Tuesday

The Show Must Go On: Morning Madness & The Quest for a Holiday

Up at 5:30am. Yep, the early bird gets the stress—and trust me, I’m no stranger to this routine. I’ve showered, done my hair, got dressed, and I'm sitting with a cup of tea in the kitchen by 6:30am, pretending I’ve got my life together while the house is still hushed in peaceful silence. Little do I know, that moment of calm is just the calm before the toddler storm.

In less than five minutes, that peace is obliterated. My 3-year-old transforms into some wild parkour artist, flipping off furniture with his pants on his head and his socks on his hands, punching me as if he’s just donned the superhero suit of World’s Faffiest Toddler. “You bad boy!” he yells ( I’ve been misgendered) with mischief in his eyes, and I’m already running from room to room, pretending I don’t see the chaos.

Then I try to wake my 7-year-old, the absolute sweetheart—full of cuddles, kisses, and “Mommy, I’m going to miss you,” like he’s auditioning for the role of Most Adorable Kid. I want to believe it’s cute, but deep down, I know it’s just his clever way of avoiding the dreaded ‘school’ talk. I usher him into the bathroom for his timed three-minute shower—because nobody’s got time for a marathon morning session in the bathroom, right?

Next up? The teenage tornado—my 9-year-old daughter. Waking her up is like trying to negotiate peace in a war zone. She’s moody, vocal, and strops about her room as if I’m trying to wake her up for some kind of grueling endurance challenge. I keep my distance because I’ve learned that directly approaching her while she’s still half-asleep and cross is a quick way to get earfuls about “why I woke her up and why her whole life is unfair.”

Finally, we manage to get out of the house by 7:26am—just in time to make it to breakfast club for 7:30am. I’ve made seat adjustments, so my youngest now sits up front in his car seat because the other two were constantly fighting over who sits where.
Resolution: problem solved.

It’s another full day at work, and honestly, I’m feeling all sorts of ways. I had my first session with a counsellor—something I honestly thought I didn’t need. But I told a colleague how I simply had to find an outlet because I can’t keep everything bottled up. I don’t want to be seen as a victim. I don’t want sympathy. I just want to scream into the void sometimes and have no one judge me, no one worry about me—just... let me vent.

So, I finish that session a little numb. Is it the medication? The stranger? Or just the whole world crumbling around me? Honestly, I don’t know. But I do know one thing: I want to keep this journey going. Somehow, I’ve got to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

Then I leave work, ready to head straight to my kids… and of course, something goes wrong.

My little terror, the 3-year-old, is he frrrrreeal. He’s been biting students and teachers (not joking), flooded the bathroom, and genuinely, the kind of chaos I’d expect from Hannibal Lecter. I swear he’s trying to see how much destruction I can handle before I break. For a kid who’s never bitten anyone in his life—yes, NEVER—he’s now got the biting skills of a cartoon villain.

All I want is a holiday. Like, an all-inclusive jaunt or an Airbnb somewhere warm. Maybe for a week in the Canary Islands? Just me, a sun lounger, and some peace. Is that too much to ask?

Anyway, I’ll keep dreaming. Because right now, all I can do is survive this chaos and keep telling myself: I’ve got this.