Gone in a Minute

Gone in a Minute

The kids going wild, a school bag to find, a shirt to iron, sandwiches and drinks to prepare. You throw down your coffee and are gone. It’s only the slam of the door which alerts me to your absence. No parting kiss, no “have a good day.” Sometimes I think that you prefer to be away from us.

Through the chaos, I hear the car engine being gunned on the drive, the crunch of gravel and the faint bumping of the stereo. Then the fight begins, Sam has kicked Molly under the table, she is spitting like a cat, only her age stops her from swearing. I step in, umpiring skills required again, and send then both off to clean their teeth and get their shoes on. I can hear the argument continuing. They used to be so sweet. I swill down my drink, and load the breakfast things into the dishwasher. Time to go.

I ignore the phone as we leave the house. More cold calling or perhaps it's my mother. She should know better than to ring at this time but she’s in a little world of her own. I really must visit, haven’t seen her in weeks; but getting the screaming kids to school and out of my hair is much more important. I curse the traffic and fight into the nonexistent parking space outside school. Unite children with the correct bags; wave goodbye to their backs.

Mobile rings. I don’t recognise the number so chose not to answer. I have to do the supermarket shop, then coffee with friends, lunch and the hairdresser. Time flies so fast. I hardly seem to have turned round before I’m back at school; gritting my teeth against the constant bickering. Then its homework and tea and TV. I’m tempted to get the wine out but this is a bit early and you’ll be home soon.

But I’ve been so busy and there just wasn’t time to realise you’re late until the policeman calls. Now there is all the time in the world.