Our daughter, four, had come down with a cold. And because it was raining (don't worry, Cool Mum does walks in the rain) and the sky still quite dark, she slept in. I had to wake her from the deepest sleep ever on the only day she doesn't have daycare - her only chance to sleep in - oh, the guilt.
But I was determined to make the 8am appointment.
First, there was a wrestling match to get my son in to his car seat: "Tight, tight, duck, duck [stuck]," he screamed, trying to bite and head bash me.
But his outburst was no trouble for Cool Mum who was caffeinated earlier than usual and dodged the violence like the experienced pro she is.
By the time we dropped the car off it was 8.02am. I am very rarely late.
Because of the rain and my son's new "game" where he runs from me out on to busy roads, I diverted to a nearby café with a kids' play room. And things were okay until my daughter screamed the place down.
What looked like an older toddler tantrum as she thrashed and howled on the floor was actually quite a hard fall off a rocking horse. She had landed on its metal stirrup - smack bang on her butt hole. I have never landed on a rocking horse's metal stirrup with my butt hole but it appeared to be reasonably painful.
Ever the opportunist, my son thought it would be hilarious to run away while I tried to comfort his sister.
I felt the eyes of the customers follow me as chased him down the stairs and out onto the street. I caught him on the footpath, laughing like a maniac, wearing large sunglasses and dragging a plastic dog on a lead, both stolen from the cafe's toy room.
Then, I smelled something. Of course: a dirty nappy, exactly what the situation was missing.
We collected the car soon after and came home, where I had kids' drumsticks - yes, my husband bought them drums - thrown at me because I wouldn't let our son use a sharp knife to cut the avocado he had stolen from the pantry.
It was 10am. Cool Mum was done.
