We weren’t in the best place starting half-term. I was exhausted from our Year 6 residential, and there was a lot of unrest at work with a large dollop of change to come in the near future. Daddy and I haven’t seen each other much lately, owing to him doing extra hours to keep us afloat and our opposite shifts. I work by day, he works by night. I’m an early bird, he’s a night owl. It’s not the most compatible marriage, especially when we’re both tired. The boys were tired because they’re always tired. Partly because Oscar and Joseph now share a room and neither lets the other sleep, and Harry’s always tired because he reads until 10pm every night. They’re also exhausted from their busy extra curricular timetable of swimming, Cubs, Beavers, Squirrels, Tumble Tots, and curling. Yes, curling, you did read that right. The Scottish one with the broom and the ice, not the hair type. Full credit to their primary school for even entertaining the idea of holding such an obscure after-school club for judgemental, hormonal Year 5s and 6s. Then there have been the numerous school trips to the local secondary school for Harry – to see how they learn Geography, Art, Kung-Fu etc. etc. – all of which he’s loved and is now desperate to go to the school we were trying to avoid! I’m sure it’s a great school if you’re not Harry, but I’m 99% sure it’s not right for him. Of course we’ll look around it, in addition to the other four we’re considering, but it’s going to be hard to convince me, even though all his friends are going there.
Meanwhile, Oscar has been busy charming the girls in Year 3 and trying to stay out of trouble. He’s still a little angel at school and a suffocating devil at home. Bribery and blackmail work for a short time, but it’s never sustainable as most parents will know. Joseph has learnt a song about a turtle at preschool and made some nice little friends who he will start big school with in September. This is turning into one of those round robins my Mum does at Christmas. Why are they even called that? Did they used to be delivered by a robin flying in a circle every Christmas Eve, or am I missing something crucial here?
We’re currently at Piglets having remortgaged the house to afford four memberships for the umpteenth time. We keep coming back because it’s easy for me to take them on my own while Matthew’s at work, and they still love it after all these years. That doesn’t stop the falls and the bangs and the arguments and the constant demand for ice creams and the shop though. It’s also freezing sitting in a barn or a field for half a day, but comparatively easy as parenting goes, so I’ll take it while I can. I might, however, start a petition for them to stop using builders’ sand in their sandpits, because I’ve lost count of the number of joggers it’s wrecked through hallucinogenic, orange staining.
The woman sitting in front of me has the same black Adidas leggings as me, but she’s put them on backwards. This has made me incredibly happy. Not because I’m guilty of any Schadenfreude, but because it’s reminded me that we’re all in this together. That we all mess up and yet it doesn’t matter. We’re forgiven and we move on, it’s no big deal. No, I didn’t tell her. I imagine she’s been told quite a lot already today and she probably just doesn’t care anymore. Either that or it was a dare from her preteen and she’s rocking it.
Other than shivering in a cold barn, queuing for coffee and half wishing my three children had GPS trackers on and half not caring, we’ve spent time with their grandparents, mostly in toy shops, thrashed our own kids at bowling, and been to Church a lot. I’ve managed to escape for a few runs. I think that’s about it. We watched the first Harry Potter film last night for the eleventy billionth time – the usual thing happened where Oscar pretended not to be scared yet followed me for a wee and to the kitchen to pour a very large glass of much-needed antioxidants. Joseph chatted and whined through most of it, distracting everyone and taking away from that misconceived dream of actually enjoying a film together as a family. The one where everyone wears matching PJs and cosy socks, munches on warm popcorn and nobody fights. As I say, a common misconception, at least in a house with more than one child.
After having emerged from the play barn in a somewhat hypothermic yet frazzled state, and raced to catch the tractor back, hope was restored as I met a good friend by chance, who was also going through the ‘let’s get the kids out of the house in half-term’ motions. We instantly reassured each other that life is a bit crap sometimes, quite a lot actually, but nobody else has all the answers either and that’s ok. We’re all doing ok and that’s good enough. At least I thought it was, until Joseph said to me in the car on the way back from Squirrels tonight, very matter-of-factly, ‘Mummy, I might be dead before I’m five, because it’s a long way off yet.’ Gulp. ‘Let’s hope not darling, let’s hope not.’
Mummy's boys 