Husband has two domestic duties; one is to
mow the lawn, the other is to put the bins out.
Both of these activities need to happen once a week if we are to avoid
any kind of strife/messiness/dubious pongs.
My chores, on the other hand, are numerous and varied and have no set
timescale. They just seem to be ongoing
and ever-changing. I won’t bore you with
a list as I’m sure that you are very familiar with the minutiae of every day
life involving kids, pets, a job, a hobby, other people’s hobbies, eating food,
providing food/clean clothes/transportation/first aid – oh look, I’ve bored you
with a list. Sorry about that.
It struck me as I was heading into work the
other day, paid work that is, not the kind of niff-naff and trivia that takes
up most of my time (see above), just how much my brain has evolved into a
running ticker-tape of ‘things to remember and do’. As is customary on work mornings, I had got up
45 minutes earlier than everyone else to ensure that I could at least perform
my basic ablutions and partially dress without external interference eg;
Daughter, coolly appraising my outfit “mummy
I haven’t seen THAT dress before” accusatory tone “is it new?” Me: “what
this? No darling, I’ve had it for ages…”
Oh crap, one more person to lie to… I
had fed the cats and kids and then reminded Son and Daughter that it was
non-uniform day and made sure they were dressed appropriately.
I had also remembered that one child needed
an envelope containing £2, a ‘fine’ for the non-uniform, and the other a bottle
of wine for the school fair tombola.
This, the culmination of a week
that had involved two separate sports days (coloured t-shirts and PE kit
required – different for each child – natch), a school trip (packed lunch, sun
cream, sun hat), an assembly (another coloured t-shirt), and a guitar lesson
(guitar!). The one high point came at
7.30am when my marvelous childminder appeared and because their children attend
the same school, I was able to quickly check the finer details before handing over
the reins.
As I approached the BBC, dodging those annoying,
early-riser tourists meandering about in Oxford St, my work-related thoughts
(Mandela, royal baby) were interrupted by my stomach which loudly reminded me
that I had not given it anything to eat yet.
When was it exactly that I began to refer to parts of my body as
separate entities rather than a whole being? Probably when I became a mother
because let’s face it, your body is not really your own after that; “bad cervix, only dilating 3cm after 36 hours
of labour – how could you!”.
Nipping into Starbucks (boo hiss, tax
avoiders etc – but any port in a storm) I remembered that I hadn’t managed to get
to my Taekwon-do class the night before so therefore hadn’t burned my full
quota of calories that week. #Fail. As I reach for my purse my hand lightly brushes
my newly-acquired mini pot-belly. Damn. There
is nothing remotely healthy at breakfast time in a coffee shop – fact. Reader, I got an almond croissant anyway
because by then I was feeling all rebellious and as if I’d already done a day’s
work.
The journalist and author Daisy Waugh has a
new book out called ‘I don’t know why she bothers’, apparently a guide to
guilt-free motherhood for modern women. Daisy I try, I really, really try! I
would love to be all laid-back but keep on being overtaken by events, dear boy,
events. I don’t want to be a worry-wort,
all creased forehead and endless lists.
I couldn’t be a ‘pushy parent’ if I tried – time and motivation severely
lacking there I’m afraid, so it’s not like I’m trying too hard. I actively discourage my kids from attending
after-school clubs as I can’t be bothered going back and forth every night of
the week picking them up. Homework gets
done quickly, just the basics, no more, no less. And if I could exist in a bubble then all
that would be lovely. But I can’t, and
because I can’t, I’m party to conversations that go like this: “yes we do about 15 minutes of maths every
night, B can’t afford to fall behind…” (B is just six by the way), or “sorry we can’t do Wednesdays as S does
ballet, swimming and violin, all back to back). I’m tired just listening to
this.
So as we approach the end of term (hurrah),
my resolve for September is as follows: keep on making lists – inevitable
unfortunately given just how hectic life is, keep getting up super-early on
work mornings just so I feel vaguely in control of the day ahead, and remember to
smile at my kids just a little more often.
Because as much as death and taxes are the only certainties, I’m pretty
sure I’m not going to look back on my life and wish I’d spent more time
remembering tombola prizes.
And finally, I’m not going to sweat the
small stuff – mini pot-belly going on?
That’s what spanx were invented for. Fact.
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