Remember when you were a kid and the summer school holidays seemed to last for months. I thought it would be the same as the mother of a kid on holidays. That we’d be sitting around, staring at each other, wondering when it was all going to end.
Instead, six weeks have gone by in a nano-second. Admittedly, some days have been longer than others. The really hot days are as bad as the really wet days. Worse, in fact. At least on a wet day you can feel okay about six hours of dvds and ABC-2. When the sun is shining, the sky is a deep azure blue and the grass is growing a millimetre a minute, it seems like a sin to be indoors, curtains drawn, A/C blowing up a storm. But what else can you do?
Pool, yes. Beach, yes. Indoor shopping complex, yes. But only for about an hour each. So that takes you to midday, even if you do them all on the same day – what then do you do with the endless afternoon hours when you’re all counting down the minutes until Dad comes home. I take my hat off to single mums. I couldn’t cope without the change in energy that comes when The Builder enters the house.
It’s not so much that he does anything special, just that he’s new. At the end of a day that can feel very old by 9.30am.
But all that’s about to be over. Soon it will be morning routines, entertaining Mr 3 by myself (say what you like, but older siblings do have their uses), trying to get sleeps and work (I work when he sleeps) in by 2.30pm so we can collect the big First Grader from school.
I’m exhausted just thinking about it.
Part of me breathes a big sigh of relief that I’m down to one child again. The other part will miss the days of summer holidays. Even the reeeaaaallly long ones. Only them, not so much.