The unbearable lightness of being

Arrived home last night from, dare I say it, a quite idyllic break in Wales. The bar on our expectations had been set quite low: caravan holiday, in Wales, with three small children. How good could it be? It turned out to be the cheapest and simultaneously the best holiday we have ever had together. The constant sunshine helped of course, but mostly we just really enjoyed spending time with our kids doing the stuff kids love to do. A good beach, ice cream, fish and chips, walks in the countryside, farmyard animals aplenty, a steam train ride... it was a no-frills holiday for sure, but one the memories of which I will really treasure. I must heartily recommend the amazing caravan park on which we stayed - Blaenwaun Farm.
With the bags yet to be unpacked and no food in the fridge it was straight back to work this morning. The spot in Wales which we were visiting was a Blackberry Black Hole, so a couple of hours were spent this morning piling through the emails blocking up my Blackberry before heading off for the London Book Fair. It is always a little hard wrenching oneself away again after time off with the kids and today was no exception. There is that undeniably appealing and yet at the same time unbearable 'lightness' that you feel as you walk away from domestic life once more. Having said that, I'm sure I'm not quite as 'light' as I was before I left for the land of fish and chips and ice cream.....

Packing it in

We're about to leave civilisation for four days in a caravan in deepest darkest Wales (well, actually, in a caravan overlooking one of the most beautiful coastal bays I've ever seen) but from the looks of it you'd have thought we were taking a small army somewhere very far away for a very long time. See, packing for three small children for four days is really not that different to packing ... well, to packing up most of your belongings, actually. Oh, the PARAPHERNALIA! I have to say that it is absolutely the thing I now hate most about going on holiday. Last night I sat down with a glass of wine (yep, I've given in to the demon drink again...) to write a LIST of all the things we would need to take. And a list is required, believe me. You're not gonna just REMEMBER all this shit. Don't even think about it!
The thing about the packing, too, is that while one is trying to pack, the children for whom one is packing like to 'help'. So, Eden (5) is taking a very large Disney Princess rucksack full of random small things: odd polly pocket shoes, bits of ribbon, naked Barbies, that kinda thing. She also packed her own suitcase, but this I went over and re-packed. The random toy selection I can cope with but it would be good if she left for the none-too-certain climes of Welsh Wales with a little more than some towelling shorts (very short) and some ballet tights. Sigh. Nath (2) meanwhile, has spent most of the day trailing stuff back in from the hall (where it has been neatly piled awaiting removal into the boot of the car) into the living room. He particularly has his eye on a plastic cricket set. Of course, the really annoying thing is that I always pack everyone else's suitcases first. By the time I get to my own I am so tired of the packing thing that I just throw in any old clobber, which usually turns out to be completely unsuitable, mis-matching junk. I may as well leave it all to Eden next time. See you on 16th April!

Easter Egg Hunt

Being a Very Bad (Working) Mother I was too busy last week to plan properly for Easter. And then of course I wrote off Good Friday by spending the whole of this holy day with a hangover. (Did I mention that I was a Very Bad Mother?) Thus it came to pass that it was only last night that I raced to buy my beautiful children their Easter eggs. Imagine my horror when I found the Easter egg aisle of our local Sainsburies COMPLETELY BARE. As I had of course left it to the very last minute to organise, all the other local shops were closed. But would you believe it, Blockbuster Video came to the rescue. As I whizzed through to pick up a copy of Casino Royale for yesterday evening (may I just say in passing, Daniel Craig: PHWOOOAAR) I spied some rather lonely looking eggs by the tills. And so it was that Eden (5) received a 'Simpsons' Easter egg this morning, while Nathan (2) was shouting, "Egg! Egg! Choclit!" in sheer rapture at the sight of his 'Spiderman' one. Of course I needn't have worried. Neither of them gave a flying hoot what was on the packaging. It was the choclit inside that counted. Later on, as I sat in the garden and watched them 'painting' the patio with water from an old bucket and making pictures with stones, happy as larry, it occurred to me that sometimes we really do make a silly fuss about bringing up children. Chocolate, sunshine and love are pretty much all they require.

Wasted

Rule No. 1 of being a Working Mum: Never, but NEVER go out for cocktails with Women Without Children Who Can Hold Their Drink Better Than You. Last night I broke this golden rule and where did it get me? Absolutely wasted. That was after the first three glasses of wine, never mind the mind-boggling number of Cosmopolitans that followed last night at Smiths in Smithfield. My memory of the evening's proceedings is somewhat fuggy, but I definitely remember talking quite a lot of nonsense with one of my fave colleagues, Sara Abdulla. I remember being quite relieved when she repeatedly mentioned how wasted she was, and finding it particularly amusing that she accompanied this statement each time with the universally recognised hand gesture / facial expression for 'wasted'. I also have a vague recollection of sharing just a teensy weensy bit too much detail about my sex life with several women I hardly knew. I definitely remember somebody called Charlotte who kept hugging me and telling my how much she liked my 'Biog'. She said she felt like she knew me and she already loved me. See, I knew there was a reason for doing this. Somewhere along the line I managed to get my purse stolen, and I nearly lost my wedding rings, too. Quite how I found my way into a cab and safely home is a bit of a mystery, but it probably had something to do with my excellent friend (and now ex-PA - sob!), Sonie. Her text sent a few hours after I left said simply, "Thanks 4 being U. Thanks 4 coming and 4 getting trashed. You were hilarious". It's nice to think I can provide my friends with so much free entertainment.
Hangovers were never really that pleasant Pre-Kids, but really, it surprises me that hangovers spent in the company of three children under five aren't used as a means of torture. As I write this it is with an enormous sense of relief that I can finally raise my head above the level of my feet without feeling nauseous, that the kids are all finally tucked up in bed and that I have a very large bar of truffle-filled dark chocolate waiting for me downstairs bought for me by my ever-thoughtful husband.

Princesses are not quitters!

As it's the Easter holidays I let Eden (5) stay up late tonight. As a very special treat she came with me to the beauty salon at 7pm and kept the beautician entertained with her banter and me distracted from the intense pain of having my legs and bikini line waxed. Honestly, as if one doesn't have enough to do without having to find time to stay fuzz-free... Anyway, having treated her to an outing that kept her out way beyond her bedtime we snuggled up at home together to read a bedtime story. She chose Princesses are Not Quitters by Kate Lum, which is superbly illustrated by Sue Hellard. I love the moral of this story, which illustrates the sticky situations which can develop when one imagines the grass is greener on the other side, and demonstrates the idea that there is nobility in hard work as long as a little fun is had along the way. If you're bored of your current stock of bedtime stories for girls aged 4-7, this one comes highly recommended. As Eden fell asleep in my arms she whispered, "Mummy, you're a Princess." I replied, "I'm not sure about that sweetheart - but I'm certainly no quitter."

P.S.

Forgot to say yesterday, the presentation went really well Friday in the end. Clearly I should prepare more conference speeches on the way home from the pub after a couple of glasses of wine. Or perhaps it was the finishing touches that I put together in the cab on the way to the conference? Really, the whole thing was just my life in microcosm: a total SOPJ (seat-of-pants-job). I am fond of this acronym, which I learned from a canny IT project manager who used it to describe a project I had just finished working on with him. I wonder, will I one day do something really thoroughly and perfectly or will my life always be this way? It seems to me quite often that I raise my kids by the same methodology. For instance, I only just got Eden's school applications through in the nick of time because another parent casually asked me which schools I had put down on the application forms, which reminded me to call up the local council, pretend I had never received the forms and get a late application accepted. Phew. Sometimes this approach to life can be a little stressful, but it's certainly never dull. And I like to believe the kids think it's more fun.

Paper Mountain

Nothing, but nothing, is under control in my life. What is absolutely least under control is the never-ending tottering piles of paper EVERYWHERE. Post arrives, junk mail flies through the letterbox, letters are sent home from school, newspapers and magazines are consumed and flung to one side.... and then there are all the DRAWINGS. Eden, age 5 (going on 13) is prolific. I started out trying to keep her artworks but now maintain a scrapbook of a few of the best examples only. Nathan's scribbles currently get filed in the bin pretty much straight away. He doesn't qualify for a scrapbook until he produces something vaguely recognisable. Life is so much harsher for second and third children... Anyhooo, this morning I spent TWO HOURS sifting through the staggering heaps of paper and I still have three enormous piles left. I create a recycle pile, a file pile and an 'action' pile. The whole experience is enough to give one piles, that's for sure.