The Unseen Olympics: A Mum’s Daily Battle With Sanity
No one sees it. No medals. No applause. Just a lot of cold coffee and the distinct feeling you might actually be losing your mind.
Mums? We don’t just survive. We compete. And nobody even knows it’s happening.
This? This is the Unseen Olympics.
Event #1: The Early Morning Dash (aka My Daily Humiliation)
There’s no way to prepare for the sheer carnage of the morning shift.
It starts the same way. Every time. A whisper. Too close. Right in my ear.
“Mommy, I’m hungry.”
I open one eye. Jack? No, Max. 5:30 a.m.
No. Just—no.
He doesn’t care. None of them care. My refusal to acknowledge the morning means nothing. Within five minutes, the whole house is awake.
Kitchen. Chaos. Cereal on the floor. Where is the milk? WHO LEFT THE MILK OUT?
And then—of course—Jack remembers.
“Mom! I need my rock collection for school!”
His what? Since when?
Now I’m half-asleep, crawling under the couch, looking for a collection of rocks that I’m 100% sure he just picked up from the driveway.
The clock says 8:00 a.m. I have already aged five years.
Event #2: The Toy Pickup Sprint (A Game I Always Lose)
Ever walked barefoot on a Lego?
I have. Many times.
It’s the fastest way to see your life flash before your eyes.
I attempt to clean before a friend comes over for coffee. But Max? He’s working against me.
I pick up a toy. He throws another.
I wipe a table. He smears peanut butter on it.
I stack books. He knocks them over.
By the time my friend arrives, the place looks exactly the same as before.
“Sorry about the mess,” I say, as I kick a truck under the couch.
She nods in understanding. She knows.
Event #3: The Grocery Gauntlet (Send Help)
This is a timed event.
I have exactly 45 minutes before all hell breaks loose.
List in hand. Toddler in cart. The mission: stick to the list.
Everything is going fine. Too fine.
Then—aisle three—the cookie incident.
Max sees them. Bright blue box. Cartoon bear. Sugar. He knows.
“Want cookies.”
“No, bud.”
“COOKIES.”
I brace. Deep breath. “Not today.”
Then? The betrayal. He throws himself backward, full toddler collapse. The screaming starts.
People stare.
I grab a banana. Hand it over like a peace offering. Silence. Temporary truce.
By checkout, I’ve forgotten half my list and somehow added three unnecessary items.
But we made it out alive.
Event #4: The Bedtime Negotiation Marathon (They Are Smarter Than Me)
It’s 8 p.m. I can see the finish line. Just one more push.
Pyjamas on. Teeth brushed. Lights out. Easy, right?
Except—
Lily suddenly remembers a school project that is due tomorrow.
Jack wants to discuss the existence of aliens.
Max is now scared of his own shadow.
I try everything. Stories. Songs. Bribes. Threats.
Finally, they’re all in bed. I tiptoe out like a trained assassin.
Sweet. Sweet. Silence.
Until I hear it.
Tiny. Footsteps.
Round two begins.
Event #5: The Laundry Relay (A Battle I Will Never Win)
Laundry.
It’s everywhere.
No matter how much I wash, dry, fold, repeat—it multiplies. Like some kind of evil laundry curse.
And the socks.
WHERE. DO. THEY. GO?
I match 15 socks, but somehow, six have no partner.
I swear—somewhere in this house, there is a sock graveyard.
Event #6: The Midnight Marathon (I Am So Tired)
The final event. The one you never see coming.
I’m just drifting off. Finally. Then—
“Mommy, I had a bad dream.”
Jack.
Tiny, half-asleep, clutching his stuffed dinosaur like it’s the only thing keeping him safe from the monsters.
I shuffle to his room. Rub his back. Whisper, “You’re safe, bud.”
Eventually, he drifts off. I crawl back into bed.
1 a.m.
Tomorrow, we do it all over again.
Final Thoughts (There Are No Medals, Only Cold Coffee)
The Unseen Olympics isn’t glamorous. There’s no podium, no finish line.
But the reward?
Tiny hands reaching for yours. Sticky kisses. Giggles that fill the house.
And every so often—five whole minutes to yourself.
That’s motherhood.