Dear ones, when Lisa writes to tell me that her teenagers don’t get out of bed until midday at the weekend, I can only sigh longingly. I imagine it’s heavenly: Waking up on your own because you’ve slept in. Not jumping out of bed, just lying there. Enjoying the silence and marvelling at the rays of sunlight filtering through the blinds. Then I would get up and come into an empty kitchen, make coffee, not have to talk, scroll a bit on my mobile phone and then snuggle up again with a blanket in the living room. Maybe my book will be there, maybe I’ll close my eyes again. The silence wouldn’t make me lonely, it would be a blessing.
Because – oh wonder, oh wonder – the reality at home is different. Between 6 and 6.30 a.m., the little one wakes up, calls, I fetch him and we have a quick cuddle. Briefly, really briefly, because the little one wants to get up. We go down to the kitchen, I wait impatiently until the coffee has run through, then off to the living room. There are the diggers, the drills, the balls, the cars, most of which are making noises, and not nice ones at that.
At seven, the 8-year-old arrives. Yes, the one I can barely get out of bed during the week, but she’s wide awake at the weekend. I make muesli for everyone, at least one bowl falls over, there’s whining because the little one wants more orange juice. The 11-year-old comes downstairs and asks if he can call his friend to go to the football pitch. „No, it’s not even half past seven“, I say. He snorts in annoyance and starts arguing with his sister.
Change nappy, mop up cereal again, crap, there was still some washing in the machine. So he goes down to the cellar, starts the washing again, in the meantime the little one has undressed completely and is jumping on the sofa. His siblings cheer him on with laughter, it’s very loud. So loud that the teenager shouts from upstairs that we should be quiet.
I jump into the shower, while the little one removes all the tampons and spreads them around the bathroom. The middle ones are arguing in the hallway, the son is listening to Eminem loudly. The teenage daughter drops the milk in the kitchen, which she comments on with a shrill „shit“. I decide to leave the house as quickly as possible.
At nine o’clock, I’ve done the bulk shopping at the discount store and pick up a few things from the pharmacy. Back at home, the three big ones have all made up, the 8-year-old is colouring in the kitchen, the other two are chilling in their room. I call them all together to help put the shopping away. Grumble, grumble, but they help, at least!
At 9 o’clock I’ve already done everything
When I ask „Does anyone want to go for a walk“, I only get raised eyebrows. „But can I finally go and play football?“ asks the son. I get the little one dressed, fetch the buggy and we walk towards the woods or the playground. It’s half past nine and I think: It feels like 6 pm….
Sometimes I have to laugh at how many years I’ve been doing my morning laps. Because I’ve never had toddlers who play with building blocks or look at picture books in their pyjamas until 11 o’clock. They always wanted to move around, always wanted to go out. When the mood inside changed, we had to put on our shoes and go into the forest. In all weathers, during the week, at the weekend. I often find that annoying, but sometimes it’s a good thing. I don’t mind waking up early so much any more, I’m outside a lot, I collect steps in the morning and get quite a lot done in the first few hours.
And yet, when I’m chasing after the balance bike again, dragging sticks that my son has collected, when I realise with a deep sigh that the little one has stepped in dog poo, I’m really looking forward to the time when the children only come out of their rooms at lunchtime. To all those who feel the same way as I do: that time is coming. We just have to be patient a little longer. And then we’ll be sitting in the kitchen, listening to the silence and grinning happily into our coffee.
