This time six weeks ago my head was full of plans – the summer holidays presented me with an excellent opportunity to tick a few things off the ever-growing to-do list. In my head, as well as getting on with jobs, I would also be travelling up and down the country visiting all the friends and family I don’t get to see during term time. The promise of six productive weeks stretched before me, and I made a mental list of all the things I wanted to achieve.
- To sort out my wardrobe so that clothes and shoes could actually be found.
- To take a look inside at least one of the plastic storage boxes littered around the house.
- To reduce the pile of papers on the table which used to be known as a dining table.
- To iron labels in all new school and nursery clothes.
- To make a summer scrapbook with the eldest boy filled with postcards, leaflets and memorabilia from his summer holidays.
- To frame the twins’ nursery photo which has been sitting on the ‘dining table’ for approximately 2 months.
- To sell no-longer-required pieces of furniture and other extraneous items taking up much needed space in the house.
- To empty my work handbag, which contains approximately 6 months worth of payslips, receipts and miscellaneous scraps of paper.
Number of the above things achieved:
A shameful zero. The photo is still unframed, furniture remains unsold, and I still struggle to find anything I actually need in my wardrobe / storage cupboard.
I did, however, just order some new name labels, so maybe that gets me half a point.
Rather than ticking things off our to-do list, we saw friends, went to parks, ate cakes, walked the streets examining cars, visited car showrooms and other vehicle-related attractions, celebrated birthdays, and wherever possible packed our days with activity so that we all ended up flumped in front of the CBeebies Bedtime Hour too tired to do anything remotely productive.
When at home, the eldest boy poured through atlases and car magazines, made lists of must-visit destinations and must-buy cars, played schools and wrote registers.
The twins squabbled, learnt how to sort out their squabbles without adult intervention, wrestled, somersaulted, jumped, slid down the stairs on their tummies, leaped over stair gates, and then all of a sudden learnt how to stay in bed until 6.25am (I’m particularly pleased about this final one).
There were a couple of days I would rather forget, but there were many that I’d love to replay (minus any moments of rage-filled rolling around on the floor by the smallest boys).
So I may have set off for work this morning with my handbag full of payslips and a pair of boy’s pants in my jacket pocket, but I would still deem the summer a success. Most importantly, we stayed sane; and when faced with 3 small boys to entertain over 6 weeks, you have to choose sanity over sorting through paperwork.
There’s always next summer for that.