Single Handed
I was going to write a rather dull post titled “Nothing to Report”, and drone on endlessly about the mundanity (is that a real word?) of my life at the moment, but then inspiration struck while writing the opening paragraph.
My other half went away to the “Isle of Wight Music Festival” last weekend with girl friends, leaving me home alone with the kids from Thursday evening, through until Monday. Normally we muddle through weekends togethercatching situations as the crop upbut being alone kind of forced me to become somewhat organised for a change.
Each part of the weekend became a small victory to tick off a mental list; Feed the eldest daughter something substantial for breakfast (she's coeliac) to avoid a melt-down, and then send her on her way with her pony tail looking just-so to avoid another melt-down. Get the younger children fed, and out the door on time with hair brushed, teeth brushed, and the requisite bags of games kit / judo kit / lunch about their person, then accompany them to the school gate. Cycle to work while avoiding trophy wives driving children named Rupert and Tabatha to school in Challenger Tank sized chrome SUVs, and spend the day fighting fires that I can't talk about. Leave work early to greet little people from school, buy ice creams (to avoid meltdowns), trudge home, wash up, tidy up, put the washing machine on, pick stuff up all over the house, put stuff away all over the house, and generally march round like a hassled lunatic for a couple of hours before collapsing into bed. Turf the children out of the house on Saturday morning while I drag the paddling pool out into the gardenwhich causes the sun to go in remarkably successfully. Cut the impressively jungle sized hedge at the front of the house, which unfortunately brings an end to our 1960s Batman re-enactment whenever we leave in the car. Order Dominos Pizza via the internet for dinner, which not only makes me realise I might never have to speak to a human being ever again, but also makes me grin like a lunatic as the girls watch the online order tracker like it's Christmas Eve (we rarely order food for delivery). Get up bright an early on Sunday morning to take the kids to the funfair, and to watch various friends competing in Dragon Boat races on the river. Somehow attempt to leave the house looking normal enough that we won't scare anybody we meet along the way. Cheer for friends in boats like lunatics, and unwittingly get our photograph taken for the local newspaper. Go on more funfair rides than you can point a many pointed stick at, and feel very ill indeed. Also give eldest daughter money to try and win a goldfish, not for one moment predicting that she will return with TWO goldfish. Make mental note never to play her at darts. Get the girls home, in the bath, school clothes washed, ironed, and bags prepared for the morning (more or less a repeat of Friday, but with the creeping dread of Monday's arrival). Up early on Monday, make breakfasts, lunches, comb hair, straighten ties, find school shoes, and miraculously leave the house on time to deliver little people to school gates on time before another needle-threading encounter with the trophy mum tank regiment.
I guess the long and short of it is that we survived the weekend rather handily. It all seemed very easy in the end, and I think I know why; because my other half was absent. Because I am rarely home before dinner in the week, and because I then end up stuck in the kitchen clearing up until they have gone to bed each night, I rarely get involved in craft projects, or other activities that result in glue, glitter, paper, scissors, crayons, felt tips, paint, and whatever else being thrown all over the house like a Willy Wonka atomic bomb went off. It turns out that if you don't instigate that stuff, you don't have to clear it upwho knew!?When I returned home from work on Monday evening, I half smiled. My other half was home, and cooking. Cooking pots were everywhere, food was everywhere, bags were dropped all over the kitchen floor, shoes were thrown all over the place, and basically everything I had spent the entire weekend “putting right” had been undone in the space of an hour.
She's on about going to the music festival again next yearyou never know, that might mean the house will approach being tidy again for 24 hours