Pack Up Your Pumpkins


img_1658Today felt a bit sad. Nothing terrible has happened. I just feel a bit like a deflated balloon. It may be Halloween today but we’ve been Halloweening all week and today the fun was over. Back to school and back to a reality that looks a bit stressful and unappealing at times.

Half term was really good, so much so that my usually school-crazy M was in floods of tears at drop off this morning. She said she was going to miss me and didn’t want to go back. It was a shock as she has always adored school and skipped in. Handing her over sobbing was just horrible. I guess it means I totally nailed the half term fun but it upset me seeing her like that and I feel like I’ve been in a bit of an emotional fog all day as a result. She was totally fine of course and the school called me not half an hour into the day to tell me so, but it knocked me off-balance.

My husband is currently away and I have been solo parenting for a week, with another four days to go, which may have been another reason for this morning’s upset. Having him away at half term isn’t ideal but we’ve packed the time with fun and really had a fantastic – if far too short – break from the school routine. I have to admit though that I’ve really noticed how much he does to keep the house clean.

img_1679My man is a bit of a clean freak and he drives me a bit nuts with his daily dusting of the TV stand and wiping the floor but, man, have I missed that this week! The dust and dirty mitt marks multiply so much faster than I realised without my personal cleaner quietly getting on with it and keeping things in check before I even notice them. I’ve missed his company too, obviously, not just the cleaning. Not being able to have a laugh and a moan about my day with him in the evening can be hard. Especially since there have been a few stressful things going on in the background of late.

There has been a lot happening with work, which has had me rushed off my feet trying to cram bits and pieces in around the kids. My usually sacred evenings after all three are tucked up in bed have been filled with laptops and paperwork. It has thrown my zen right off kilter without having that down time, I can tell you.

Now, as a rule, I thrive on busy. It suits my character. Sitting on my arse being unproductive isn’t really my thing. But the balance really has been tipped a tad too far the last couple of weeks. There is nothing really awful going on. It is all fine, there is just so much of it at once. I’ve felt a bit weighted down by it all.

But that negative feeling has been held at bay by the hectic nature and pure fun of half term, with our Halloween sleepovers, spooky trails, lunches out and day trips. It has been so crazy busy and so full of laughs and joy that I’ve been quite happy to bury all the worries under heaps of pumpkins and spiders.

img_1667Today, with my little M in tears at the school gate, what I really wanted to do was join her and have a weep. I said all the usual parenting stuff that you are supposed to say, about what a great day she would have, how the time would fly and how she would be home before she knew it. But, as we sat on that bench and had a cuddle while she cried, what I really wanted to say was that I totally agreed with her, that the reality of back to school, back to dealing with all tricky stuff that we have been covering with Halloween fun, actually really sucks. I wanted to cry along with her and agree that life was unfair and sometimes all you want to do is go back home, curl up and have a good long sob. I felt terrible because I couldn’t make that happen for her and I had to push her up the stairs and into school. She needed a duvet day and I couldn’t let her have one.

All is totally fine now in my M’s generally happy little world, which is usually so full of joy and sparkles. She was raving about her day when I picked her up, beaming at me as she ran down the steps. She was smothered in paint from making fireworks pictures, which she told me all about, and which has nicely hyped her up for the next event to look forward to: Bonfire Night.

There is a lot to do. Always. Yes, it might be a bit more stressful and busy than normal right now but I’m going to try to follow M’s example and just get on with it whilst looking ahead to the next fun thing. M and I are going to bury our worries under fireworks. And after that, I guess we’ll just start stuffing them under tinsel.

Luckily, M’s worries are very few. Which is just as it should be for a five-year old. Mine are tad bigger and a hell of a lot busier. But everything is more bearable with a few sparkles sprinkled on top and with plenty in the diary to look forward to. And with three smiley little faces around you.

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Changing Phases

img_1653So, for those of you keen to know how the potty training is going (I’m sure you are all on the edge of your seats), we have had a major breakthrough. T is no longer crapping himself up to three times a day. He is, in fact, not crapping himself at all. He has finally got it.

You can imagine my delight when he started doing number twos on the potty. After months of him pooing in pants, saying I was over the moon is an understatement. No more dealing with the mess and no longer having to add small pants to the weekly shop. Joyous day!

The first few times he was successful tended to be rather epic affairs, getting on and off the potty for literally half a day before he managed to go. He sped up after a week or so and he now has it down to about an hour. So we have an hour of little trousers scooting up and down like yo-yos while he hops up and down on the loo or potty, does a tiny wee, washes hands, repeat to fade. Until, eventually, a small button of poo is produced. Whereupon I applaud and leap about like a deranged loon and reward him with Haribo. Then, in about an hour or so, the process starts again.

Now don’t get me wrong, this rigmarole is far preferable to dealing with dirty pants but, over the last couple of weeks, it has become a tad wearing. Especially as he seems to be able to produce about four or five micro poos a day. I am fully aware that this process is just his dear little head getting used to all the feelings and messages going on his body, but we seem to live in the toilet for the majority of most days. My hands are cracking up from helping him with endless handwashing and my mind is cracking up from the pure repetitive nature of it all.

img_1650And it isn’t just waiting for a poo that is taking up time. He has pretty good bladder capacity but, for some reason, he has become obsessed with the ritual of going for a wee. If we are home, he goes several times and hour, just for fun. When we are out he is far less bothered by it, because he is busy. Not that we haven’t been caught short out and about. We have. Plenty of times. I’m very grateful that he has already mastered the art of peeing standing up. There are few bushes we’ve not anointed on our travels.

Incredibly inconveniently, he always needs to pee at school pick up time, just as the kids are on their way out of the classrooms. We leg it to the loo and T does his 86th wee of the day, while I panic about the older two coming out and fretting over their absent Mother. Such a regular occurance has this school pee become that M’s teacher now just smiles and nods at me as we manically scamper past, reassuring me that she’ll keep hold of my girl for me until we get back from the wee run.

So, in under a month, we have gone from small, soiled pants to endless loo trips. And this change, from one pain the arse to another, has got me thinking about how nothing lasts for long. The phases of parenthood can be so brief, both the good and the bad. Not that they feel that way at the time, of course. One minute, you are ripping your hair out over something, desperate to know how to fix it, and then, almost overnight, that problem has completely evaporated and something new has cropped up to replace it. It might be better, it might be worse, but the main thing is that, just before you feel you are about to lose your mind, it is different. A change is as good as a rest, as they say, and the very fact that the shit you are dealing with (whether literal, as in our case, or metaphorical) is different shit, suddenly makes it bearable again.

I am a tad prone to melodrama in life, I’ll freely admit, but perhaps I’m taking this uncharacteristically grown up view on time passing because I have a new nephew who is just five months old. I’ve watched his rapid change from helpless newborn to entirely engaged little person recently with a sense of amazement. Can my own babies’ early months possibly have passed that quickly when every age, every tricky phase, seemed to last a lifetime?

img_0201With my first especially, my H, I remember each stage feeling endless. It was so difficult and stressful, I felt we had been enduring it for a decade by the time he reached three months. Looking back, I imagine him as a babe in arms, little red face screaming up at me, for painful years on end. But – in real time – that phase was only a matter of weeks. How can time play such tricks?

So, whilst I know I am unlikely to forget the hell of potty training both of my boys, I suspect the pain will seem longer than it actually was when I look back on it. (My girl was a doddle in comparison, by the way, apart from a particularly memorable flood in a little National Trust cafe).

Or perhaps time will mute the misery. You never know with memory. It is a funny thing, especially when it comes to the crazy world of childrearing. So many emotions flying about, so many battles, large and small, lost and won. All compacted down into hazy, vastly inaccurate little glimmers of how things were or might have been.

I’ve never been of the ‘enjoy every moment’ camp. Let’s be honest, there is much of parenting that only an idiot would relish. Does anyone enjoy flushing the contents of a potty and having splashback on their slippers? No, I didn’t think so. I’ll never, ever tell a new mum who looks like she is on the verge of tears while her baby kicks off that she should ‘enjoy every moment’. But I do think it is worth remembering – when you can see beyond the fog of whatever shit you are going through – that nothing lasts for long. With any luck, change will come just before you lose your mind. And you’ll soon be wondering what you were so stressed about.

So, until change comes to release me from this endless round of loo trips, I’m just going to have to grit my teeth, keep the Detttol to hand at all times and remember, nothing lasts forever. And if it feels like it does, then a very large glass of wine usually helps.

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