My Facebook timeline has been filled this week with stories of Year Six adventurers trekking off to the wilderness on their annual residential, away from their parents, with backpacks full of treats and plans to not sleep, ever.
I have also noted, across the board, that many parents are exhibiting signs of grief that their ten year old is making the bold, grown up steps of independence, and that they will miss them whilst they are gone.
This morning, I took my pair to school, Owen had a backpack on that was larger than him, I think he may have taken his Playstation. Molly, crippled by crutches, had me, her foot servant, carrying one of my best short stay bags. In addition to; three water bottles, Libby’s book bag, and some additional diabetic kit.
I resembled a donkey climbing a mountain with a load of sweaty non backpack carrying Brits behind it.
We went to school, and I steeled myself for the emotion, I even had a hanky stuffed in my jeans pockets in case the tears threatened to spill.
We got to the playground, Molly found some other poor sod to carry her shite, Owen struggled out of my embrace to avoid being kissed in public. Molly laid her head on my shoulder and said, “see-ya.”
And I waited for the emotion to hit….
And I waited.
Then suddenly it slapped me in the face.
I was happy…
Sod that, I was euphoric.
Three days with only one child!
I could properly repaint the whole home, hit the gym multiple times, cook food worthy of a BOSH from Joe Wicks, and still have time to mow the lawn, do my job, and spend actual time playing with my youngest.
I may even find time to wax my legs and sort my brows – come Friday – the kids may not even recongnise me on the school run.
I had a lump of sadness stuck in my throat about the £100 quid I had spent at the outdoors store buying waterproof trousers, huge jackets that the kids could sleep outside in and don’t feel a chill, plus fleeces and layers. That £100 was never coming back to me, and the old fella upstairs is clearly laughing his ass of at me, as we have a frigging Indian Summer going on.
I want rain this week – I want to see photos of the kids wrapped up in £100’s worth of walking clothes that they may never wear again. Then I want a few moments of sunshine so they are forced to smoother themselves in the suncream I had to dash to the shop for and pay non poundstretcher prices for last night.
I sat in the playground and looked for parents who also had wicked smiles stretching across their chops.
There were a few.
In fact, hankies seemed quite scarce this morning.
I turned to leave, with a skip in my step.
Then my youngest ran over for a kiss that she is never ashamed of (yet), and she whispered in my ear.
Because they are away Mummy, we can play with the Play Doh – all night after school….
Someone always has to bring you down!