The clock has just ticked past 9am on Monday morning, and you find me sitting at the dining table in the living room opposite my youngest daughter, who is starting her school day – with a laptop propped in front of her, a pencil case full of pens and pencils, and a paper notepad open next to her. She has a habit of reading text on the screen out-loud, which I’m rapidly discovering is quite possibly the most distracting thing in the known universe.
My middle daughter is sitting on the floor in her bedroom doorway in her pyjamas, watching YouTube videos on her phone. While retrieving a hoodie from the bedroom a little while ago, I enquired if she was going to have a wash and get dressed, and she told me to stop having a go at her. If you were wondering, this is a normal teenage girl response – if you ask them if or when they might do anything you might normally expect them to do, you are “having a go”.
Perhaps the most entertaining negotiation at the moment happens with my eldest daughter, and the attempts involved in brokering the “Couch to 5K” runs around town. I am currently not allowed to wake her up, or knock on her door on a morning. Two days ago I went for a run at 8am with my youngest daughter after the others were no-shows, and then – at perhaps 11am, the eldest finally emerged from her room, and asked “why didn’t you wake me up?”. I reminded her of her own rules around being woken up, which caused her to not speak to me for quite some time.
I’m not complaining – just observing the idiocy of it all. We finally went running together yesterday morning – myself and all three daughters. Of course it didn’t happen until nearly lunchtime, when the eldest finally got up (the rest of us had been up for hours), but it was fun. We’re only in the early stages of the “Couch to 5K” programme, so the runs are not difficult at all. I say that, but then it transpires that if you’re our middle daughter, and you have no sense of pace, energy, or stamina, you almost die. During the final run of the session, she repeatedly fell back to a walk, complaining “I CAN’T DO IT” to anybody that would listen (none of us listened).
You know my youngest daughter was supposed to be doing school work? She’s now “taking a break”. She lasted half an hour. She’s doing a fitness programme on YouTube, rather than any written work – dancing around the lounge on a yoga mat, doing lunges, high kicks, burpees, and so on. I imagine she’ll start hunting for food in a few minutes.
I keep wondering about filling out my bullet journal for the day, to make myself look busy. “Make coffee”, “Make another coffee”, “Write a blog post”, “Post to twitter”, “Take a photo for instagram”, and “Search the cupboards for some junk to eat”… there’s no end to the possibilities.
On that note, I can’t hear the washing machine any more. That must mean there is some washing to hang out. I better go do it before Miss 15 realises, and uses it as an excuse to avoid getting on with any school work.