Today I looked at the calendar & realized that my kids finish school NEXT WEEK… not the following as I thought.
A week may not seem a big difference unless you are a full time, stay-at-home mum.
As I am.
A week is one step closer to insanity. One less barrier between the me I have been through most of the school year & her (aka my scary Mum self – the one I try to pretend doesn’t exist whenever we’re in public).
This morning though I admit – as we rushed out the door on the morning school run, I did think how nice it’ll be to be home at this time; to be still in pajamas, or even still snuggling in bed… to take a leisurely walk to the cafe for coffee, whip out the bikes for an early morning ride….
And then the kids arrived home this afternoon & I VERY quickly recanted those thoughts (it’s a bit like when you have your first baby – you have visions of this darling little bundle, all swaddled tight into your arms, looking up at you with those big innocent eyes & connecting your souls…. only to find your left shoulder permanently covered in vomit & the screams of hunger tearing the house down at 10pm, midnight, 2am, 5am & 7am to be chipping away at any sense of cognitive thought abilities you once thought you possessed).
But moving on…. So, the kids came home from school today & I had great intentions of making our teacher thank you cards for the year. Suddenly realizing we have only 10 days to get these puppies done (don’t forget we work at kids pace… it’s slow… & messy) I thought we should get a kick start… so out comes the glue gun, fabric, pretty card, glitter etc etc.
Within minutes, all 25 glue gun sticks are rolling on the floor (our house is on a slight lean believe it or not, so drop anything & it slowly rolls from one end of a room down to the other); pieces of gorilla cereal & strawberries have been mooshed into floor around said glue sticks; the glue gun is being toted about as a real gun, cord swinging dangerously close to eye level & 2.5 packs of glitter are gently descending upon the table, bench seat & floor…not to mention, children & myself.
Outside, I note, the ball bucket has been unceremoniously dumped; balls are EVERYWHERE & numerous. However the game or intention was dropped as soon as the bucket was.
I walked past their bedroom on my way to escape to this very post & noticed the pool bag also upside down (this seems to be a theme) with kick boards, towels, swim kit, flippers & all other paraphernalia associated with swimming, dribbling it’s way from bag to doorway.
We are & never were going swimming this afternoon I might add.
One (child that is) is now swinging in the hammock – on a scooter. Yes, this can only go badly.
The other just shouted from a tree to get him down as “I’m too little to jump” (at least he has some sense of self preservation).
Ethan has actually been home since 12pm thanks to an ENT appointment & I’ve heard nothing but whinging about food, being tired, being bored, wanting a playdate, not wanting that fruit, that yoghurt, that sandwich… “but can I have a cookie? I’m starving….”
His voice has become like a vortex – it sucks me down into the depths of despair as the same conversation & same tantrum of disappointment play out over & over & over again – intermittent only based on odd distractions (or threats).
It’s taken approximately 15 minutes since arriving home with Mylo from preschool for carnage to descend. It took me approximately 7.4 minutes to raise my voice in frustration & about 12.3 minutes to feel my anxiety rising as I assess the damage.
My OCD tendencies quickly kick in & I embrace with dismay the understanding that my quiet sanctuary has been destroyed almost at the rate of a drone strike.
Why on earth did I relish any fond anticipation toward summer vacation?
It’s only 15 minutes post pick up & I’m already counting the hours until drop off.
* One note to add in happy ending…. as I finished this post I noticed an odd sense of quiet had descended upon the house. Panicking that they’d left for the streets I whipped out only to find both boys & their “bestie” from next door, quietly creating lego ships on Ethan’s bed.
Perhaps there is hope for the summer yet.
an urban gypsy 