I never wanted to dread the Summer holidays. Ever.
I’m so conscious of the fact that my children have grown so much already. They are changing by the day and growing more and more independent. And although I love that, I know that I won’t get the time back. Ever. And that one day I will be old and grey and wishing for the these moments again, no matter how bad it seems now, desperate for one last cuddle, one last kiss, one more laugh.
I’m sure at some point I will even yearn for the sound of their arguing, anything just to hear their childish voices ringing through the house again.
But as it stands now, I am on the edge. The edge of fury, the edge of rage. I’m so willing myself to ‘cherish every sodding moment’ but I simply can’t.
The first two weeks were hell. Both children struggling with deep emotional issues, my baby boy sad about leaving nursery and preschool, his upset coming out in rage and anger, rudeness and violence. My darling girl broken hearted at the idea of her beloved teacher not being hers anymore. It was probably two of the hardest weeks I’ve had since they were babies. And that’s saying something! Not to mention the new puppy in the mix.
Then an enormous emotional break in both, the floodgates opened and the truth spilled out. Tears flowed, worries were confided and suddenly there was sunshine again. That was the day before our holiday and so two glorious weeks ensued where I had my darling loving son back. The anger he had turned on me dissipating in one day, full of love and cuddles and smiles again. Two parents to play with, fun Daddy and Mummy replacing working, busy Mummy and Daddy and a swimming pool and pizza and pasta and gelato. Life was good again.
And now? Well, now Daddy is back at work. A Mummy frantically trying to catch up on all the work that piled up in her absence takes the fun parents’ place. I can feel the weight of my email box hovering at my shoulder. Guilt at being unable to answer all the pending people quickly enough.
I’m trying so hard to make it fun, mornings are for park trips and adventures, afternoons for some quiet time and maybe a film, but it’s not enough. They are bored. I am boring. It doesn’t help that the day starts at 6am when the alarm goes for work. Us girls could sleep on happily but my boy is up and at em. No matter how late bed the night before was or how exhausted he really is.
By 11, he is lost to tiredness. Like taking out a small, belligerent drunk, he trips and falls, shows off and annoys his sister…..who isn’t much better herself! And I shout. Where are your shoes? Don’t know. Why don’t you know? How don’t you know where the shoes you were wearing ten minutes ago are?! Shrugs all round. Doesn’t know, doesn’t seem to care.
It feels like a never ending cycle, try and go out, shout, finally get out, small drunk people ruin it, shout more, come home.
I didn’t ever want to feel like this. I wanted to love the time we had together. I wanted to plan fun activities and all be happy and smiley like the family on the tv ads.
Instead I’ve steadily added to their vocabulary with a host of new words that are most certainly not suitable for school and almost lost my voice from shouting. Maybe that’s just life. I mean there has to be a reason for all the memes and jokes and desperate statuses of mothers clamoring for September.
I can’t go back to the tranquility of the holiday, but in an attempt to channel the peace in the photo above, I shall just breathe deeply. And plan something else for tomorrow, hoping it’s better then today, attempt to squash my frustrations at lost shoes and silly behaviour.
Oh, and see if there is still space at Summer camp maybe! 😉 Hopefully I will forget this, a little like childbirth, I don’t want to dread the Summer holidays every year!