I wake E1 up, and send her downstairs to use the bathroom. Then I wake E2 up, and direct her to the bathroom upstairs. E1 comes racing up the stairs a while later, just as E2 emerges with the cream in her hand saying ‘I’m going to check under my pillow for my money’.
Eek! Alarm bells go off in my head as I realise I had forgotten to do the tooth fairy thing overnight. ‘Go into my room and cream your body’ I say. ‘But mama, I want to check for my money’ she responds in a high-pitched voice. ‘You’ll check’ I agree, ‘but only after you’re creamed. Oya go to my room’.
E3 is awake in my room, and I know they will bicker. I try to keep them apart in the morning as much as possible, but this is an emergency.
E1 is grinning at me knowingly. ‘Go downstairs and check that all your books are in the piano bag’ I order. ‘I’ve already checked!’ she wails. ‘Go and check again’ I insist. She runs downstairs, and I dash into the girls’ room, quickly swapping the tooth for a pound coin. I can hear the girls bickering already.
I go into my room to find out why. ‘I want to be a vet’ E3 is insisting. ‘I want to be a vet too’ E2 yells. ‘You can both be vets’ I say soothingly. ‘But I said it first’ yells E3. I try to explain that there is enough space in the vet world for both of them but they look unconvinced. Only yesterday, E3 was telling me she was an ‘engi-eer’, but today, she has animals on her mind.
E2 is through with the cream so I tell her to finish dressing up in her own room. She scowls and drags her feet as she departs, but then remembers the money and takes off at a run. I soon hear her yelling in delight, and my heart melts.
I have to give my wardrobe an overhaul. I have lived in jeans, shirts and jumpers for so so long, but I need to stock up on smart office-type clothes. ‘What if I have an interview tomorrow?’ I think to myself. ‘Ah, Next. They do next day deliveries ke.’ Problem solved.
The two older girls are downstairs for their breakfast. E3 is having her favourite pain au chocolate commonly referred to in our household as chocolate bun, so she makes her way downstairs slowly, the last to get dressed.
E2 wants honey on her toast. E1 is making her toast for her. E2 shrieks ‘that’s not honey, it’s shea butter!’ I yell from upstairs ‘have you ever seen white honey? Please don’t put shea butter on her bread o, the honey is not in the fridge.’
I whipped up some shea body butter yesterday. I filled up a tub but had some left over so I stuck that in an empty jar of honey and put it in the fridge. As you do. The mix has raw shea butter, coconut oil, glycerin, vitamin E oil, and water. I fragranced it with strawberry oil. I also poured in a little bit of White Musk perfume oil from the Body Shop. It smells gorgeous, but is definitely not edible. I make a mental note to stick a label on the jar.
Talking about shea butter. I mostly get mine off Ebay, from Ghanaian suppliers. The shea butter I’ve gotten from Nigeria in the past has been bitty and gritty as if not a lot of care has been taken during the production process. Ghanaian shea butter is smooth, and doesn’t seem to have as pungent a smell as that of the other. I do not use Nigerian shea butter anymore. Enough said.
I am not bothering with a wig today. I haven’t worn one all week. Instead, my head has been wrapped with a black wrap, Deeper Life style. My eyebrows desperately need the attention of a threader, my face is devoid of make-up and I am in too much of a hurry for earrings. I misplaced my wedding rings earlier in the week and still haven’t found them, so my fingers are bare too. I could pass for a church member, except my jeans and boots won’t get me past the doors of that particular congregation. And I snap back into the here and now and herd them into the car.
It’s just another school day.
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