2 January 2008
I’ve relegated the feel-good factor of bringing up children down somewhere between ironing shirts and taking out the rubbish. I long for the opportunity to go to work, to leave the house, to break for freedom. But know that I would be found and bought back to servitude.
It’s not as if I don’t know that I always find the school holidays hard. The first day is always the hardest. Everyone is in a mess. There is a lot of shouting, bad moods, and kicking (the boys to each other, not me to them – although I’m sure it might be quite cathartic). This holiday was no different. Monday morning came and so did the shouting.
By 9.30 am we were almost ready to get out the house, one last scream to get their shoes on and we were ready to go. I managed to get them in to the car without too much public nuisance, or anyone reporting us to noise control, but once in the car, voices were raised again as seat belts were wrestled.
What is it about cars that makes people think they can’t be seen or heard by others? The number of times I’ve seen people pick their noses whilst sitting at the traffic lights and thought to myself have they not got a clue? Well here I was, doors shut on the car, and 1,2, 3 voice action activated. Our next door neighbour came past and looked bemused. I know she had heard us in the house five minutes previously at gale force 10, and I know she saw us leave the house like a herd of quiet, angelic, Brady bunch look-alikes. It must do wonders for their house price having us live next door!!!
Off to the supermarket. Which mad harpee would take three boys five years and under to the supermarket, and expect to come out unscathed?
For starters our local supermarket only has trollies with one baby seat. Then there is pester power. I managed to make it round with three cheese strings, two apples and a loaf of bread demolished. Having finally got to the paying section, I then had to work out how to get over the main road and back to the car, with no buggy, three children, and six bags of shopping. Well god bless Budgens. It may take an hour to get through the check-out, but the service guy stopped the traffic for us and escorted us back. to the car. I think he felt sorry for me, he later commented he had six of his own (boys that is). I think I have a new found respect for Budgen’s man.
As the holidays continues, I do realise there have been some good moments and things have calmed down – a bit. But it doesn’t stop the feeling that I have a constant play-date going on in the house, with no mummy coming to pick them up and take them away at the end of the day.
The oldest one has gone wild. I think he may be returning to his mixed ancestry of hyena meets gorilla. One has to admire his attempt to research his background; it’s just waiting for some keen documentary maker to reveal the fascinating truth. Without jest though, I really would like to know what turns him so crazy. It’s like something just flicks the switch and he loses it.
Well we’re off to the in-laws in three days time. Surely that’s got to break them….I pray.