342. Tick. Tick. Tick.

The antique alarm clock I found during my spring cleaning (particularly ruthless this year) and that I washed and tested by winding it all the way thinking it would be nice to have a clock in the kitchen is in perfect working order. It is sitting on the fridge with the out of control cactus Miss Organiser has given me because she cannot take it with her to Tahiti. It was a tiny 1 Euro plant in a tiny pot and it now has 5 different shoots and the original one is growing taller and taller, twisting around like a vine probably trying to find more and more sun.  

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

I get a strange feeling. This ticking sound. Is there a bomb in my kitchen? And then I get it. My antique alarm clock is in full working order.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

'Just to remind you, mum, 7:45. OK?'

I make a sound. Giving proper answers with fully grammatical sentences requires far too much energy. On top of that this kind of sensible proper answers usually trigger lengthy arguments requiring even more energy. So now I just make noises. It is also a way of checking if my children really listen to me. Or not.

'Perfect.' Baby says. Point made. I make an other noise. A different one this time. 

Tick. Tick. Tick.

'What's this noise?' Baby asks.

This time I do not make a noise. I utter a proper sentence.

'It sounds like a bomb but I failed to locate it.'

'And I'm not going to be late. Don't you and dad worry.'

Point made again. I go back to making noises.

'I'll be back by 9.'

'NINE?' Is say, suddenly alert and involved in the conversation. 'Nine? That's silly. There's no point in me taking you there for 8 if you're going to be back at 9. That's like, not even an hour.'

I am getting worried. Baby going to a party and only staying one jour. My brain is in hyper-ride. I am a bad mother. I am too strict. Too domineering. Too ... too ...

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

I get up and go to the kitchen. Tick. Tick. The noise is louder here. Tick. I put the kettle on. This kettle is 20 years old and makes a lot of noise. The tick-tick is drowned.

'I'm not driving you there if you're going to stay only one hour. What;s the point?'

Miss Organiser has just made a sudden apparition in the kitchen and thinks it wise to make a comment.

'Mum, what's wrong with that?'

Baby looks puzzled. The to-tell-or-not-to-tell-Mother look. And where is her father when I need him?

'Mum!' Baby looks at me with a very grown-up expression on her face. Her tone is gentle and tolerant and her voice low and soft.

'Mum. 9 in the morning. The following morning. Sunday morning. ...'

Then she is starring at me to see what the reaction will be. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

'Mum?'

Miss Organiser burst out laughing. I just make an other kind of noise and Baby thinks that means everything is cool. She'll get to stay till 9 AM the following morning.

Tick. Tick. Tick.