Early morning starts.

It’s all go in our house at the moment, we’re all trying to do as much as possible. Get to work, get to the child minder, do some training, be a good partner, be a good parent.

Some mornings are fine, we all get out on time. We all love each other and everyone is generally happy about leaving everyone and we all meet up again later on and are “super A1 family!”.

However, there are some mornings where it just feels so horribly wrong. There are the mornings where it instantly starts wrong: alarm clock doesn’t wake us up, we all have to run around like lunatics with shouting and nobody clear of the direction they should be going, with responsibilities not clearly marked out, and the final end to the day leaving everyone tired and nobody in the mood for training/teaching/bed time.

There are the mornings where it starts well, but there are signs something isn’t quite right.  The alarm wakes us up, the light from the bathroom door activates the solar panel in Miriam, we’re all getting up and moving, then a sub-routine stalls. No goodbye kiss. No lunch packed. The bike still has the turbo wheel attached.

Today was definitely the latter. I ended up riding in on Project Mum Bike 2.0.




Which at 645 am was fantastic. Fog. No traffic in Brixton. Single speed.

I actually got to work without breaking a sweat. I’ve yet to find out what awaits me when I collect Miriam today. Apparently, she got upset before the handover to her child minder and expressed her serious displeasure.

This could mean I get a bed time routine of “Where’s Mummy?” “Why?” “Why?” “Why?” “Why?”.  Alternatively, she could surprise me and accept the answer of “teaching exercise in Tooting” with “oh. Excellent. That means you’re doing bed time Dad. Wicked!”.


I doubt this. I doubt this very much.

Early morning starts.

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