The " 5- minutes- before -school," daily crisis

There's something about the 5 minutes before leaving for school that induces a daily crisis in our home.  It doesn't matter how calm the hour before has been, how friendly the teenage grunts or how willingly the kids have been woken from their dreams, the hand on the clock reaches 8.25 ( late for some I know ! ) and pandemonium sets in.
" Mum," shouts Joss from his bedroom, " where are my green PE socks? The ones I put by the washing machine last night before I went to bed.
" Probably still by the washing machine," I suggest.
" What,' shouts Joss, horrified, " you mean you haven't washed them yet?.  They're covered in mud."
" Mum," moans Mia, " where's my French book? I left it on the sofa last Tuesday and have you seen my…..nooo."

Looking for a Frenchbook in a haystack, I mean sofa!

Her questions die off as Joss dashes past and darts into the bathroom before her.
"Joss," yells Mia, " that's not fair, you've already had a shower for about an hour and I haven't even cleaned my teeth yet."
" Tell mum and dad to build another bathroom then," says Joss helpfully through the bathroom door, his words accompanied by the clicking open of a jar of hair gel.
By the time he emerges, each strand of hair perfectly positioned, Mia has found her French book but lost her geography homework and her compass.
" I left my compass on the floor by the table. Why do you always have to clear everything away," she complains, striding angrily into the bathroom.
"Mum," calls Joss from the hall, as he struggles into the blazer he has left in a crumpled heap on the floor, the button has just come off my trousers. Can you fix it? I have to go in like 2 minutes."
I walk into the kitchen to try and find a safety pin.  
Mia is doing her hair in the mirror over the kitchen sink.

" Why does my hair always look like THIS," she cries, " grabbing fiercely at one of her perfect curls. " It's not fair, why is my hair so horrible."
Joss stands still so that I can pin his trousers back together.
" Did you make me a hair appointment?" he asks. " my hair's getting so long."
I stare at his skin-hugging, side-buzzed hair and wonder what short hair would look like.
" And I need £2.50 for geography. If I don't have it by today, I'm going to get a detention."
" Have you signed my letter for the theatre trip,"  shouts Mia from the living room, " If you don't do it today, I can't go." 
She tips the contents of her schoolbag onto the floor and hands me a crumpled note. " I told you about it ages ago. Why do you always leave everything until the last minute."

And I stand there, biting my tongue.
I could say, if you had both got everything ready last night, none of this would be happening.  
I could say, if you got up 5 minutes earlier there would be enough time for everyone to use the bathroom.
I could say, Mia if you put your things away instead of leaving them scattered around the house, you would know where everything was.
I could say, Joss, you must have known your trouser button had fallen off, why didn't you put on your other pair.
I could say, Mia your hair is beautiful, Joss your hair is short enough and neither of you told me about money that needs to be paid or letters that need to be signed.
But after a decade of experiencing the " 5 -minutes -before -school crisis point," I have learnt it is best to say nothing.
Nagging only causes rows.
Telling your teenagers that they should be better organised is as pointless as telling your Sat Nav it has got the directions wrong.

The truth is, just before leaving for school, your kids don't want solutions, they want stress.
The thought of spending a whole day sitting, listening to teachers, getting in trouble for breaking rules and generally doing things you would rather not be doing, is not something that fills most children with joy. 
A day at school is rarely something kids look forward to, even if it is not so bad once they get there.  
So of course they need to begin their day with a " crisis." 
It just reflects how they feel about school.
If mornings were calm and cheerful, we might think they like going to school.
How else can they remind us parents how hard their lives are.

So I sign Mia's letter and find £2.50 for Joss from the change scattered around the kitchen.
The doorbell rings.
" Holly's here," shouts Mia, " Have you seen my phone? Never mind, got it. 
Bye mum. See you later."
I listen to the giggles and chatter as they wander down the road.
" Bye mum," shouts Joss, texting his friend  as he strolls cooly through the door.


And I am left, standing in a quiet house, surfaces covered in safety pins and Mia's make-up. I find Mia's compass in the fruit bowl and wonder if she would find it, if I just put it back on the floor by the table.
But it's 5 minutes before I need to leave for work….and I can feel my stress levels rising!