Panic stations, we’ve overslept

Press, 27 February 1989, Page 6

Panic stations, we’ve overslept

Wilsons Week...

Morning. Sun filters through the bedroom drapes. The distant song of a happy bird. Clock by the bedside reads 8.30 a.m.

Look at the clock again. We’ve overslept. PANIC!

Leap out of bed, rush down the hallway. Rush back to the bedroom and put something on. Kick open the children’s bedroom door.

“It’s 8.30, everybody panic!” Children, still blissfully asleep, open one eye each and regard the jittery jelly at the doorway.

"whassamatter Daddy?” “We’ve overslept ... you’ll be late for school and kindy, everybody up. Air raid, this is no drill!” Well it sounded good in the war movies, might work here too. Children move like clockwork toys with their springs wound down. The more Dad panics, the slower they respond. Par for the course in parenting.

“Where’s Mum?” they ask.

“Working night shift at the newspaper last night, entitled to a sleep-in this morning. Kitchen!” When time is running short fathers usually speak in a kind of staccato shorthand.

Thirteen minutes to get the oldest boy fed,

ready for school and out the door. Can we make it?

“Cornflakes for breakfast today,” grab the packet, empty far too much into the bowl and drown everything in milk. “I want rice bubbles.” “What about toast?”

“No time, no time” ... Dad doesn’t know it but he is auditioning for the role of the March Hare in “Alice in Wonderland.”

The food is placed before them and ... they ... oh ... so ... slowly ... eat ... it.

During this performance father has gathered together assorted items of clothing which with luck will fit and not clash in colours too much.

A look at the clock. “Time’s up! Get dressed.”

The front door bell rings. It always rings when you desperately need it not to ring. A

stranger at the door seeking directions. Seconds tick by. Hurry back to the boys’ room, organise the last bits of dressing. Right shoe goes on the right foot, that sort of thing.

“Bathroom!” The procession rapidly

moves to the bathroom. A dispute arises. Children debate which toothbrush they will use. Then further debate because toothpaste is a tube, not the pump they prefer. Washing comes next. Faster and faster we go. We will make it. We will make it. Keep saying

that. Right. Oldest boy is dressed, fed, washed. Anything forgotten? Lunch! I’d forgot to make lunch! Lunchbox is found, filled with assorted sandwiches, fruit and thrust into the school bag. His brother thinks this is a perfect time to pause and play with his cars. Oldest boy is kissed and pointed toward school. Phew! He made it in time. Now for his brother. Must get him ready for kindy. Panic, panic. There’s still time to walk him to kindy and get the bus to work so I can be there on time.

We are ready. Off we go. He pauses at the doorstep. “Daddy?”

“What? What?” “Are you going to work in your pyjamas?” Stop and think for a moment. Fool. You know what you forgot to do. Thirty minutes later arrive at the office to discover tie does not match shirt and socks do not match trousers or shoes. The only satisfaction is knowing you set a new family record in time from pyjamas to work clothes. If it ever becomes an Olympic sport, you can put this morning down to training. DAVE WILSON.