Monthly Archives: July 2014

The summer holidays

Well here we are again, the long summer holiday is upon us. I mean by this the one where our beloved offspring are not at school for a very…..very…..long time.

Am I the only one who looks forward to it like a crazy person – dreaming of sleeping in, no school runs, no school uniform battles, blissful sunny days with children playing happily whilst I sunbathe Pimms in hand – only to find out that it is never ever how I imagine it.

I think I must have some kind of strange selective amnesia in that I seem completely incapable of remembering that I want the little darlings to go back to school after 2 weeks. Okay, that’s an exaggeration – a week.

I can’t cope with the mess, the fighting, cleaning up poo and sick, strange unidentifiable sticky substances, even more washing than seems remotely normal, bizarre food requests, vandalism, tantrums, wanting more more more of whatever the fuck it is that they can’t now live without….and so on. It is like being a prison guard only I don’t get to go home because THIS IS MY HOME!! And they NEVER stop talking. Ever.

We are going camping in a few weeks with our best friends for 4 days and that will be the sum total of our holidays together as a family this year because we have had to have house things done. On a plus we can open our windows now and see out of them but oh my godfathers I don’t know how I will survive around the rest of it!! I know some people don’t get a holiday ever and I am an ungrateful bitch but seriously, this ungrateful bitch will have a major drink problem and need a very effective anger management course when school starts back in September.

I’m really not a natural mother am I? More like a psycho Mum on the edge trying to cling onto the last vestiges of sanity hoping for a epiphany that will make everything all kinds of wonderful. I want to be one of those Mums who comes up with fantastic adventure filled days, exploring and wild and perfect in every way.

Instead it is more likely that I will be found sobbing in the utility room folding washing hoping that Mary Poppins will open the door and present me with a margarita and tell me that it’s okay, she’s here to stay and has everything under control.

Anyone fancy starting a commune?

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