Back to school we go

It is back to school today, and the 5 year old twins have been asked to take in something that will remind them of their Christmas holiday.

“I am taking a pompom from New Year”, says Twin 1.

“I am taking a mask from New Year”, says Twin 2.

“But what do I say about my pompom, mummy?” asks Twin 1.

“Well why don’t you get dressed and then we can talk about it?”, mummy suggests.

“But I don’t know what I’m SAYING!!!” says Twin 1 as he rolls around on the floor.

“Just say what the pompom reminds you of, sweetheart. You danced with it at our little new year’s party, and you had your friend to stay – you remember. Now, why don’t you put your pants on?”

“But I can’t REMEMBER that, mummy. I can’t remember ANY of it.”

“I can’t remember how to do my tie up, mummy”, says the eldest boy with tears in his eyes.

“We’ll help you with your tie in just a minute, sweetheart.” says mummy to the eldest boy; before turning to Twin 1 and requesting that for now he concentrates on putting his pants on, and puts the Christmas holiday task out of his head.

Mummy is doing her best to use her most patient new-year-new-voice, voice.

“I’m going to take my finger torch as well” announces Twin 1.

“And I’m taking my finger torch”, says Twin 2.

“That’s not FAIR, he’s COPYING me!”, says Twin 1.

“I’m NOT copying you!” insists Twin 2. “It’s just a really good idea – I like it. It’s not because I’m copying you, I just want to take it.”

“Why are you discussing the Christmas task with them?” booms daddy, who is just about to leave for work. “Why don’t they just get dressed?”

“I am trying to get them to get dressed”, says mummy through gritted teeth and in her slightly less patient new year voice. “I didn’t bring up the Christmas task, they did.”

Mummy returns to the subject of pants with Twin 1, who is on the floor sobbing about pompoms and finger torches. Mummy understands that Twin 1 is feeling anxious about going back to school and that he is expressing this through his outburst about the Christmas task. She would still like him to put his pants on.

Mummy announces that no-one is taking finger torches and adds an imaginary line to the note that came home from school. The imaginary line states that twins must not take in the same item as each other.

Mummy then separates the twin boys in a bid to speed up the getting dressed process.

“But mummy!”, shouts Twin 1. “I can’t remember ANYTHING, mummy! NOTHING is going to remind me of my Christmas holiday!”

“Ok darling. Well just tell your teacher that then. Just say that you’ve forgotten all about your Christmas holiday and nothing will remind you of it” suggests mummy. “Shall we go and have some breakfast?”

“I’m going to take the tiger mask, mummy”, announces Twin 2. “Actually, the elephant. Or what about the lion? I’m putting my tiger mask on now. Do I look like a tiger, mummy?” he asks.

“Yes you do, darling”, says mummy.

“No he DOESN’T!” bellows Twin 1. Because he has BROWN HAIR, and he’s wearing TROUSERS! And he doesn’t have white paws.”

“Did you know that no two tigers are the same?” asks the eldest boy. “Like ladybirds.”

Everyone takes a moment to process this information. Mummy then prepares the breakfast and explains to her children that going back to school or work after a break is sometimes hard and that we all have to be kind to each other to make it easier.

The eldest boy and Twin 1 kick each other under the table and call each other names as mummy is explaining about being kind.

“If I take my tiger mask then I can tell everyone about my tiger onesie, can’t I mummy?” says Twin 2. “I know I can’t take my tiger onesie though”, he adds.

“That’s right, sweetheart”, says mummy.

“Wait a minute!” says Twin 2 urgently.”Or can I take my tiger onesie?”

“No onesies allowed, darling”, says mummy. “Shall we all put our shoes on?”

The children start putting their shoes on after at least 87 requests from mummy. Twin 2 announces that his shoes are too small, and the eldest boy panics about what to do with his playtime trainers – should they be in a bag or not in a bag? Should he take them out of the bag when he gets to school? He doesn’t need the bag as this will just be an extra item on his peg, so how will he get the bag back to mummy?

Mummy and her children leave the house.

“I am just going to say I did dancing with my pompom, mummy.” says Twin 1 as he walks down the path in his bobble hat. “That is all I’m going to say.”

Mummy’s heart breaks a little bit.

back to school

 

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The only sober one at the party (Or…..me, attempting to put exhausted children to bed)

There you are on the bathroom floor, spinning around on your back. Your little break-dancing move. Naked obviously; and shouting ‘Tickets please!‘ This is one of the funniest things In The World. Your brother can hardly contain himself, he is laughing so much. And once you’ve both had enough of that one, you move on to ‘You like CO-CO?’, which apparently is even funnier.

And here I am once again – the only sober person at the party; wondering what everybody else is finding so funny. Desperate to get this job done, because I know how long it all takes when you reach this slightly hysterical level of tiredness.

For the 28th time, I ask you to stand up and perhaps put your pyjamas on, but apparently this is too difficult. You can’t do it, you are too tired……’TOO TIRED’, you say…….‘Tickets please! Haaaahaaaaheeeeheeeee, you are soooooo funny. And I am sooooooooooo funny. Aren’t I, mummy? Weeeeeeeeee! Look at me spinning mummy. You like CO-CO?’

There are a few obvious differences between attempting to get my overtired children into bed and being the only sober person dealing with a drunken band of friends. You boys are smaller. You don’t smell of beer. Your language is clean and innocent.

But……well, there are some striking similarities too.

Standing up on two feet is just not possible, and so asking you to do it is, obviously, totally unreasonable. You can’t do it, you need help. ‘NEEEEEED HELLLLP!’ When I eventually manage to get you upright, you rock around unsteadily on those little feet of yours. You spin, rock, jump, hop, balance on one leg – anything rather than stand still.

Your already limited co-ordination skills have shut down for the day – the straightforward-sounding task of putting your pyjamas on has you totally flummoxed. I mean, you just can’t find them, to start with…..those pyjamas that mummy told you she was putting down right there……right in front of you. ‘I CAN’T FIND MY PYJAMAS! ……But I didn’t KNOW, mummy….You didn’t tell me where they WERE!’ But you’ve found them now which is a relief. Phew. And you get on with putting the trousers on your head and the top on like it’s a skirt. This is almost as funny as ‘You like CO-CO?‘ Obviously you have just about enough energy to run around and show everyone your new look pyjamas….before needing to flop back on the floor again.

You require constant direction, as if I’m having to walk you home. If I take my guiding hands off you for a moment, you are wandering aimlessly with no idea of where you are going or what your current task is. You require constant reminders of what it is you are supposed to be doing – ‘come on, stay with me, let’s stay on task. Remember what we’re doing. We’re brushing our teeth…..BRUSHING OUR TEETH. You don’t need to wander into your brother’s room to BRUSH YOUR TEETH. And you can’t do it while you’re lying on the floor either. Let’s get back into the bathroom and brush our teeth, shall we. Remember we’re trying to stand on TWO feet, we don’t need to do balancing right now.

You talk jibberish and burst into song out of nowhere…… and if a tired mummy who really wants to get you to bed isn’t the best audience you’ve ever had; well no matter, because you know that one or both of your brothers will find it all HILARIOUS. Mummy is so unreasonable at bedtime. Such a fun-spoiler…..I mean, she doesn’t even understand why ‘You like CO-CO?’ is so funny. And she’s always asking you to do unreasonable things like put your pyjamas on or brush your teeth so that you can get into that nice cosy bed. It’s not surprising you get so cross with her, really.

When I say cross, I mean you’re cross with her one minute but giving her a huge spontaneous cuddle the next. Because your mood switches within seconds – from being the fun joker to having a sudden outburst over why you still have your blue toothbrush when you REALLY NEED A NEW ONE! From giving spontaneous cuddles and kisses to suddenly needing to hit and cry and lash out.

The mood swings are sudden and messy and unpredictable; and they remind me just how much you need your beds. Even though you’re doing everything you can to resist.

Later on, when you are all safely tucked up, I pop in and check on you. And then I feel bad for being the fun-spoiler. For always seeming to hurry you along. For constantly asking you to stop this and stop that. I feel guilty that our hour before bed is so fractious and……well, the total opposite of calm and peaceful. But then I look at you fast asleep and realise we’re all ok. You’re in your beds, and that’s where you need to be.

Thankfully, there will be no hangovers for you in the morning. You won’t wake up feeling embarrassed at what happened the night before. You’ll get on happily with your day…..and then you’ll do it all again the next night. With that fun-spoiling mummy, guiding you towards your pyjamas and bed.

‘You like CO-CO?’

Bedtime feet

 

When Big Ben chimes again

Hello 2021. This is summer 2017.

I wanted to write a little note because, according to the news this week, 2021 is when we will next hear Big Ben chime out across London…..apart from very special occasions, that is. And whilst the silencing of Big Ben really isn’t that big a deal in the grand scheme of things, things like this do make me stop and think about time. So as we listened to the (mainly Big Ben related) news a few days ago, and confused little boys struggled to understand why Big Ben was chiming constantly on the radio when it wasn’t supposed to be chiming any more; I kept thinking about what life will look like 4 years from now. In 2021.

In 2021, I will have an 11 year old and two 9 year olds. I find this almost impossible to imagine.

In 2021 we will, apparently, be out of the EU. I find this almost impossible to imagine too.

And in 2021 I will be 41 going on 42…….and probably still talking about what I’d like to be when I’m a proper grown up.

I suspect our lives will be very different the next time we hear Big Ben ring out, so I wanted to try and capture a bit of us now; in the summer of 2017.

We are in what I’m sure I will look back on as a rather blissful, innocent stage free from the pressures that things like mobile phones and gaming can bring. Our house is full of Lego, fancy dress, books, games, cars, trains and dinosaurs; all of which still keep you boys happily occupied. Something tells me this won’t be the case in 2021, and just the thought of navigating the pre-teen landscape makes me anxious.

You are also still, thankfully, at an age at which you enjoy being with your parents …..most of the time at least. And when spending time with your parents isn’t quite exciting enough, thankfully spending time with your grandparents is just about the best thing imaginable.

Summer 2017 has flown by. We holidayed in beautiful Pembrokeshire, you boys spent a happy week on a performing arts summer school; we have wandered through woods, sat in traffic jams, splashed in splash parks, fed our neighbours’ cats, picnicked in the rain, celebrated birthdays, had some tennis lessons, and generally loved the feeling of freedom that comes with the summer holidays. We have squabbled too….. Squabbled over who gets to open the first packet of cat food, who called who poo, whose turn it is to get the breakfast ready, who gets to sit next to mummy at lunch time, whose turn it is to wear the Iron Man socks and who gets to choose the music in the car. I have frequently wanted to hide away in a dark, quiet corner; made what feels like 20,000 packed lunches, and almost lost the will to live over the twice-a-day battle of getting Twin 2 to brush his teeth rather than simply stand on his head with a toothbrush in his mouth.

The laundry has been never ending. That is one thing that I am pretty sure won’t have changed by 2021. And getting you all out of the house still gives me far more grey hairs than I feel it should. I’m hoping that might change.

But I have also tried to remind myself that you boys won’t want to spend your summer holidays pottering about with me forever. And that these times are hard, yes, but also special.

The time has flown, and yet school feels like a whole world away. We all need to get back into routine, although I’m not sure any of us is ready to quite yet. But we are taking small strides, and this week has largely been about doing little things to prepare for the new term. You, Eldest Boy, are starting Juniors in September, which means new uniform and new equipment for your pencil case. You have been diligently doing your ‘button practice’ every day, in readiness for wearing a shirt rather than polo shirt. The other day you tried on your new uniform, including tie, and suddenly looked about 17. We went stationery shopping too this week, and you then spent much of the rest of the afternoon staring happily at your new pens. You are so proud.

In four years time you will be about to start senior school, so perhaps 2021 will see us doing exactly the same thing. Only time will tell if your enthusiasm, and pride in your pencil case, will remain. I desperately hope so.

You are 118cm tall and have lost four teeth so far. We have just bought new school shoes – size 11.5. Having resolutely stayed the same size for at least 18 months, your feet are finally having a growth spurt. For your birthday we bought you a CD player – you love the independence this gives you and have no idea that actually, no-one really has a CD player anymore. You are beautifully indiscriminate in your music choices and are enjoying going through mummy and daddy’s old CD collection – right now, there is nothing remotely embarrassing about this. David Gray is a current favourite – you are possibly the only 7 year old out there listening to This Year’s Love as you sort through your Match Attax cards.

You are on a mission to get your little brothers to try mushy peas. I am on a mission just to get them to eat peas. Or, in fact, anything green.

Twins 1 and 2, you are 112cm and 114cm tall respectively, with size 10.5 and size 11 feet. You haven’t lost any teeth yet. At the moment, life is all about superheroes, Star Wars, fire engines, your new walkie-talkies and singing ‘I like to move it move it‘. You have moved up to two-wheeled scooters with no problems, but have not quite mastered your new roller boots….. yet. You have loved feeding our neighbours’ cats over the last few weeks and will miss your little summer job hugely now it has come to an end. If it wasn’t for the fact that you have two allergic parents, I would consider getting a cat.

But you do have two allergic parents, so I’m really not.

You are valiantly ploughing through your birthday thank you cards, and it has been an almighty struggle. But you are doing them, and when I think about how far you have come in a year, I am ridiculously proud of your just-about-legible scrawls.

And finally, finally; this summer you got your bunk beds – you have been asking for bunk beds for at least two years now. This week I made the mistake of taking you along to the shop to choose some new bedding and we came home with the most garish Avengers duvet covers imaginable. I really should have known better.

The delay in getting your bunk beds is characteristic of mummy & daddy’s rather sloppy approach to getting anything done in the house. We have needed new blinds for the last 7 years at least, and this summer we finally got round to measuring up and even looking at fabric…..but no further than that. It is entirely possible that we still won’t have our new blinds when Big Ben chimes again. In fact, I am pretty confident that our house will exist in the same state of chaos as it does currently.

But aside from a cluttered house, shabby blinds, and never-ending laundry; I have no idea what our lives will look like in 2021. What you boys might be reading, watching, or listening to. Whether you’ll have realised that CD players are no longer the thing to have. And whether or not you little ones will finally have been convinced to try mushy peas.

But this has been us in summer 2017; and we’ll just have to see where life takes us between now and that very famous bell chiming again.

DSC01548

 

 

 

A twin journey

“I think you need to look at the screen”, said the sonographer. So I finally looked up.

“There’s baby number 1”, she said. “….And there’s baby number 2.”

I hadn’t wanted to look up until then. Because the last time I’d been on that bed, there was an awful silence. One of those silences which is heavy with meaning. One of those silences which means there’s a problem.

And so when I was back on that bed, my head was very deliberately turned the other way.

Baby number 2? …….. Baby number 2?

It took a moment.

There were definitely tears…..tears of panic, really. I was thinking of giant buggies and new cars and the fact that since having baby #1 I had always looked at anyone with twins and thought ‘how on earth is that possible?’

“But we’ve already got one”, I said to the sonographer – as if that piece of information might change things. “What are we going to do?”

“First time is the hardest”, she said. “You’ll find it easier this time.”

That was about five years ago now. It almost feels like a different life.

Since then, I have thought I can’t do this more times than I can count; but also known that I don’t actually have a choice, because I have to do it.

I have felt bewildered, overwhelmed and at times totally inadequate.

I have watched crawling twins, climbing twins and walking twins gain in confidence as they worked out how to get to all the things which had been deliberately put out of their reach…….And I have felt like things were rapidly slipping out of my control.

I have eaten too many sweets, a lot of cake, and tripled my coffee intake.

I have accepted kind words from strangers and tried to stay strong when people have felt the need to be unkind.

I haven’t completed any of the baby journals or scrapbooks that I completed for my eldest boy. Instead there are hospital bands and locks of hair and scan photos strewn casually around the house. Sorry about that, little ones.

I have struggled my way through hundreds of painful, over-tired bedtimes.

I have cried. A lot. Tears of exhaustion, frustration, joy and everything in between.

I have despaired over squabbles about who gets to open the bedroom door first, who gets to go to the toilet first, who gets to wear the Spiderman pyjamas, who gets to choose their cereal first, who gets to wear the stripy hat, who gets to choose the music in the car, who gets to be the one to open the front door on the way out (this is the most coveted job of them all, and is always worth fighting over).

I have felt like the world’s worst referee.

I have spent nights being budged out of my own bed, nights lying on the floor next to small boys’ beds; and too many Sunday mornings trying to convince little ones that 5.30am is just not an acceptable time to start the day.

But there is also this – the fact that you, Baby number 1 and Baby number 2, are now a proper team….. a unit. The fact that, as you get older, you are increasingly able to take comfort and confidence from each other. When I think about your play, your chatter, your day-to-day fun….well, I’m just not particularly important anymore. Apart from for logistics……and snacks, obviously. At four years old, you are now able to cooperate, share and take it in turns – of course you still have your moments, but who doesn’t? The skills are there, and you display them more frequently than you used to. You consult each other on which television programme you should watch next; you arrange to swap hats and trainers. You have got used to always taking someone else into account – sometimes this doesn’t suit you…… of course it doesn’t. But this is your life and you understand that. You are proud of yourselves when you manage to reach a compromise…… I am proud of you too. You organise your play meticulously: it always involves each other and only occasionally involves me – let’s play Fireman Sam and Elvis, let’s play doggy and his owner, let’s play daddy and baby, let’s play cow and farmer.

Frequently I feel like I am talking to myself – you are too busy in your own world to take much notice of me and…..well yes, that can be infuriating. But then when we’re not in a rush, I remind myself to take a moment to watch and listen to the way you talk to each other. The way you manage to work out a compromise. The way you adjust each other’s school uniform. Even just the way you use each other’s names. Because these are the things I know I’ll be desperate to hold onto as you get bigger and my window into your world gets smaller.

‘Impossible’ is what I used to say about having twins.

It isn’t impossible, as long as you adjust what you expect of yourself.

But the struggle to hear myself think, the feeling that nothing is being done quite as well as it should be, and the physical exertion required to get two small children of the same age through the most basic tasks…..well, somehow it all seems worth it when you see your twins manage to come to an agreement over who gets the top and who gets the bottom half of a hot cross bun.

Well done, boys – mummy is so proud x

arm-in-arm

I wrote this because February is TAMBA’s #lovemultiples month. Yes, I know I am sneaking in at the last minute on the very last day of February, but I feel like I’ve been chasing my tail all month so the fact that I’m a bit late to the party with this one too seemed fitting.

That thing called mummy guilt

Spending at least 50% of your time feeling guilty about something child-related is one of those special mum skills isn’t it? And it’s one thing I’m pretty good at.

But up until recently, I didn’t feel particularly guilty about going to work. I felt guilty about not feeling guilty, but the actual going-to-work bit was ok. That was probably because my littlest boys trotted off quite happily to the childminder or to nursery – they didn’t seem to mind who was looking after them as long as they were being fed. And, as everyone reminded me, they had each other. Of course it helped that my job was just about the most child-friendly job I was ever likely to find – close to home, part-time and term-time only – so surely this was a win-win for everyone.

It didn’t occur to me until recently that there might be a downside to working term-time only. But there is a downside, and it’s a big one. Which is that your children get into this lovely new mummy-at-home routine. They get used to not being rushed out of the door. They don’t realise that this is only temporary – why would they? And then all of a sudden, for no reason that’s apparent to them, just when they’ve got used to the lovely new mummy-at-home routine, you’re telling them it’s time to go back to the old routine. The one that involves them leaving the house and spending the day somewhere else.

I had no idea of the heartache that would follow when holiday time was over. I had no idea how two little boys asking if it’s a ‘breakfast at home day’ would tug at my heartstrings. I had no idea my eyes would be full of tears as I struggled to get two little boys into their car seats. I had no idea how hard it would be to peel my boys off my legs and say bye bye.

It gets harder and harder after every holiday, and this time I have hated it.

The eldest boy never experienced a school holiday until he started school – my last job wasn’t term-time only, so he went to nursery year round. In September I was concerned at how he would cope with going back to school after his first ever 6 week summer holiday, but he was totally unfazed. This boy – shy, sensitive, and much much less outgoing than his brothers – has a quiet strength and determination that I don’t think I expected from him. As long as he knows what to expect he copes incredibly well with changes.

The 3 year olds – loud, sociable and boisterous – show every ounce of anger, frustration and upset they are feeling. They are not at all happy with this ‘back-to-nursery-after-half-term’ scenario, and they are definitely letting me know about it.

Remember back when your baby was about 9 months old and all of a sudden s/he started crying every time you left the room? That heartbreaking thing called Separation Anxiety, guaranteed to make you feel guilty for making yourself a drink, or going to the loo. Every time you disappeared from view, your child had no idea whether you were ever coming back – understandably quite traumatic for a little person.

I don’t remember the twins suffering from Separation Anxiety to quite the extent that the first boy did, but now they’re suffering from a 3 year old’s version of it. It’s not Separation Anxiety because they know that I’m coming back. Instead it’s a desperate need to follow mummy everywhere and hang off her legs in case she tries to go to work again. I never imagined there could be anything worse than Separation Anxiety, but now there are small boys half my size who follow me around and attempt to climb up me and can tell me just how sad they’re feeling.  So now, as well as feeling guilty for going to work, I feel guilty for cooking the dinner or for attempting to do anything that isn’t being crushed by a pair of 3 year olds.

I know that if I wasn’t feeling guilty about going to work then I’d be feeling guilty about not going to work. Or about something else, like trying to make a cuppa. Because that’s how mummy guilt works isn’t it.

And having small boys hanging off your legs only makes it worse.

3 boys

The mum I’d like to be

Dear boys,

Sometimes, I’m not the mum I’d like to be. Or the mum I thought I’d be. Times like this morning, when I got so so cross, possibly the most cross I’ve ever been with you. Or maybe the second most cross. But very cross anyway. To be fair, one of you had dropped a pair of pants and a cushion into a full potty which resulted in me being splashed in the face with wee, so I don’t blame myself for being upset. But I’m now far more upset with my reaction than I ever was about the wee in the face.

Because I didn’t react like the mum I’d like to be. The mum I’d like to be would have taken a few seconds to compose herself (and wash her face) before calmly explaining to you that flinging yourself around on the sofa, burying your head in cushions and generally being uncooperative while you’re being spoken to is not a good way to behave. And that you need to be careful when there are potties nearby and not fling things about.

But your mum didn’t do that. Your mum shouted and asked why you couldn’t just behave properly, before plonking you on the naughty step. Your mum stormed off upstairs with tears in her eyes, knowing straight away that she’d reacted in a way that wouldn’t benefit anyone.

What I really wanted was for you to understand what you’d done wrong and to know that you shouldn’t do it again, but all I actually did was make myself hoarse and upset. And I’ve been going over it all day in my head – how I should have reacted, what I did wrong, what the mum I’d like to be would have done.

You haven’t been going over it all day in your head that’s for sure. You’ve just been getting on as normal playing trains and lining up cars.

I see the mum I’d like to be all the time. I see her when I’m out and about with you all, I see her at playgroups, I see her on the school run. She rarely has a child hanging off her legs and if she does then she handles it in an appropriate manner. She doesn’t have that struggling-to-keep-it-together look about her, in fact she’s got a calm look in her eyes. She has infinite patience. And because she hasn’t used up all her energy shouting at her children, she has some left over for exercise so she might be in her running kit or about to head to the gym.

I’d love to be this mum and I promise, boys, I do try every day. When you, eldest boy, ask me for the seventeenth time about Christmas Island Red Crabs, I’d love to say, ‘let’s look them up in your encyclopedia and read about them together’ instead of ‘sorry but I really need to sort the twins out as one of them seems to be doing a handstand on the coffee table. We’ll have a look later’.

But the thing is, boys, sometimes I just don’t know what I’m doing. I didn’t get to have a trial beforehand to check if I was actually any good at being a mum – I got this job without any sort of application or interview. And I don’t have a manager checking how I’m getting on, I’m just making it all up and sometimes I’m just a bit rubbish at it. I wasn’t anticipating two of you to come along at once, and there is so much going on in this house that most of the time I don’t know where to start with anything. So I often get it wrong, then I get cross with you over something silly and I’m telling myself off and feeling guilty and wishing I was more like all those other mums all over again.

Maybe the mum I’d like to be doesn’t really exist. Perhaps she puts on a very good show of calm at the school gates and then it all falls apart when she gets home. I can’t imagine it somehow. I imagine that when she gets home she’s probably sitting down with her children doing crafts or playing games.

So I’m sorry boys for what happened today, I really am. My promise to myself (and to you) is to give myself three seconds to stop and think before reacting. I will keep trying to be more like the calmer mums, although I can’t promise craft sessions. Nor will I be going to the gym.

So that’s my promise. And now I’d like you to promise me that you’ll never splash me in the face with wee ever again please.

Thanks boys.

Love,

Mum x

boys on bench

PS. A note for my mum – if you’ve read this, you’re probably about to text me to say that I’m being hard on myself. Thank you (but I’m not being hard on myself). x

When the house really was full of boys – guest post by a greying dad of 3

When my wife first announced that she’d be away for the weekend I had no problem with that. She deserved a few days off, especially as it was in aid of a very good friend’s hen do. In any event, I’d just take the boys round to my parents’ house or invite them over to help out.

But there was a giant flaw in the plan – my parents would be on holiday. So, it transpired, would my ever reliable in-laws.

With my brother making a dash for the coast on a hastily arranged stag do, I was starting to wonder whether this would be so easy after all.

And then the final revelation – my wife was taking the car! And with that went the ultimate backup plan – a trip to soft play where I could sit back and relax while the boys tired themselves out on a complex series of ramps, tunnels and slides.

Still, I work daily in an office predominantly full of girls. They talk in urban speak that I don’t understand, furiously type strings of instant messages at a speed that I can’t possibly hope to keep up with, and chat endlessly about the latest viral videos that I will never find time to check out. A weekend with a set of boys who just want to play cars, watch some CBeebies and laugh when they break wind would surely be far less challenging.

I won’t anger my wife by saying it was easy – mainly because it really wasn’t. It didn’t quite go all Lord of the Flies, but it did go a bit like this…

Friday:

Wife departs to collect the hen. She’s clearly expecting the first of a set of desperate texts from me within minutes of her leaving. That, I’m determined, is not going to happen.

She’s left late so I haven’t had to do the school run with all 3 boys. I’ve read enough of her blog entries to know that this is a RESULT!

The good fortune continues – my wife has already prepared the dinner and has even left me beer and cookies. This weekend could be ok.

Except, maybe the following also happened…

  • The twins are still toilet training and this is my first time on my own with them with no nappies. I’m sure I spot another few grey hairs as I pass the mirror in the hall. Twin 2 is quick to put me to the test with the first soiled pair of pants of the weekend.
  • Within minutes of my wife heading off Twin 2 (usually known as Not-Quite-So-Much-Trouble, but definitely causing trouble on this occasion) wrestles Twin 1 to the floor.
  • Chaos precedes dinner as Twin 2 decides that the beeping of the hob timer is his cue to need a lengthy stint on the toilet.
  • Basketball suddenly becomes a contact sport as the game’s three shortest players go to war over everyone’s favourite ball.
  • Bathtime is truly exhausting pandemonium, which seems remarkable when only one out of three children ended up in the bath.

I’m sure my wife will be overjoyed that I got to experience at least a few of the above.

Saturday:

The boys are awake by 5.30am, but thankfully give me 30 minutes grace before vaulting over their stairgate and appearing out of the darkness.

We make it through breakfast (aka the Crystal Maze challenge) and I glance at the clock, exhausted – surely we must be aboys at breakfast good way through the day?? But no, it’s only 8am and there are almost another 12 hours to get through – the equivalent of 8 consecutive football matches.

However, midday meltdowns, a disaster of a dinner and best not discussed bath time aside, Saturday was not as tough a day as it could have been. Thankfully, I was not totally abandoned and visits from my grandma and a friend were very gratefully received.

Sunday:

It feels like we’ve nearly made it and the boys haven’t yet gone feral. Sure, the twins are jumping on the furniture and running round with no trousers on while I resort to raiding the cupboards for anything I can snack on, but according to my wife that’s normal.

The eldest boy has a party to attend, but with no car, no grandparents to babysit the 3 year olds, and the 5 year old reluctant to go along with anyone who isn’t mum or dad, this has proved to be a big logistical challenge. A very brave friend volunteered to come and watch the twins, leaving me free for the party. I hope for the best but am more than a little anxious as I leave them to it.

I needn’t have worried – she was brilliant and of course the 3 year olds are (almost) model citizens for anyone who isn’t me or my wife. The afternoon is a success, and before I know it my wife is home and normal two parent led chaos resumes…

So, to my wife – yes, it was tough, and yes I am knackered, and yes, I understand how hard it can be for you doing the same amazing job day after day. But it was fun too, and nice to spend some time with my boys and yes, I’d do it again. But next time, just leave me the car!

Also – about that boy’s trip to Vegas….

Finally, huge thank yous to our visitors and helpers for helping to keep the small people diverted and me sane; and to Tom Cruise, Val Kilmer and the entire cast of Top Gun for a chilled movie night with a few beers for company.

And if you think I was tired by the end if the weekend, you should have seen the boys…

weekend with dad