Back to School

I've taken a couple of days off at the end of the school holidays to celebrate everyone's survival... No, not really, obv; mainly to conduct the annual school uniform audit ("Surely Eden can't really be fitting into these age 3 polo shirts anymore?" ..."And this dress is more St Trinian's in length than I deem entirely acceptable...." ..."But that's my FAVOURITE, Mum! OOOOOH PULLEEEEEEASE DON'T THROW IT AWAAAAY!!"), put everything through the wash, enter the local Clarks Back To School Scrum (a 20 minute wait to be served even with TWENTY ONE shop assistants on the floor; it's terrifying, I tell you), write names in everything (thank God for indelible fabric markers; think I'd develop a tick like the sergeant in Inspector Clueso if I had to sew them all in like my Mum used to!) and generally regain control of everything in time for the start of the new term. I kinda love the Back to School Season; there's a great sense of fresh hope, a new start, etc. And the first day back it's so cute, seeing all the kids rock up scrubbed clean, hair brushed, shoes shined, uniforms looking all smart. It doesn't last long but it's a good feeling. When I go back to work next week I think I'm going to try to treat it like a new term at school; see if I can inject everything I do with a new passion and enthusiasm. I can't promise to have polished my shoes though.

Water Babies

I've been near-obsessive about booking the kids into multiple Summer Activities to keep them busy while I return to the office for a few weeks and try not to spend too much time worrying about Paul's sanity. With all three kids at home full-time for four weeks without any help, this is a genuine concern. The theory is that keeping everyone busy distracts attention away from my absence (guilty, moi?), tires the kids out and gives Paul the comforting sensation of a routine in the absence of the usual one. This week, everyone has been up and out of the house before 8am each morning in order for Eden and Nath to attend a week long swimming course. By the end of the week, Nathan is a veritable water baby, but his limited attention span means that he is still too busy blowing bubbles to remember to kick his legs, or too busy grinning and waving at the spectators to remember to keep his head in the water. However, as usual, he gets away with this by being, well, stupidly cute. Eden, now nearly seven, has a near-hysterical outburst on the first day when she swallows too much water, but by Friday I am delighted to see her ducking down under the water and swimming along as if she were a fish in a previous life. At the same time, Cbeebies is strictly off limits for the week whilst wall-to-wall Olympics coverage takes precedence. Over supper on Friday evening Eden wonders aloud, "How am I going to decide now between being an international explorer, Rose in Dr Who or an Olympic swimmer when I grow up?"
"Hmmm. It's a tough one, that", I agree.

Brie belly

You may have noticed I've been a little quiet. It was remiss of me not to leave notice on the blog that we were taking a cheeky extended break from the hustle of every day life to dawdle about in the Dordogne for a bit. It's only taken a week and a half back in the country for my synapses to start firing again. Honest. At least, a colleague assured me yesterday, "Well, you sound like you know what you're talking about." Which was kind of her. So that'll have to do.
Apart from the rain and the ghost town of an office (the literati have all deserted for their holidays in Tuscany so what's the point of coming in?) it's not *so* bad being back. It has been particularly tough though, adjusting back to non-holiday fare. There's nothing like pain au chocolat, baguette, butter, jam and brie and two milky coffees for breakfast each day to get you feeling wonderfully lazy and set you up nicely for the baguette with lashings of brie and camembert (with frites on the side) and a glass of wine for lunch. Indeed, there are still half a dozen pain au chocolats and several hundred pounds of brie adorning my waist line, because, of course, 'exercise' on holiday with three children under six largely consists of flopping about in the river a bit and vicariously enjoying the fun they are having running around in lots of lots of extra space whilst you read extremely small snippets of a novel over and over again due to the fact that you are repeatedly being interrupted to buy icecreams. Sigh.
Brie Belly notwithstanding, what I am also wondering is whether there is such a thing as Brie Brain? The sensation is of oozy cheese filling the space between one's ears as opposed to grey matter, and it is commonly brought about by extended, lazy holidays in France. Symptoms include gazing into space dreaming of splashing in the river in the sunshine, a glazed look in the eye when anyone asks you about next year's budget and the inability to complete a sentence. Hope it goes away soon. My boss is back from his holidays shortly.

Run, baby, run!

My legs were aching all last weekend. The reason? I managed to get myself talked into running in the Mum's race at Eden's school sports day. It had been a week of highs and lows at work and I was having a tough time shaking a particularly difficult issue out of my mind. I wanted to be with Eden 100%, at her first school sports day, enjoying the moment. But the work problem wouldn't go away. Running as fast as I could along a 100m dash sounded like a good idea. It worked. For a few seconds I was ten years old again, free of all the crap, adult stuff that clogs up my mind most of the time, running through the sunshine and laughing and nearly wetting myself (the pelvic floor really isn't what it was - sorry, was that too much information?). And my mind was gloriously empty, just for those few seconds. I'd forgotten how much I used to *love* running. Something else interested me about the race. As we stood at the start line, I did wonder just for a second whether I could win it. And I quite liked the idea that I might! Some glimmer of the highly competitive ten year old me, the one who couldn't bear even second place, was resurfacing. I didn't win. But, unlike when I was ten, that really was OK. It's funny how your perspective changes as you grow older. Like, now, running 100m without falling over, getting cramp or actually wetting myself really felt like an achievement! However, this mature and somewhat wry sense of perspective was entirely lost to me watching Eden compete in her first 'serious' sports day race. I watched her jiggling about on the start line and willed her obvious nerves to dispel. As she shot off, her pigtails streaming, I found myself yelling, "Go, Eden! Ruuuuuuun! You can do it!" I wanted her to win, not because I wanted her to be the best, but because I knew how disappointed she would be if she didn't. She won her heat, and I was immeasurably proud. But when she came third in her final, and her tears began to flow, I wished I could take away her disappointment. I went to comfort her and she ran into my arms. And as I pulled away from our cuddle, she said to me in a slightly choked voice, "It doesn't matter that I didn't win, Mummy. Running that race has made me stronger for the next time. It's the taking part that counts, isn't it?" I knew she only half believed it, but I admired her assertion, her swift attempt to regain perspective in the face of disappointment, all the same.

Fabulous, darling!

At the end of last week, I went away on a 24 hour retreat for 'Women in Leadership'. At 6pm on Thursday night I found myself sitting on a hotel lawn, drinking white wine with eleven other women who all held senior positions across a range of industries. Basic introductions aside, we were all asked to explain a little bit about the reasons we had come on the course. Each of us had different challenges or issues that we wished to tackle in our working lives, quite a few of us were juggling kids, families with a busy working life, but there was one common thread: without exception, every single woman there said that she was really looking forward to just 24 hours to focus on herself, to take a break from the maelstrom of daily life, to think, to have some space to breathe and to reflect. It's a crazy old world we live in when 24 hours just for yourself is a rare luxury. Yet the energy and empathy that developed between this small group of women was phenomenal. We started off strangers but after 24 hours of extraordinary, open exchange and mutual encouragement, we all came away a little bit lighter and enormously energised, ready to tackle life, work, the universe! I say this a *lot* but I really do think women are simply the best (sorry, boys). So here's to the Twelve Fabulous Ladies!

Super-sized shades

Paul gave me a lift to the station so I could catch my train to work this morning. It was on his way to the supermarket for the daily run. Ava and Nath were strapped in in the back. They were singing, "Hello, hello, how are you?" a theme from some cbeebies programme which they are both addicted to. Don't ask me the name of it. Paul would know. The sun was shining. Eden had got to school on time and the chaos of the morning routine had been relatively insignificant by the usual standards. Paul was chirpy, in one of his 'in-control' moods. All seemed right with the world. It was going to be a good day. As we pulled up at the station I picked up my coat and bag from my lap and reached for the door handle. I looked behind me to start saying goodbye to the kids. But then Ava's face crumpled. She threw her head back and she started to cry. No, scream. Her face turned bright red and her fists clenched and huge tears started to plop onto her cheeks. "No, Mummy, no go!" she cried. I got out of the car and opened the passenger door. I leaned across Nathan towards her and tried to kiss her cheek but she pulled away from me. I kissed her anyway. And then my face crumpled, too. I went from equanimity to emotional wreck in the space of a nanosecond. Paul said lightly, "She'll be fine. Hurry, you'll miss your train. Don't worry!" I pulled on the super-sized shades and walked briskly away from the car towards the station, tears rolling down my cheeks. I carried on crying half the way to work. I hate it when that happens.

Cheerio sanity!

I pick my way over the brightly-coloured miniature fairy dolls lined up against the edge of an empty cereal packet in the middle of the kitchen floor, scowl at the stickiness of the kitchen tiles and head towards the caefetiere for my second cup of coffee. It is 7.30am. Loud screeches emanate from the living room and I put my head round the corner of the door to shout, "Nathan, get off Ava please! She is *not* a donkey!" Ava peeks up at me and gives me a winning smile, rolls out from underneath her brother and toddles off towards the plastic play piano in the corner of the living room. As she starts banging out a tuneless noise, I notice that one of her socks is dangling from the end of her toes, about to fall off. I only put her socks on five minutes ago. She is chewing something, although I haven't yet given her any breakfast. I wonder in passing what she has managed to scavenge from the floor. Hopefully it's not too many days old, whatever it is.... At the same time I see out of the corner of my eye that Eden is hopping around the room, half way into her knickers and trying to eat a cereal bar at the same time. The crumbs are falling everywhere. She has already eaten breakfast but has obviously decided she is still hungry. Her appetite constantly astonishes me. Nathan has started dive bombing on to the sofa from one of the arms. He is naked from the waist down. He is shouting, "I want Scooby Doo!" Very loudly. Cushions are scattered all over the floor. I turn to look behind me to where his potty is, tracing where his clothes might have dropped so that I can reunite him with them. It is then that I realise he has rather mistargeted his previous wee. Unfortunately it looks like he has then trodden gleefully through the puddle on the floor to leave a trail of wet footprints in his wake. I start to talk to Eden about her homework, still uncompleted from the night before, as I wipe the floor vigorously with some kitchen towel. It is nearly time for me to leave and I haven't put my make-up on. At that moment I notice that the trail of wee leads to an enormous pile of Cheerios next to the coffee table. "Argh!!" I shout. "What's happened here?!" My eyes focus on the coffee table and a plastic bowl which has clearly been massively over-filled with Cheerios. A forlorn cereal packet is next to the bowl. I pick it up and shake it to see that it is almost empty. I grab the dustpan and brush and sweep up, shouting behind me at Nathan that he's not to help himself to cereal in the mornings. Nathan is still yelling, "I want Scooby Doo!" very loudly, but now Eden is also shouting, "Mummy! I need you to help me to do twenty six take away twelve! Hold up your fingers!" I stand up and shove Scooby Doo into the DVD player. I start counting down from twenty six, holding up my fingers to show Eden and simultaneously backing into the downstairs cloakroom to put my make up on. Ava totters in after me and starts to investigate the very attractive pink loo brush. "Don't touch that!" I screech, and hastily draw some kohl liner onto my eyelids. I scoop her up and plop her into her highchair, run into the kitchen and pull toast out of the toaster, scrape on some butter and marmite, hurriedly cut it into soldiers and deliver it back to her. "Yummy toast! Eat up!" I dash back into the cloakroom and slick on some eyeshadow. It's time to go. "Mummy!" wails Eden. "I can't do this one!" I am pulling on my jacket, coaching Eden through another sum, shouting to Paul (who is quietly and sagely avoiding the scrum by clearing up in the kitchen) that I am leaving. Ava throws a piece of toast over her shoulder and stands up in her highchair and starts leaning precariously towards me wailing, "Mummy! Mummy!" as soon as she sees me in my coat. Nathan starts singing, "Roary the Racing Car" in a raucous, tuneless fashion whilst racing through the living room in my direction. Two and a half stone's worth of small boy careers into my thighs, chubby arms are wrapped around my white suit trousers. "What have you got on your hands?!" I shout, noticing that they look worryingly sticky, wriggling free and trying to hug him without incurring any further damage (Why am I wearing white trousers? Well might you ask). Eden is almost in tears. She hasn't finished her homework yet. "I have to go; you'll have to do the rest with Daddy", I implore, pecking her on the forehead and lifting her chin so that I can give her a reassuring smile. "Right. I really am off!" I yell breezily. Delivering a kiss to Ava's head I turn and race into the hall, picking up oyster card, keys and phone en route and grabbing my bag. I unlock the front door and turn to see Nathan and Eden chasing me down the hall. "Bye!!" they squawk in unison. "Bye!" I reply and wink at them both. I shut the front door behind me "Have a great day!" I say through the letterbox at their grinning faces. I walk up the front path and on to the street, heading for the station. It's been another ordinary morning in the Lloyd household. I used to describe things at home as 'organised chaos', but this isn't organised in any shape or form. This isn't even chaos. It's sheer bloody madness. Nothing at work can be as challenging as leaving the house in the morning on time, in one piece, relatively clean and with one's sanity intact.