Twin boy and girl have been asked to write memoirs of their six week holidays for school.
I am keen for the teachers to have a realistic view of what six weeks at home 247 is like.
Here is Day One…
Twin Boy :Got up ate breakfast with all my family and then went swimming, mummy yelled loudly at the man who saves lives.
Twin girl:Got up after a lovely long sleep, played with all my toys, got very sad at the swimming pool.
Ok – the five year old’s are not telling the full story, I am not having this going into school.
Here are the facts:
Got up at 7.02, despite running the children into the ground yesterday with activity after activity; inclusive of bouncy castle and horse racing they were still up with the larks.
Made breakfast, no one wanted the same thing so managed to knock out crumpets, porridge, tea, coffee, warm milk and weetabix at the same time. Using my crafty third hand I also kept the kitchen relatively tidy and sorted the laundry. He who helped create them contributed to the morning by bathing whilst checking the cricket on his phone. (To be fair if I could have done that I would have)
No one commented what an amazing feat it was delivering three types of breakfasts and three types of beverage to the table all at the right temperature whilst performing cleaning duties. I honestly believed I deserved a fecking medal.
8am – 9.30am the children explored the toy cupboard (read: emptied) whilst I inserted the hoover in my bottom so I could clean the floors whilst making the beds. Then I gathered up swimming items, plunged them in a bag, literally put clothes on myself, smeared a baby wipe over my cheeks and gathered up three children and headed out the door issuing commands and warnings as we went.
Arrived at swimming pool, the popular Rivermead in Reading. I declared to the lady behind the till that I was accompanied by “one baby and two five year olds”. Again I was surprised to note that she didn’t reach into the till and give me a medal for even thinking of bringing three small children swimming alone. Instead she charged a small fortune and waved us in wishing us a happy swimming experience.
In the hottest changing room imaginable we began the process of undressing. BB managed to scoot along the floor gathering dirty plasters, abandoned pennies and odd socks on her journey. Twin boy caused chaos when he announced a poo was en route. So we all had to gather belongings dash to the ladies, then we had to pause for an argument about why he had to use the ladies and not the gents, and then we returned back to the now occupied family changing room.
Ten minutes later and at least forty years older I was ready, as was BB, twin boy and twin girl.
Still no medal was pressed into my palm, although a mother of one commented that I must be insane.
We skipped out merrily to the poolside and were greeted by a cheery young lifeguard.
“Madame how old are your children.” He enquired.
My heart leapt, finally this must be it, my skills as a mother were being recognised and I was going to be presented with a motherhood medal, live from Rivermead. I looked around for hidden cameras and, upon finding none, I giggled to myself realising they were of course ‘hidden’.
“Well” I smiled proudly, wishing I had applied make up this morning, “she is 14 months” gesturing to BB, “and the twins are five.” I resisted saying ‘aren’t I bloody amazing coming here with three kids, alone.’
Silence followed as I glowed outwardly waiting for the moment he declared me mother of the year for skills in breakfast making, swimming pool changing and general wonderfulness.
“You can’t come in, you need two adults for three kids.”
POP – my bubble exploded.
This dear diary is where I yelled…
I have been to this pool with the children several times in the last year, not only are my twins perfectly competent swimming, but the biggest more ridiculous factor was – the woman on reception had bloody well let me in seeing full well that I didn’t have another adult with me.
Clearly I done something to upset this woman in a past life, or she just lives to torment already tormented women like me.
You’ve guessed the ending, shouting got me nowhere but it did make me feel a teeny-weeny bit better to grumble, moan, and complain at the man who should be saving lives not making mine tougher.
Did I mention BB also chose an opportune moment to have a wee whilst I was whining? Right down my swimsuit. past the amazonian not trimmed bikini line, onto the floor. It didn’t improve my mood; some would say it made it worse.
So school diary that was day one of the holidays. How the twins describe it doesn’t really do it justice so I am sure you would agree my little notes are needed just so you get a better flavour for our time together.
I look forward to telling you about Day 2.