So, I love a good slogan. And, after a day in which I’ve skirted disaster at every tightrope turn, I’m thinking of one my sister has in her kitchen that says, “Drink coffee. Do stupid things faster with more energy.” As a self-confessed Earl Grey addict I’ve never drunk a cup of coffee in my life but, different beverage, same shit. Since becoming a mum I seem to do everything at speed. Usually badly, and usually with calamitous consequences.

Take an innocent night out with school mums, for example. I can down a pint of Peroni in the time it takes the laydees to decide between the Chardonnay and the Pinot. And another before we’ve even decided where to sit. In an empty pub (becoming a mother also appears to have gifted me the genius of indecision). All this with the result that I spend most of the evening alternating between trotting to the loo for a pee and telling everyone how much I love them. Also at speed.

Then there’s the arrival of the new season of ‘House of Cards’ on Netflix. Brother, I cantered so quickly through that baby I was channeling Claire Underwood before I even knew it. The husband only had to make one wrong move stacking the dishwasher and I was already three steps ahead, strategically placing knives pointy side up in the hope of a maiming at the very next wrong move.

And don’t even get me started on the morning maelstrom of simultaneous teeth cleaning / bladder emptying / child wrangling (from the throne) before the sprint for the car, followed by the breathless gallop of shame to drop off (late), invariably with my shoelaces undone and breakfast in my hair. It’s nothing short of a miracle that someone isn’t left behind on a daily basis, obscured by the dust kicked up by the heels of last minute homework / third breakfasts / coat-no coat negotiations. Hell, I’ve long accepted my OCD need to prepare school bags, lunch boxes and uniforms the night before (justified, I think you’ll agree) but ffs I’ve now even got to the point of preparing pyjamas and bedtime rituals as we head out of the door at 8.30am (ish) for the damn school run!

I’m rushing my goddam life away in an accelerated need to ‘keep on top of things’. Scarily bringing to mind a character in a Kate Atkinson novel who was so anxious to be a perfect mum, and get things right, that she got up earlier and earlier each day until she was rising at 3am to bake. Bake, ffs! Until she found herself bludgeoning her poor, long-suffering husband to death in a moment of sleep-deprived madness. Ahem. Anyway…

I guess what I’m saying is that I’ve lost the ability to take things slowly (along with a heap of other essential skills, like reflection, patience, tiger wrestling). Unless it’s responding to emails that involve ‘arrangements’ (my god, can those take weeks for me to compute). Or making my way to bed before the wee small hours (which is always interminably delayed by ‘fun’ distractions like emptying the dishwasher or taking the recycling out or grooming the dog). Obvs.

I’m reminded of a book that I bought back in the early days of parenthood, called “In Praise of Slow”. I picked it up because it was all about slow parenting, and taking time to appreciate stuff. What with slo-mo organisation and glacial bedtimes, maybe I’m not doing so badly after all though. And, of course, eight years later and I’m still only on page 3…