Every Saturday morning, it's "every man (or woman, or boy and girl) for themself". It's total chaos at my house.
Such is the norm in my family. I have 15 brothers and sisters (11 brothers, 4 sisters) to fight with. Since I'm stuck right in the middle, I (or any of the younger kids) usually get stuck with the leftovers.
Here is a typical Saturday morning scene.
At six o'clock, the alarm sounds. Mama jumps out of bed and hits her head on the headboard when sitting up. Cursing loudly, she rubs her head, then gropes for her slippers and robe. Mama then gets her husband (our Dad) up, so he can go to work. Husband rolls over and goes back to sleep. (Dad is hard to wake up.) Mom smacks him hard on the butt; Dad promptly yells and gets up, glaring daggers at his wife.
Dad goes to the shower, so he can get ready for work; he then starts singing out of tune; this morning, he's wailing "Dream Lover". It all sounds terrible. At the noise, my baby brother (he's 11 months old) starts wailing lustily; Mama sighs and rolls her eyes as she tends to the baby, trying to quiet him down, so he doesn't wake up the other kids.
It doesn't work. Five to six bodies tumble out of bed, where they immediately go into the livingroom, to turn on the Boomarang! cartoon channel on tv. They begin to fight over the remote. Mama barges in the livingroom and threatens to bonk heads if they don't stop arguing. Peace soon reigns, but only for about five minutes.
I get up and get dressed and do my teeth in the spare bathroom across the main one where Dad continues to shower and sing horribly. I then go into the livingroom and tell the younger kids to stop fighting and to learn to share or get along.
While we kids watch TV, Mama tends to Orson (the baby) and Gemma (our youngest sister; she's five and has CP and other special needs). She changes their diapers, dresses both of them, and gets their breakfast ready (seem Gemma and Orson always eat first; they have to, or else they wouldn't get anything to eat). While Gemma eats her special breakfast (IV bag full of special nutrient suppliment; Gemma cannot eat by mouth), she feeds Orson his bottle and then burps him. Baby brother lets out a huge man-size burp, which cracks all of us up.
Once Gemma and Orson are settled in the livingroom, Mama pops toast and fires up the stove top, where she begins making scrambled eggs. She tells Cindy (oldest sister; she's 17) and younger sister Jobie (11) to set the table for us. We don't want to get up from the TV (there's a good Banana Splits episode on), but we have no other choice. So we grumpily trudge to the kitchen and sit at our places after Mama tells us to wash our hands.
Dad comes out of the bedroom and into the kitchen; he is ready to go to work. He kisses each of us on the top of our heads and tells us to have a good day. Mama then kisses him and gives him a hug and tells him the same as Dad heads out the door. Dad is a doctor; he won't be home until late tonight. Today it's just her and all 16 of us kids to man the house. Since I'm the oldest boy (I'm 13), I'm the "man" of the house until Dad gets home. I take my position very seriously.
I rule with an iron fist (and an equally iron mouth). I am not known for being nice when my younger brothers and sisters drive me crazy. I've also been known to tell my older sisters off, but only until Mama gets after me for that. :)
The only one who doesn't drive me crazy is Gemma. She never talks back and she is one of the most agreeable people I know. She may be disabled, but she ain't stupid. She's a lot smarter than what people give her credit for.
The table is then cleared and we kids fight over whose turn it is to do the dishes. I am jealous of Gemma and Orson because they never get to do anything except lie there and act cute. I once told Mama I wish I were like Gemma; she responded by hitting me over the head with a wooden spoon.
Wrong thing to say. When she was born, Mama took it very hard, especially when the doctor told her that she was special needs. I can understand that, but she still has it easy, as does my baby brother. Sigh!
When the dishes are done, we kids clamor back into the living room to watch our program, but it's over. I am not amused. Now Johnny Quest is on, and I hate that show. UGH! Why can't the Banana Splits come on before breakfast????
So now you know how it is at our house. Pure confusion and mayhem. This is when I wish I were an oly child instead of having to share things with fifteen other kids!!