and sneak a picture out of Sam's bedroom window. Honestly the view is wasted upon someone who spends most of their lives in perpetual darkness. I shall miss this view when we move. Where we are hoping to go has a different view.
And then the grey clouds descended inside the house, as Alfie and I locked horns. Again. This time over the fact that the boxes I had collected for him for his castle making in history class weren't plain. It would be too embarrassing, he said, to take those boxes. Everyone would laugh at him. And don't get me started on the whole milkshake spilt in his rucksack argument.....but any other rucksack in the house looks like a camping rucksack, he said. And it would be too embarrassing to carry it. Everyone would laugh at him.
Oh. My. God. Do you know how hard it is to balance on the high wire that is acute pre-teen sensitivity? I fall off at least twice a day. I never get it right. I think that I'm actually not supposed to get it right. Because what would Alfie do then? He would have no-one to blame. No-one to raise his eyes to heaven to. No-one to yell "I HATE you," at at every given opportunity. I am his whipping boy.
And I'll be honest with you. I'm thinking of boycotting anywhere where there are people waxing lyrical about how wonderful and perfect and good and talented and kind and generous and easy going and talented cooks and supreme sportsmen and all round good eggs their offspring are. It just depresses me. My children are for the most part pretty horrid. I am a harassed, worn down reactive mother. Who still makes pancakes for them on Shrove Turesday. When I should have bought the ready made ones, a microwave, a jiff squeezy lemon and told them to get on with it.
I shall try again at about 3.30 this afternoon. I shall try and be an understanding Mum. I shall try and look at the world from their point of view. I shall try and remember that being a teen is no joke. I shall try and bite my tongue, and choose my battles carefully. I shall not engage with rudeness. I shall be firm but fair. I will not raise my voice. I shall not shout "I hate you too!"
And if all else fails, At least there was sunshine. For a while anyway.