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Monday, February 14, 2011


Here's something I've learnt over the last few hours. It's not wise to make ambitious plans in the middle of summer, while your husband is away, with a hangover and PMT from hell that involve your 'special needs' child (not sure I like that term)  while juggling house extension and a small business. When my NT daughter dropped her cup of milk on the floor this morning because she insists on slouching in her seat despite my constant nagging that she sit up, while searching for the remote controls for the fans that Harri has switched on I got as close to psychotic as I think you can, without completely crossing over to the dark side. But if I have to turn the bloody oven off one more time I just might make the full transition. Harri will not stop cruising around pulling all the CD's and books off the shelves. And yes I could move them out of reach, but the oven?  That thing is stuck at ground level, and as soon as my back is turned either the oven or grill is back on. I suppose I could just not turn my back but I am trying to find the goddam remotes to turn these fucking fans off. He has, while I grabbed a 1 minute shower, turned on the bedroom fans and hidden the remotes. I am living in gale force winds as he has them all on high mode.

Anyway perhaps tonight my daughter will allow me a decent nights sleep by not planting herself smack bang in the centre of my bed. When her dad is away she gets to sleep with me, which is nice, until that coincides with the hottest night of the year and she has snared the central possie. And when I considered packing her off back to her bed I was overcome by guilt (yep there it is again) because when earlier in the day I collected her from school the teacher had a word in my ear about Ali not having any lunch. Mortified I realised I had forgotten to order it from the canteen. So felt obligated to serve my pennance via sleeplessness.

Oh well I least can't slam the door to their bedroom anymore as one of the little darlings has hung off the knob and dehinged the bottom half. This house is over 100 years old and all the original doors, walls etc have stood the test of time...until we moved in. Dealing with all this while suffering post inebriated anxiety is clearly not ideal, yet either is sobriety.  It's on mornings like these, as I screech for the fourth time for Ali to put her shoes on while wrangling to strap Harri into his pram, conscious we are running late once again, and repeating mantra like in my mind "don't forget the lunch order today, don't forget the lunch order today" that I imagine a carefree childless existence. I wonder what it might be like to live in Paris spending the weekends exploring the Bordeaux Region, falling drunken out of Venetian Gondoliers, heading to Instanbul for catch ups with other childless bohemian globetrotters.

Then I think of my children, the stability and the structure they bring along with the destruction and unhinged moments. The demands may be overwhelming at times but my life contains a richness and sense of purpose it would not without them. I am a better person because of my children. Sooooo far from perfect, in fact perfectly fallible. But better than I might have been without them. And in the less stressful moments they are great company. Endlessly entertaining. It is a remarkable process to watch your genetic legacy unfold before you. So I wouldnt swap my life for the French countryside. But I will be really pissed off if I don't live long enough to enjoy it when my kids are grown and independent.

1 comment:

  1. Haha, ah yes, the Carefree and Childless Fantasy. Gotta love it. Here's too a healthy and long life!