An advert came on, so the Curly Mop began looking for other ways to amuse herself.
‘Mum! She got her germs on me when she sucked on my jumper! Eww,’ shrieked the Bombshell flicking bits of her sister's drool across the room.
Seriously? Sucking jumpers? Don't I feed you enough.
Apparently not, because not long after I found her sucking toothpaste straight out of the tube, probably to get the taste of grubby jumper out of her mouth. Brushing teeth? Close enough.
I let the Mop choose her own outfit. She looked like a bag lady. Whatever.
Meanwhile, Baldy Baby thought this would be a judicious time to poop. Two minutes before we are due to leave for school.
'Mum, the baby's bottom is kinda stinky,' offered the Bombshell, her nose buried in the baby's crotch.
'She STINKS,' agreed the Mop.
Cleaning bottoms? Check.
I pulled beanies over their heads, disguising my half-arsed attempt at pigtails. Hair, done.
I threw the two littlies in the pram, handed the Bombshell my thermos of coffee and bounced them down the steps on four very flat tyres.
The Bombshell ran ahead: not even my atrocious mood could ruin her pure joy as she balanced on garden walls, pointed out rainbows and... crap. Rainbows?
We were halfway to school when it bucketed down.
Naturally the umbrellas were at home, next to the door where I had left them. We sheltered under a tree while the Bombshell's school mates drove by in massive SUVs waving gleefully at us.
We must have looked pretty pathetic. The grumpy mum standing under a tree with three sodden kids (I said sodden, not sodding!).
* * *
I should have brought the dishes outside and left them in the rain. Maybe then, they'd be clean by now.
*Apologies to The Smiths for associating their uber cool brand of rock with a very cranky brand of domesticity.