Wedding Deer (aka Bike) Part 638 by Angharad

I think I must have slept before the aliens landed, they disguised themselves as children but their funny language, which sounded mysteriously like giggling, occurred just before their attack on Simon. I was so tired I was happy for them to let me sleep while they ate him, or whatever it was they were going to do. Of course Simon couldn’t just die quietly, he had to chat with his attackers and not only that, but he moved about in the bed too. I did begin to wonder if there was any room left in Puddin’s basket, because it had to be quieter than here. Then the alarm went off, damn it was later than I thought.

“Right you two Lolita’s, stop molesting your Daddy and in the shower–NOW!” I can be quite direct when I’m sleep deprived. The giggling pair decamped to the bathroom. We all got in the shower together–well not all, Simon stayed in bed.

“Come on, young lady, we’ve got to get you ready for school today,” I said, washing Trish’s hair.

“When can I go to schoow?” asked Mima.

“When you’re five, although I think I shall see if there’s a nursery school you can start before then.”

Mima jumped up and down in the wet and soapy environment and fell flat on her back. Thankfully she didn’t hurt herself, but she did give herself a little shock and immediately burst into tears–not what I needed, but I managed eventually, to calm her down and to promise not to fool about in the shower again. Well–not this side of puberty.

Not having any idea of the time, I whisked them out of the shower and sent Mima to Simon so he could dry her. I had told her if he was still asleep to shake her wet hair over his face. By the sounds emanating from the bedroom, I think he was still asleep. It was the first smile I’d had all morning.

I towelled Trish and dried her hair, brushing it out and putting it in two plaits, she was beginning to look like a schoolgirl. Then after her undies, a pair of panties and a cami top, I dressed her in her blouse and skirt, handed her her socks and shoes and cardi and asked her to finish dressing herself.

By the time I got back to the bedroom, Simon was drying Mima’s hair with my hair drier, which of course I wanted. However, rather than start a row, I got on with dressing. I pulled on a skirt and top and some socks, then my boots.

Simon was in the girl’s room when I emerged from the bedroom, so I dried my hair, threw on a bit of makeup and ran downstairs to start the breakfast. Part of me hoped Stella and Puddin’ wouldn’t make an entrance until later, simply because it would delay things, and I wanted to be nice and early on our first day–correction, Trish’s first day, but you knew what I meant anyway.

Tom was just bringing a tray of teas and coffees out of the kitchen when I got downstairs, I snatched a cup of tea and put some bread in the toaster. Then it was pour out two bowls of cereal and add some milk. They were both eating cornflakes at present. I buttered the toast and ate the first piece, sipping my tea in between bites. My tummy rumbled–it didn’t surprise me. By the time I’d eaten the second piece, Trish was down closely followed by Mima. Simon was apparently now in the shower–he was coming to school as well.

Trish was too excited to eat, she just wanted to talk and so did Mima. I told them to be quiet and eat several times, but I was wasting my breath. Simon arrived and possibly heard my difficulty with them, he called for hush and they shut up immediately. It obviously wasn’t going to be my day.

We finally finished breakfast without any mess over Trish’s new uniform. Her shoes, which were new, were black and shiny. She looked so smart and so grown up, I was already fighting back the tears. Tom came back down and I asked him to take a photo of the four of us–Simon combed his tousled hair–while Tom found my camera. Then Simon and I stood behind the two girls, each with a hand on their outer shoulder, and the girls holding hands. Tom took a couple of exposures by the flash going off twice blinding me temporarily. I suddenly thought of Spike and wondered if I had time to go and see her after I dropped Trish at school.

Trish started complaining that her cardigan was itchy at the back of the neck. I shrugged, telling her it was probably because it was new. However, she kept on about it and I was eventually forced to take a look–there was a problem–in my tiredness last night, I’d forgotten to take the price label off the neck. A quick surgical intervention–a labelectomy–and the problem was cured. Crikey, did I pay fifteen quid for the cardi? What a rip off.

I put on Mima’s shoes and she informed me she wanted her hair in plaits too. It was probably quicker to go along with it than to argue, which would end in tears–at this rate–mine.

It was at this point, Stella made an entrance. “Annie Stewwa,” screeched a certain pair of lungs and Trish, who was making up her satchel with pencils and pens and so on, looked up and saw Stella and the baby. She forgot her school stuff and dashed off to see the baby and her mum.

Stella was beset by the three children, one in her arms and two bouncing around her like demented joeys. I let her soak up the atmosphere of total entropy, before I intervened.

“Have you fed her yet?” I asked Stella.

“No, I was just going to do it.” She produced the bottle in her other hand.

“Can I give her her bottle?” asked Trish. It was quarter to eight. I had my doubts about it being a good idea and said so, but Stella, and Simon both sided with the new schoolgirl. I was outvoted even though I had grave reservations about the wisdom of it.

Trish sat down and I draped a towel over her, then Stella placed the baby in Trish’s arms, then finally the bottle. Trish started to feed her and it seemed my worries were just my normal paranoia, if it can be normal. I did Mima’s hair and tied in some ribbons,

Things were going too smoothly, I knew it. Trish had let Puddin’ drink down most of the bottle without pausing to burp her, and none of us adults noticed, Simon and Stella were talking and Tom was watching me do Meem’s hair. Then it happened, Puddin’ gave a huge burp and sicked up most of the bottle. It went everywhere, on the floor, the table, over Trish’s hair and cardigan–projectile vomiting didn’t come into it, this was Olympic standard.

No one moved for a moment, Trish half laughed then began to cry as she felt the warm wet sensation come through her clothing. Stella snatched up the baby and wiped her with the towel, she was crying, too–the baby, and possibly Stella wasn’t that far away from it either. Tom and Simon were sniggering and I was close to launching faster than a Saturn V rocket.

There was no point in berating the child, it was our fault for not supervising her sufficiently, but she was still crying. I grabbed her and ran her upstairs, stripped her off and chucked her back under the shower, It was now nearly five past eight. I rinsed out her hair after undoing the plaits and whipped her out and began drying her. She grumbled I was being rough; I wasn’t, I was trying to get her ready for school. She could reuse the panties, but this time I put her in a cami-slip and summer dress–the other blouses weren’t ironed.

She needed some sort of coat or top, so I got her blazer out of the wardrobe and put it on her. It was now twenty past eight and we had to run. We dashed to the Mondeo, Simon elected to drive whilst I strapped the kids in the back. Trish had forgotten her satchel, I was so tempted to shout at her because I felt so cross, but instead I went and got it. I hoped this wasn’t going to happen every morning, if so then I was going to lock the rest of them out of the kitchen even if I had to lay a mine field to achieve my aim.

Back in the car, and Simon drove like Jenson Button on rocket fuel, in fact I think we passed Lewis Hamilton en route. The girls thought driving like a lunatic was funny, I was terrified; mostly because I was waiting for a woman pushing a pram or a school kid to get scraped off the windscreen. Miraculously, we encountered no collateral damage as the military say, and arrived at Trish’s school just in time to see them lined up in the playground and walking into school, presumably in class order.

We all walked up to the teacher who was acting as officer on parade, I almost saluted her, then remembered she was probably a nun or something similar, so I kept my hands to myself.

We explained Trish was new and she smiled and promised to take her into registration. I was to collect her at half past twelve and have her back for half past one. I decided, I’d take a picnic lunch and we’d have to seriously consider her staying into school dinners, the logistics at lunch time were too tight, but for a few days I’d spoil her.

As she went through the door of the school with the teacher holding her hand, she waved and I felt a tear run down my cheek, I wiped it away before Mima saw it and asked awkward questions. Trish had looked so full of confidence as she went into the school–I just hoped it would last all day. Me, I was a nervous wreck, and not only that, but I’d forgotten my handbag in the rush to get Trish’s satchel. It was obviously going to be a perfect day.