“I try not to look about at the unspeakable chaos”

WHEN I say ‘walkies’ to my old dog, she stretches, resettles her limbs and raises her eyelids for a moment to shoot me a look, which says ‘surely, surely to god you’re joking?’

It’s this same look that daughter No 1 is giving me right now. I’ve opened her bedroom door a tentative two inches and said, “morning love, time to get up.” After throwing me the look, she closes her eyes. She lies there stock still; I think the look has taken it out of her. “What time is it?” She asks. “One-thirty,” I say. ‘Pm.’

She stretches, opens one eye, fixes it on me.

I try not to look about at the unspeakable chaos, the knickers dropped like a starlet’s, everywhere. I push open the door, pick up a pair and hold it at arm’s length.

“You’re a slattern,” I say with equanimity.

She groans but rolls over, smiling unaccountably. “Who uses that word?” she says, “I mean, what does it even mean?”

“It means your room is a pit, so get out of bed and clean it,” I say, with less equanimity.

“No, seriously, what does it mean?” she asks.

“It means this,” I say and pick up a half-full coffee cup with an apple core in it.

“Ok, got it,” she says. I’m boring her. I do sympathise genuinely; I’m boring myself.

“Why would you use that word?” she says. “I mean, it’s so weird, like, why wouldn’t you use a normal word like…”

“Lazy-arse?” I say. “Oh my god, you’re such a psycho,” she says. “Well?” I say. “Well what?” she says. “Are you going to clean it?”

“Oh my god, you’re such a psycho,” she iterates and closes her eyes.

I can iterate too. The principle of iteration, or to put it another way, the business of repeating yourself, is as intrinsic to parenting as the principle of leading by good example (which in turn hinges on the principle of being rational and poised 24/7) but I’m finding it tricky to grasp any of these principles right now.

Since waking up, I’ve had a yen to be mute; a craving not to have to articulate, explain or repeat to my daughters the rationale of doing any of the following: getting out of bed, getting off Facebook, being pleasant or picking knickers up, since these are rationales that even my dog would understand.

By 11.30, I’ve already had to explain the rationale of most of the above to daughter No 2, plus this one: “If I help you with your sewing project, you will have to actually do the blanket-stitch yourself because if I do it for you, as you suggest, you won’t learn how to blanket-stitch.”

She accepted this at last by hunching over the kitchen table saying ‘stupid bloody blanket stitch’ and proceeded to blanket-stitch a square of felt to the kitchen tablecloth. At which point, I hunched over the table saying ‘stupid bloody blanket- stitch,’ and unpicked it all. Then I attempted to explain the philosophy of trying again; which was rejected until half way through my third attempt, when she said ‘ok got it, no need to repeat yourself, god, you’re such a psycho.’

After this my yen to be mute has intensified and is reaching a tipping point. I don’t think daughter No 1 knows this because she’s sitting up in bed now, looking ready for battle and asking “Why?”

“Why what?” I say.

“Why do I have to clean my room?”

Something goes ping in my brain. There has to be more fun in the world than this, I think. I look wildly around the room, pick up two handfuls of knickers, shake them either side of my ears. The principle of leading by good example flies up, up in the air over my head — whoosh! — with the knickers. I grab a mound of clothes and throw that up too.

“Oh. My. God,” she says and gives me the surely, surely to god you’re joking look again.

This is a different kind of battle. It feels… kind of liberating. She jumps out of bed and stands next to me at the top of the stairs. “You’ve actually gone psycho,” she says. “I mean what’s the point in throwing my stuff everywhere?”

Don’t know — whoosh! Don’t care — whoosh! I say nothing.

To survive parenting, you need to observe the principle of remaining rational and poised. But sometimes, 24/7 is a big ask. Sometimes, the only way to win through is to be a bit mad. Be a bit crazy. To fight like a rebel and throw knickers down the stairs.