I’m in Struggletown. Have you heard of it? I’ve been there ever since entering parenthood and found myself in a chronic state of sleep deprivation. Thought I was a transient visitor but I’ve unwittingly become a local tenant. On occasion, I’ve forced myself outside its’ boundaries but ultimately, I stay entrapped within.
I often wonder what I’d surrender for a good night’s sleep (I’m talking deeper than the Mariana Trench sleep), and I’ve decided that I’d offer just about anything….money (who needs it!), fame (I’ve got none), coffee (*shrug* maybe I’ll become a tea sommelier). That’s how much I value my sleep.
As a mother of a toddler who likes to torture me by being awake during the wee hours of the morning, sleep for me is a wild-goose chase.
So it comes as no surprise that I constantly find myself in unfavourable situations. It’s almost expected of Struggletown residents.
On one unfortunate morning, my synapses must have misfired because it wasn’t until we were all strapped in the car and my hands resting on the steering wheel that I realised something was amiss.
“Where the heck are the car keys?!” I say aloud.
I pat down my pockets, I look in bags, I check that I’m not sitting on them and then the panic sets in. We have fifteen minutes until the school bell rings.
I get out of the car and sigh with relief that I left the garage door unlocked. There are some advantages with being absent-minded. I call forth my inner zen and aimlessly look around the house. They’re not in the usual place on the dining table. A quick glance at the time tells me there is only ten mins left. I do not want to get a late pass. That’s just a slippery slope.
“Mandy! Help me find the keys or we’ll be late!” I yell.
Mandy goes off to her bedroom to look for the keys. Why they’d be there I’m not sure. I don’t question the logic of a six-year-old.
Henry is just running around, hands in the air and making head noises, accurately mimicking my panicked thoughts.
I’ve looked everywhere. In my frenzy, I overturn the washing basket. I cringe at the mess. I spent all last night folding those damn clothes. Such a wasted effort.
I finally find the wretched keys inside my shoes by the door. I blame Henry’s fondness for posting.
We race to school. Mandy and I run for class. I’m struggling with Henry on one arm and Mandy’s school bag on the other. Those darn bags are so heavy they could be used as weights.
“Mum! The bell’s going!!” Mandy exclaims.
“Run faster then! We’re almost there!” I puff out.
Sweat trickles down my back and my face is flushed. I’m a bloody mess. Exercise and I just aren’t friends.
Mandy zips through just as Ms Frean is closing the classroom door.
“Almost too late Mandy,” Ms Frean admonishes.
So what was the life lesson here?
Car keys are never in the washing basket so don’t overturn them.
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