Mums don’t have time to get sick

MY son was sick with a cold this week. By Saturday he was feeling better and kindly passed it onto his sister and I!

Modern Mum with QT columnist Kat van Wyk. Picture: Contributed

MY son was sick with a cold this week. By Saturday he was feeling better and kindly passed it onto his sister and I!

Full of beans he was up at 5.30am Saturday morning, excited about going to soccer ... in four hours time.

His sister had snuck into my bed and spent most of the night coughing in my face, so when I awoke to the sound of him playing his toy piano accordion, I was instantly drained.

I was aching all over and my throat felt as though I had swallowed razor blades! My daughter was the same.

Of course there's no sleeping in when you have children. We were all up and medicated by 6.30am and after an extra strong cup of coffee, I proceeded to coax my "team" into getting ready.

It was medal day, so we had to be there! Of course we spent a half of the morning hunting for a misplaced purple soccer boot and then had to dig through dirty laundry to find the other missing bits of his uniform.

We piled into the car which is always "fun" and of course my distracted soccer star had to run back inside twice to grab the things he's forgotten ... water bottle, shin pads, transformer, and his favourite Lego creation.

Finally in the car and I have yet another disagreement with my son's seatbelt. He sits in a giant- sized booster seat, which in my small car covers most of the seatbelt clicker so there's always a problem securing the seatbelt. He's unable to do it himself as a result I have a permanent broken thumbnail on my right hand.

A quick five minutes down the road and we're there. We pile out of the car and like all the amazing mummy packhorses out there, I managed to carry the bags, two chairs and hot beverages without spilling a drop.

Fortunately the paracetamol and coffee had kicked in and I was proudly able to watch him score three goals and get his medal at the end!

Next we were off the shop for "super foods" and medication, then over to grandma and Poppie's to show them the medal.

By the time we got to the shop however, the paracetamol and coffee ... had worn off.

My body was aching as I dragged myself through the aisles like a zombie, kids hanging off the trolley whining.

Can I get a toy? Can I have some doughnuts? Can I have a coconut? ... yes, of all things my son begged me for, a coconut was top of his list.

Of course as any mother knows when you're not on your game your children promptly take advantage of the sick daze you are in and manage to fill the trolley full of unnecessary items.

Afterwards at the car, I stood with two kiddies and a trolley of groceries, cursing the clicker in my head, as the stupid thing wouldn't unlock my car. Only to discover that we were standing at the wrong one!

Finally after locating the correct car, I loaded everything into the boot and everyone back inside. Then came the unavoidable seatbelt buckle brawl and all I wanted to do was go home and sleep (like that was even a possibility with these two).

"Yay grandma and Poppie's!" is all I hear from the back seat. I promised to take them after shopping ... and they had remembered.

Of course our quick pop-in ended up taking twice as long when my son lost his soccer medal somewhere in her house.

Now my mum's house is like one of those display homes that only child-free people live in, so how he managed to lose anything there is beyond me, but he did. As we were saying our goodbyes from the car, my forgetful soccer star realises he's missing something.

Getting in and out the car again! Really?

By this time I was past the sick zombie stage and had turned into "psycho mum" after pinching my thumb in the seatbelt clicker yet again!

Why is getting in and out the car so difficult when you have children? I don't get it!

Back inside we go. The house is searched, but nothing is found.

We leave in tears with the promise that grandma will bring it over when she finds it. Halfway home, the light bulb goes off and he remembers where he'd left it. Upon returning to grandma's house, the medal is located on the floor in the toilet. Where else would it be?

"I took it off to go" was his response.

At long last we headed home. Using a DVD and tiny teddies as bribery, I finally got my afternoon rest ... and new booster seat for the car is on next week's shopping list.