‘Morning.’ Papa B shuffles through to the kitchen where I’ve just started to make school lunches. I’m irritated because when the kids came in at 4:45 this morning, he pretended not to wake up. I tried to out-lie him, but when Pitter-Patter N dive-bombed onto his head and he didn’t so much as twitch, I knew I was beat. He plays a hard game.
‘Ugh, I slept terribly.’
‘Oh?’ I’m not interested.
‘Yeah, mosquitoes in the room, and I was tossing and turning.’
‘You seemed pretty fast asleep all night to me.’
‘Yeah, I was trying not to wake you, but I was awake.’
‘Oh. Shame.’
‘My neck’s stiff.’
‘Hmm.’ In goes the yoghurt, must remember the spoon.
‘Yeah, I probably pulled a muscle or something.’ He’s rubbing his neck with his head tilted dramatically. I’d like to make him pull another one.
‘Maybe you can massage it tonight?’
‘Uh-huh.’ Never in a million years.
‘I just can’t seem to get a good night’s sleep.’
Oh for crying out loud. I haven’t slept in five years.
‘I think I can feel a cold coming on.’
‘Ja, well, it’s going around.’ I’ve had a stuffy nose for days, haven’t really had time to think about it though.
‘Yeah, I feel a bit fluey.
It’s the end of the world.
‘Think I’d better take it easy for a few days.’
‘Mm-hmm.’ Pitter-Patter S has mountain biking at school today. Must remember to pack his shoes.
‘Maybe my neck’s sore coz I’ve got flu.’
And his bike helmet. Shoot, I mustn’t forget to put his homework in his bag.
‘Well then a massage won’t help then will it.’ I’m spiteful.
He looks around, as if noticing for the first time. ‘Where’re the boys?’
‘Brushing their teeth.’
‘Oh. Good. They dressed?’
‘Yes.’
‘Had breakfast?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘You doing lunches?’
I feel like slapping him with one of the lunch boxes, but the Salticracks crackers will break if I do. ‘YES. It’s all done because I’ve been up since ten to five.’ Accusing.
‘Ja they came and jumped on me for like twenty minutes.’ Defensive.
The poor-us-we’re-exhausted-parents-in-it-together thing isn’t going to work. I’m too pissed off.
‘Actually, it was more like five.’
‘Oh. Felt like like longer.’
‘You know you slept til past 10 all weekend?’ I’m riled now.
‘So?’ Defiant, sensing an attack.
‘I’m just saying, it’d be nice if I could sleep in one day too.’
‘Then you should wake me.’
‘But if I have to wake you then I’d be awake anyway. When I’m awake I’m awake.’
No response.
I’m just getting warmed up. ‘Like, why can’t you just get up, without me having to tell you to get up?’
‘But how do I know you’re not going to get up?’
‘It’s called CONSIDERATION. You get up before I wake up so that I don’t have to WAKE UP.’
‘But I’ve done that before, and then you get up anyway.’
‘Yes because I WANT to get up, not because I HAVE to get up.’
‘Either way, you’re still up.’
‘OK forget it. I’ll just never sleep in EVER.’ When faced with an impasse, become dramatic.
‘Of course you can sleep in, just tell me to get up.’
Does he ever even hear me?
The boys race through the house. Teeth clean. ‘PAPAAA!’ Their enthusiasm for their Papa would warm my heart if I weren’t so incensed. I feel the ‘high road’ evaporate before me.
‘You’d better go shower, you’ve got to leave in ten minutes.’ I’m bossy. Abrupt.
‘Can’t you take them today?’
‘Seriously? I’m not even dressed!’
‘It’s drop and go, no one even sees you.’
‘Fine. BOYS LETS GO.’ Herd them into the car. Over-sized school bags on tiny boys. Wish I’d at least washed my face. At least I can hide behind my sunglasses.
He’s gone by the time I get home. I’m relieved. I’m in a contrary mood. Lack of sleep. I trudge into the bedroom to shower, there’s a note on the unmade bed.
‘Have a good day my love. I’ll cook dinner tonight. Let me know what you feel like!’
Ja OK fine, so he’s not that bad.

Author’s note: I’d just like to say that this is a complete and utter dramatization. Papa B has never, will never and shan’t ever shirk his duties as a hard working Papa. I, on the other hand, am perfectly represented.