Thursday, 3 July 2014

What's A Day Off?

I work four days a week.  I mean I travel to a place of employment that pays me to write my blog work.  They don't pay me for the day I don't go there and I don't write my blog do any work for them on that day.  I sacrificed 20% of my wages for this privilege.  Lots of my colleagues are envious of my day off and no doubt I would be if I were in their position and not knowing what I know of "days off" when you are a parent.

I get a half an hour lie-in until 7am.  I race around the house making breakfasts for myself, children and the dog. I also make rounds of sandwiches and hunt down packed lunch boxes. I mainly act as a referee between the nine year old and four year old.  The elder is a morning person and generally a bit slow to get going but happy enough.  Don't even think of looking at the four year old.  He touches her chair on purpose to get a reaction, she whinges, I shout. This merry go round continues into the car and the trip to school.

It was four year olds sports day.  For my overly competitive child this is the equivalent of the Olympics (in a Disney Princess dress).  My Mother In Law and her friend who also happens to have a child at the same nursery pitch up with camping chairs and packets of biscuits ready to cheer on their little darlings.

I am dragged from the sack race (she won) to the egg potato & spoon race (she won) to the teddy assault course (she won twice). No nice sit down for me.  I'm also encouraged to take part in the Mummy's Race. I didn't win.

An afternoon of more sandwiches, putting Topsy & Tim episodes on TV that have been Sky +, trying to find last years paddling pool, going out to buy a new paddling pool (£10 Asda) collecting nine year old from school and blowing up new paddling pool have worn me out.

Somehow I end up with my two, and various neighbours other children arriving. It's like the local lido with not an adult in sight. The water guns come out, someone is spraying the hose everywhere. Four year old is crying,  the dog and I hide in the house.  

Eventually a group of shivering children are dispatched back to their own houses. Nine year old jumps straight on his X-Box, four year old gets dressed and continues to shiver as I start cooking dinner.

The bed time routine starts, my children's stalling tactics are great.  The four year old needs to read to me, I need to read to her, we have a sing-along, she's too hot, too cold, needs the night light, it's too bright, her bum is itchy and needs cream..... The nine year old  is suddenly ravenous, or didn't realise I meant "now" when I asked him to turn off the TV.

After another trip out to get four year old a proper swimming costume, it's nine pm, I'm home. I can finally sit down with a cup of tea and catch up on the stuff I recorded at Christmas.

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