Working mum of three

Figuring it out as we go along. Blogging is cheaper than therapy.

More fun than a stag weekend in Magaluf…

  I had the kids all by myself last weekend. Three kids. All by myself. I know, I know, I am a hero. 

I’ll be honest, I was dreading it, not because of the kids, but me. Lately I’ve been aware of myself; shouting, outraged, overwhelmed, grumpy. But something happened this weekend, it just fell into place. 
Baby was unwell on Friday, our first night sans Richie. The boys had been swimming. It was the end of a busy week. I stood, wrestling the shit-smeared baby, shouting at 4 and 6yo who were somewhere between hyper and exhaustion. ‘Get your pyjamas on, I’ve asked you five times’ I screamed. It was as if this kids realised before me that this weekend could go one of two ways: a screaming, exhausted battle or a fun, cheeky, treat filled adventure. 6yo and 4yo shot off, conspiring to stay one step ahead of me, ‘ask us what job we should be doing next, because we’ve already done it’ they beamed. 
The night before, I had burst into their room and torn a strip off 6yo for not being in his bed straight. Yes, as in straight. I shouted at him for being diagonal. In his bed, with his pyjamas on and his teeth brushed. This is how well he has learned to handle me already, cool as a cucumber: ‘why are you talking to me like that?’. And there was me, floored and apologising to a kid and his calm headed rational thought.  
It was a brilliant weekend, the weather was friendly, we bumped into friends wherever we went (kids playing and me milking Rich’s absence), we looked after each other. The older boys stepped up and the baby grew up. We’re a little team now. We laughed more than I have in ages. They earned their treats. We put baby to bed and stayed up late to watched Ninja Warrior UK (#guiltypleasure). We had ice cream and leftover Easter egg. We read extra stories at bedtime. We tickle-cuddled until they begged for mercy. 
Yes ok, so our lovely friends ended up looking after the older boys while I rocked the baby to sleep at a neighbours’ wake in the court yard (thanks Jen, Gair and Sarah). Yeah, so my dad came for a bike ride and dutifully minded all three in the playground while I ordered lunch and luxuriated with my latte. And yeah, that was all part of it being so nice. 


Then this weekend, we were treated to a full 26 hours off duty, thanks to Rich’s folks who managed the kids while we galavanted off to a wedding (thanks June and Alan). A whole day (and night) of adult conversation, wine and freedom. We stayed in a dated caravan, while the wind and rain pelted down, and we couldn’t have been happier. It feels like we’ve had a week off. 


So here it is, that lull, that dangerous feeling of ‘it’s not that bad’ and ‘maybe we could manage another’. Luckily for Rich, this time my body is not flooding itself with hormones, my uterus isn’t skipping a beat. My brain is fully engaged. I’m content with our little team. I must be getting old. Or wise. Whatever it is, it’s lovely. 
Advertisements
1 Comment »