It is only now that I am sitting down with a giant Kath Kidston mug of fresh ground Lavazza coffee with lots of steaming milk can I write about this. I can feel the stress levels lower with each sip.
Big picture, think picture.
About ten minutes ago I could have torn apart anything that was in my path, including my poor husband, who was going about his own business quietly.
It was a particularly hectic morning, the girls were still suffering from PNPS (Post Nativity Play Syndrome) -- similar to PMS, but for kids, and only during Christmas.
We really didn't get going to about 45 minutes before school started and we were all in bad moods (from being out late) and puffy (from breakdown because out late).
Rush, rush, rush. Yell, yell, yell, and we were finally out the door, except of course I didn’t get my morning cup of coffee.
That’s OK, I reassured myself. I’ll brew a fresh pot when I get home. It’s my morning with all the girls at school, and I can get some work done. Apart from all this fun bloggy stuff, I do actually have some paid consulting work to do.
I thought about it all the way back from drop off, walking up our white, frosty road. A steaming mug of creamy coffee, the cup warming my hands, each sip gliding down like silk, waking up every brain cell and making them stand on end. My mind did a lateral jump to memories of long leisurely breakfasts in the south of France, sitting looking over the sea, a crisp baguette, fresh butter, apricot jam and an English newspaper keeping me company. (Funny, there are no children in these memories…)
I find myself at the tap, to fill up the coffee maker.
Gurgle, gurgle, pop, pop, thud.
A few drops spurt out, and then nothing. Nada. Zilch. Zippo. What the ##@@!!!
Scottish hubby happened to walk by, “The builders across the road turned it off for an hour,” totally unaware that what he just said had the equivalent pissing off effect of mistaking a Canadian for an American.
“An hour?” I repeated. I wasn't going to last an hour.
“Couldn’t you have filled up the kettle before they turned it off?” I barked.
"I NEED my coffee." Did I really just say that?
He gave me the "I really don't understand you" look, and suggested I go to the neighbours to see if they had any water.
Suddenly I KNEW what I had to do. I grabbed the coffee maker and marched across the road to the builders. I didn’t even bother to put on my coat.
I. Am. Going. To. Strangle Someone.
Thank god I was wearing my UGG slippers, they sort of look like shoes and have rubber soles. It was minus 5C outside.
I honed in on a man in a neon yellow/green suit with Thames Water written on it. HE MUST BE THE ONE, and I thrust the coffee maker in front of him.
He took one look at me and must have known what he was dealing with. He went to his van and pulled out two bottles of water, with the water company’s logo. Obviously I am not the first person to be crazed about having my water turned off.
Ten minutes later and I am a happy mother again.
I think I may even bring that nice Thames Water man a cup of coffee.
And ladies, check out the latest edition of the Best of the British Mummy Bloggers. There are more accounts from crazed women there…
Photo credit: Puss in Boots
