Morning routine is run with military precision in our house. Kind of.
Well we are in Germany.
Up at seven, wake child, ask child to get dressed, start breakfast, send complaining pyjama-clad child back upstairs to get dressed, brew up, let whining cat in, trip over whining cat, feed whining cat, re-dress child, feed child, oversee child cleaning teeth, tidy child's hair, ask child to put on shoes and coat (repeat until accomplished), get bikes from shed and off to kindergarten. We are a well oiled machine.
Well, not that well oiled if I'm honest. Hair often gets hastily tied back rather than brushed and she has been known to trundle off knicker-less (she wore jeans so I didn't even notice until she undressed for bed)!
Yesterday, literally seconds before the off, after a particularly hectic morning, my husband mumbled something. Normally I ignore most attempts at adult conversation before 8.00am but somewhere in the muffled, sleep laden dialogue the word photo stopped me mid-stride.
"By the way, the class photographer is coming today. It doesn't matter does it?"
My gaze dropped to my daughter who, on-route to the shed had tripped over the cat and was wiping soil and slimy wet leaf residue off her jeans. Hair visible from under her helmet had not been brushed, her Winnie the Pooh t-shirt was on day three and her boots were on the wrong feet .
At least she had knickers on.
With no time to call Gok Wan I experienced a moment of panic. Then I had a word with myself. What the heck. The Finje peddling down the road at break neck speed looked the way she pretty much always looks. A bit scruffy, a bit mucky and a lot happy. So stuff it.
Arriving at kindergarten my resolve wavered momentarily. Kids had been scrubbed to within an inch of their lives. Quaffed, spruced and ready for inspection. Finje walked straight past her friend Hendrick without even recognising him in his suit!
One mum, throwing a sidewards glance at Finje asked sympathetically if I'd not been advised of the photographer's appointment. Not known for their subtlety the Germans. "Oh no I was quite aware". I smiled with as much gravitas as I could muster.
When we get the pictures and my baby has unkempt tresses, a snotty nose and a grimy T-shirt then at least it will be a true representation of the child I love more than life itself.
If not, my husband is a whizz on Photo shop!
Have you ever thought of pushing your child into modelling? Read this article and decide.
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