Parenting

Day 100 – A last minute hospital visit and an impromptu lockdown party

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Yesterday Liam threw out a comment about having a 100 days of lockdown party. And the more I thought about it, the more I decided we’d go for it. Moods have been tricker since school has come up in conversation, and it’s been almost a month since we last had a birthday here, so it seemed a good a day as any to throw a party just for the sake of it.

It helped everything really. Schooling became making decorations for the party. Although I did sneak in a spider web piece of art too, just so we weren’t entirely off topic.

Unfortunately Megan has been having trouble with her braces for a couple of weeks, so I contacted the hospital yesterday, and was told to bring her in today. The tough part was that at age 14, she was considered old enough to go into the department on her own, including being given a mask for the waiting room, having a temperature check and answering all the Covid related questions, and going through the orthodontic procedure, all with me waiting outside.

So off we went, with some understandable anxieties. But the promise of a drive through McDonald’s on the way back, and picking up party food from the shop, all went a little way in helping. She was brilliant and brave and the braces are sorted again for now. And I was brave too, loitering in the alleyway outside.

We got back in time for lunch, and Theo enthusiastically decided our party would have a Numberjacks theme. Because ever since his nursery teacher started sharing episodes for the children to watch, he’s been obsessed. So I went with it, printed off some colouring pages and got them making ‘decorations’.

It did all get a bit hot today though, didn’t it? So we had a break from crafting to dish out ice lollies, and to fill up some vessels with water and have a little play with the hose to cool down.

I then got slightly engrossed with printing off a photo for every day of lockdown, 100 hundred days of memories. Toby created lockdown party bunting, and was so pleased with his success that he announced confidently that he might become a party planner.

It was good to have someone matching my enthusiasm for the cause.

Picnics are a mixed blessing, I find. There’s something delightful about laying a table of food that everyone will eat – obviously completely disregarding the salads. And the happiness of dining al fresco, always to be regarded as a treat in Wales. But then there’s the freedom for small people to run around like excited puppies, and refuse to sit and eat their food, and the frequent freak outs over ants because our entire garden is basically an ants nest.

Nevertheless, it was a fun evening. We looked at all the things we’ve done in the 100 days at home together and picked our favourite photos. It seems like such a long time in a lot of ways, to look at the change in seasons, the things we’d forgotten about in those early days in March. And then the things we are starting to have freedom to do again. The first time we went out more than once in a day! The first time the kids went in the car. The first walk with friends, the first McDonald’s.

And on Monday it will be the first time back to school for two of the children.

There have been many ups and downs over the last 100 days, and although I’ve written a lot, there’s obviously a lot that’s left unsaid too. In my first post on day 1 I shared a page from our kids Thought for the Day book, entitled ‘But God.’ It said that those two words show up over 3,000 times in the Bible – whenever something terrible was looming, ‘but God’! He comes and turns it around, the bringer of hope.

In all the last 100 days, the ill ones, the well ones, the rainy ones, the hot ones, the cranky ones, the loving ones, the jealous ones, the grateful ones, the grieving ones, the rejoicing ones, the claustrophobic ones, the hermit like ones, the anxious ones, the hopeful ones, in all of those days, God has showed up.

He’s been there in the gifts people have sent, in the messages and phone calls. In the Zooms and the virtual church and the music in the kitchen. In the Bible and in books and in the changing of the seasons. In the turning around of cranky days and the teary talks with one another. In the rainbows and the kindness and the sacrifices people have made. In the saying sorry and the forgiving hugs and the chance to always keep learning.

He’s always been here. And He’ll keep showing up in the days, weeks, months to come. Whether they’re easy days or hard days, He’ll be there. Because He loves His world and He loves His people, and it can look like it’s all falling apart – but God.

23 ‘Nevertheless, I am continually with you; you hold my right hand.
24 You guide me with your counsel, and afterward you will receive me to glory.
25 Whom have I in heaven but you? And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides you.
26 My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.’ – Psalm 73:23-26

Day 99 – Unicorn Talk

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My latest strategy for coaxing them into learning is to do something really fun and then try and casually switch them into the boring stuff without them noticing. Today we got very excited about making lollies. Micah allocated the red and green chopping boards as teams, and took his banana dissecting duties very seriously. Theo held more of an operational leader role. We successfully filled the lolly moulds and put them in the freezer, and headed to the dining room.

Sadly they weren’t fooled at all. Maddie had a comparison chart to fill in regarding positives and negatives about spiders. The positives were hard to come by. The negatives seemed to consist of ‘creepy, scary, creepy’. I think that we know where she stands on the matter.

So we dragged ourselves through a bit of schoolwork, interspersed with, ‘are the lollies frozen yet?’ every five minutes.

I had to go to Morrison’s this morning, so I took Toby with me to experience the delights of social distancing in the real world. 10 year old boys are not naturals, it appears. But I think it’s given him a little insight into how school might feel somewhat different, and from that perspective it seemed like a worthwhile outing.

When we returned, the small people had moved from playdoh to kinetic sand, which they were now happily throwing around the garden in a wild and frenzied manner. But they seemed relatively happy, and for that both we and the neighbours were grateful.

I’m trying not to assume it’s directly related to the amount of time we’ve all been at home lately, but our neighbours have spent a lot of time constructing an extra extension of trellis above their fence over the last week, to encourage their thick and perhaps sound limiting trailing plant to grow along and up. I can’t say I blame them. I’ve thought about doing the same thing around my chair at the dining table. Maybe one of those Perspex cubes that drummers sit in would work. Although I hear Perspex is tricky to get hold of these days. It seems to be quite popular in the supermarkets.

Much to their delight, the lollies did eventually freeze and were ready for eating. It seems the chocolate milkshake ones were significantly more popular that the strawberry smoothie ones. No surprises there.

Someone had a power nap on the sofa whilst watching telly, a fact he hotly denied later, even when shown this incriminating evidence. ‘No! That’s NOT me!!!’

Everyone seemed to need a bit of exercise this afternoon, so we ventured out, albeit in different directions. Megan and Maisie deemed themselves too cool to go on a family walk, and left way ahead of the rest of us. Toby has been granted a small amount of freedom on his bike recently, so he headed off to do circuits around the outside of the nearby playground.

Which left Liam and I with Theo, Micah, and a slightly fractious unicorn. Who we engaged in conversation to try and see if we could help encourage some verbalising of the fears and feelings that kept her up late last night and saw her creeping into our bed at 1:30am.

‘Hey, unicorn, it seems like you’re a little bit worried at the moment?’

Unicorn nods it’s head violently.

‘I’m wondering if you’re thinking about going back to school?’

Unicorn nods again.

‘I wonder if maybe you feel a bit worried about school feeling strange, and about keeping a distance?’

Unicorn nods violently, neighs and paws at the ground.

It turns out unicorns are real, and I’m learning their language. And it’s much less scary to ‘speak’ through an inanimate object if you feel a bit worried about something and aren’t sure how to express it. I’m thinking about trying it myself the next time I have to face a difficult conversation. I wonder if Liam can interpret crocheted penguin language. And how to say, ‘please could you put your dirty clothes in the laundry basket instead of next to our bed?’ in penguin talk. Not that I’d ever need to say it, of course.

Tonight we had friends over and a fire and we got to use the fizz emoji again after far too long. It may be a cliché, but there’s definitely a new level of appreciation for these moments now we’ve lived some months without them. And with the uncertainty of what the months ahead will hold, these are the pots of gold to look for and enjoy.

It feels like the hope we hung onto is there, coming nearer with every garden glass of Prosecco, every distanced walk, every news announcement saying that maybe, in two weeks, we’ll be able to travel and move nearer and even go in a house. There is light ahead.

I looked closely at the growing sweet peas today. I’d say my sweet peas, but given that I didn’t plant them and haven’t watered them, I’m not sure I can make such claims. I love how as they grow, and they are frail and wobbly, they send out tendrils to hold onto something for support. They are vulnerable, they look for something stronger and cling on.

But in my Google education about growing them, I was interested to see that the advice to was keep a check on the tendrils, and snip them if needed, because if left unchecked they cling onto the wrong things, or their neighbouring plants, and the whole thing ends up a mess.

I saw myself in those young sweet peas today. When I feel wobbly I’ll send out a tendril, look for something to hold onto. A family member, a friend, the words of a book. Those things are gifts and blessings and good. But if I don’t hold onto to the right thing, there is a danger I’ll choke those around me and tie myself up in knots.

There is One I can cling to, who’ll guide me in the right way, who’ll hold me fast when the winds rock me, who’ll allow me to grow stronger and bloom and become who I’m made to be.

14 “Because he holds fast to me in love, I will deliver him; I will protect him, because he knows my name.
15 When he calls to me, I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble; I will rescue him and honor him.
16 With long life I will satisfy him and show him my salvation.” – Psalm 91:14-16

Day 98 – Incy Wincy Spider

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Hello and happy Monday to you. I wanted to start by giving a quick thank you to all of you who were so kind to comment on my post on Friday about finishing these blogs. I won’t stop writing, I do enjoy the process and there’s plenty more tucked up in my head! So I will be popping in, just a little more infrequently. If you’d like to see when I post you can opt to subscribe on the blog, and it’ll pop you an email to let you know.

So here we are again, another weekend passed. Saturday we had a morning of activity, prepping for Father’s Day. We made a cake, which my helpers lasted approximately until they’d stuck their fingers in the butter and spilt sugar over the kitchen floor, leaving me to do the rest.

We then moved on to cards. Feeling confident in my new found pre-school crafting abilities, I googled some ideas and went for it. It’s always hard to merge the Pinterest image in your head with actually letting the children have their own creative way. As the photo above shows, I struggle to allow freedom of creativity in the craft department.

The kids insisted on hiding their presents themselves, which was slightly concerning, especially as at least one had chocolate in it. By Sunday morning, Micah had hidden his so many times that even he had no idea where it was. Thankfully it was found just in time to avoid complete meltdown.

Saturday afternoon we walked with friends. This was the first time our little ones had seen friends in all these weeks, and it produced a variety of emotions as expected. But it was so nice to see them settling into it and enjoying hanging out together.

In the evening it was Marvel night, which Toby is generally excited about from somewhere around Friday lunchtime, and I fear it’s going to be with us long after we have freedom again. One should think carefully about these traditions. Especially when they involve watching the Incredible Hulk.

But all joking aside, for as much as the films themselves might not be my viewing choice, I love that it’s important to the children that we do it together. And for that I’ll keep mustering enthusiasm.

Liam was wished a happy Father’s Day by being held hostage in the bedroom, by a zealous Theo, who insisted he stay there until the party was ready. Cryptically, he told Liam the party was for ‘someone who puts up the sitting hammocks’, confirming just how important that particular role is to him.

After we’d made Liam his choice of bagel with poached egg, gifted presents and proudly presented cards, we moved to church online. We’ve hit the stage where the younger three children pick the exact same three songs every week, despite my best efforts at sneaking other ones into the repertoire. There was a lack of musical accompaniment this week, although Micah sat and ‘played’ the music on his pretend iPad, which is actually a kids kindle case, whilst singing along very loudly in his very deep monotone.

We made prayer hands for the crafts. There were different prayer points suggested for the different fingers, which was great until it got to the teenage girls, who were reluctant to choose to pray for ‘someone who points you in the right direction’. It turns out they weren’t that keen on being pointed in the right direction. I wrote myself on that finger for them. I need all the prayer I can get.

Especially on a Monday.

The Monday vibes were strong today. There was a significant reluctance to do anything I suggested. And perhaps not helped by Maddie’s topic for the week being spiders. I can’t say I relished the YouTube videos of extreme close ups either.

There was definitely a sense of heightened tension and anxiety for little miss, lots of questions about school and distancing and it was a day on the edge. So we crafted. A lot. It seems to help keep a vague degree of calm when one of us is by their sides, present to calm frazzled feelings, soothe sulky stand offs, and mediate in the melee.

Liam started them with stick spider webs, which they loved, although raised concerns that a spider might actually decide to live in it.

We made a new batch of playdoh which they then played with for a while, involving plenty of soothing sensory squishing. And also plenty of throwing it around the dining room.

We then attempted spider web plates, the most popular part of that one of course being the hole punching. They then insisted on hanging them on the door, fighting for whose was the highest, had the longest string, and swung the furthest when hit. If there’s a way to compete, they’ll find it.

And as the final last ditch effort, we made spider web rainbow cupcakes. I fear we’ve completed a week’s worth of crafts in a day, but maybe Tuesday will dawn with a slightly more positive take on literacy and numeracy. Maybe.

It took a lot of emotional energy to keep a level of calm today. Especially as I felt like I was losing it at around 9:30am as we attempted early pen skills at the same time as early number forming at the same time as a war was breaking out over the two times tables, one student was standing on a chair waving ribbons, and another was crying because ‘you made me sad’. (Micah’s favourite phrase of late. Said when we say absolutely anything he disagrees with.

In between the meltdowns over, ironically, a spider, the fear-related regression to baby-like behaviours, and the late night soothings of troubled minds, it was a Monday of Mondays.

But the sun shone beautifully and the washing dried on the line. There was enough of yesterday’s roast to not have to really cook another dinner, and lots of pudding and cake. We were on time for piano lesson zooms and happy birthday to my nephew zooms. And Ikea reopened today. So there is much to be thankful for.

28 ‘For it is you who light my lamp; the LORD my God lightens my darkness.
29 For by you I can run against a troop, and by my God I can leap over a wall.
30 This God-his way is perfect; the word of the LORD proves true; he is a shield for all those who take refuge in him.
31 For who is God, but the LORD? And who is a rock, except our God?-
32 the God who equipped me with strength and made my way blameless.
33 He made my feet like the feet of a deer and set me secure on the heights.’ – Psalm 18:28-33

I find huge comfort in the fact that tonight and tomorrow and all the days to come, there is One who lights a lamp in my darkness. Who gives courage for the battle. Who gives safety in the danger. Who gives stability in the unknown. Who gives strength in the weariness, freedom in the shame, and hope in the desperation.

Tomorrow is a new day, full of possibilities. And coffee, too, no doubt.

Day 88 – Dancing in the Rain

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We were given a rather large bag of cornflakes yesterday, which Micah was very excited to drag to the breakfast table this morning. And then insisted it had to sit on the table, dominating the standard size boxes of cereal somewhat, but creating a handy barrier for the children who can’t manage a breakfast time without someone ‘looking at me meanly!’

Theo had made concrete plans to use the cornflakes for Gruffalo ‘knobbly knees’ cornflake cakes, so was very anxious that we might use them all up and not leave any for the cakes. We reassured him that even we don’t eat quite that much in one breakfast sitting.

Another day, another self-chosen outfit for Miss Maddie. I’m pleased to report the wardrobe alterations have made a significant difference to the clothes-choosing stress in the morning. As long as I remain true to my word that she can wear anything that is in there. It’s always exciting to see what she’ll come down in.

As the rain was due in the afternoon we decided to let the kids play outside this morning and do a bit of school work after lunch. Liam had some jobs to do outside so I intended to get on with more cleaning. However I ended up having a difficult conversation with one of the children, which was hard, exhausting, and tearful for both of us.

Once we worked through that, I went back to the cleaning. By now it was already heading for lunchtime, so I was busily scrubbing bathrooms and hoovering corners, at which point a small child from downstairs clearly started to get hungry. And decided to start yelling at me.

‘MUM!’

‘Yes?’

‘I NEED TELLY!’

‘It’s nearly lunchtime, I’m just finishing this and I’ll get lunch.’

Angry child: ‘MUMMMM! I NEED SNACKS!’

‘Just hold on, it’s almost lunch.’

‘MMMUUUUUUMMMMM!!! I NEEED TELLLYYYY!!!’

I got downstairs, but needed a wee quickly before getting lunch. Of course, no toilet roll. Despite the fact we’ve always managed to find toilet roll in the shops through the pandemic, finding it in our own house has proven tricky on many occasions. Where it all goes is a mystery. No one ever seems to have used it up, and everyone is confident that they always replace it. Just another family life conundrum I suppose. Along with the disappearing scissors and the serial drink spillers.

Things improved a bit after lunch. Chicken therapy is proving popular for calming frazzled nerves and soothing troubled souls.

Theo was insistent that Daddy make the cornflake cakes with him, so I left them to it and got to be Toby’s maths helper for a while. Judging by the noises from the kitchen, I’m not sure Liam enjoyed the baking experience as much as the boys did. I can’t say I loved the maths either. Maybe we should stick to our usual roles.

I had to collect something from a house nearby this afternoon so took a lively Theo for a walk with me. It was starting to rain a little, so we took his umbrella which he was thrilled about. Theo loves a bit of rain.

It turned out to be more than just a bit of rain, however. It started to get heavier as we walked back, so we came along the river to hide under the trees. By the time we came up the path by the house it was like wading through a lake, the downpour was torrential, and we were soaking and laughing hysterically.

It turned out other family members were also dancing in the rain and coming back in at the moment we arrived, and poor Maddie had just been stung by a wasp. Imagine if you will the chaos of drenched clothes, giggles from some, tears from others, and me applying sting ointment and loving cuddles with steamed up glasses and dripping wet hair.

And yet that chaotic five minutes lightened the mood in the house immensely. The wet people changed into pyjamas, Maddie had cuddles, treats and telly, and we made a cup of tea and decided to get chips for dinner.

The pros and cons of lockdown seem to often be the same thing. I’m loving spending time with our family, getting to know one another better, talking more, and just being together. But at the same time the intensity of that can become the thing that is exhausting. Facing all the discussions head on, dealing with the issues that are arising because we’re seeing them, being both the apparent cause and cure of their frustrations. And having no place to hide from the challenges.

I can see a lot of benefits in that for our family. But there can be days and weeks like this one, where it seems like all the issues and needs are continually coming at us from all directions and we’re juggling emails to schools and social workers, medical needs, therapeutic input, relational challenges, and accident prone pre-schoolers. And it can get a bit overwhelming.

It turns out what helps on those days is crying to God for help, sending some honest messages asking for prayer or advice, and embracing a rainstorm head on.

The freedom of embracing the rain reminded me of the verses in Ezekiel, where he is prophesying to those exiled from Judah, giving a message of hope and a promise of God’s unwavering love and plan of restoration for His people. In amongst some beautiful chapters of reassurance, he says,

‘And I will make them and the places all around my hill a blessing, and I will send down the showers in their season; they shall be showers of blessing.

And the trees of the field shall yield their fruit, and the earth shall yield its increase, and they shall be secure in their land. And they shall know that I am the LORD, when I break the bars of their yoke, and deliver them from the hand of those who enslaved them.

They shall no more be a prey to the nations, nor shall the beasts of the land devour them. They shall dwell securely, and none shall make them afraid. – Ezekiel 34:26-28

Those verses gave hope to an exiled people, and they promise hope of a heaven to come. But they also give me hope when it feels like we’re the exiled people, apart from those we love, held captive by a viral pandemic preying on our world and stressing out our homes. He is the God who sends showers of blessing, who brings safety and security and freedom, whether here on earth or with Him eternally. He promises and provides refreshment, nourishment, sustaining grace, and showers of blessing, for each and every day.

Coffee with Words

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I have moments where I dream of doing big things. Maybe not world changing, but dramatic, exciting, people-affecting things. But isn’t this often the biggest and hardest thing right here? To love my family. The ones I see all the time. The ones who aren’t being lovely. Who are in fact being their worst. To love those who are draining. To love when it feels like there is nothing left to give.

We hear so much about ‘self love’ and ‘self care’, and there’s of course definitely a place for that. For not trying to pour from an empty cup. But I’m fairly certain Mother Teresa didn’t book herself a spa day when things were tough. I think she knelt and sought strength from the One who promises that in our weakness, He is strong. (2 Cor 12:10)

It’s been a tough week so far. Liam has been very poorly since Saturday. One child had a sickness bug all afternoon on Sunday. Another was sick everywhere in the middle of the night. On two different nights. Two other children have sore throats, temperatures and coughs. Little Lady M was making a big move to a new school this week, tricky for any child, even trickier when your early life makes change and loss very complicated. And I’ve tried. Tried to keep going, doing all the jobs, chasing the pesky rabbit, being hit by grumpy toddlers, deciding whose illness warrants a day off or not, checking on Liam, planning and buying food, riding the emotional turmoils of the children…the day in, day out stuff of life. I know that I can’t complain. There are people that I love in much more painful, longer term situations. But we all hit those weeks where the going gets tough. And how do I keep going? Keep loving? Not stressing at the children? Not getting frustrated with the illnesses? Holding my tongue when the weariness sets in?

On Sunday we were reminded in our church service about the Jesus who came from heaven to serve those who hated Him. He knelt and washed the feet of the friend who was about to betray Him to be killed. He who made the world, and had authority over the storms, chose to die for the sake of those who let Him down. He knew His friends weaknesses, their arguments, their pride, their laziness, their abandonment, but He loved them till the end. Where He chose to give His life to give them – to give us – life.

Yesterday I hit a tiredness wall. But when I stopped and acknowledged that I know I’m not loving well, that I’m being stretched and I’m failing, that was the moment help came.

Coffee helps, of course, but true strength and energy when my resources have run out doesn’t actually come from caffeine, or from sleep, or a candlelit bath (although I wouldn’t say no to any of those things). It comes from my weakness. From being wise enough to know I can’t do this alone, or perfectly. From loving my family enough to say sorry when I get it wrong. From being humble enough to ask for help and to accept it.

When I reached out, and told God I was starting to lose the plot, and told some friends I was exhausted, these were some of the encouragements that they sent me.

‘He tends His flock like shepherd, He gathers the lambs in His arms and carries them close to His heart; He gently leads those that have young.’ Isaiah 40:11

‘The Lord, the Lord, the compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness.’ Ex 34:6

‘But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us.’ 2 Cor 4:7

‘But this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness.’ Lam 3:21-23

I can’t do it all, and I will often fail. But I believe there is grace to keep loving, by turning to the One who loves perfectly, until the end.

*NB I realise Mother Teresa shouldn’t have an H in her name. It’s bugging me, but the coffee is gone so we’ll have to all live with the symbolic imperfection. xxx

Defined by an Emoji.

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I’m feeling meh today. It turns out that ‘meh’ is actually in the dictionary (thanks to the Simpsons, I believe), and given that it even has an emoji, it is clearly a recognised state of mind. Apparently it is defined as ‘expressing a lack of interest or enthusiasm, unenthusiastic, apathetic’ (Oxford Living Dictionaries).

On a normal day once I’ve pulled myself out of bed and woken up properly, I don’t stop. Until around 9pm when the older kids go to bed, I keep going, busying, organising, moving. But today I got up, got people dressed, made breakfasts and lunches, and that was it. I went up to get dressed but flopped on the bed and decided I don’t want to be an adult any more.

I’m not sure where it’s come from but the fog has been there for a few days now. I think the speeding ticket that arrived last week may have begun it. Then a small person smashed my favourite lamp and violently hammered the wall I’d just painted. Over the weekend I lost my Weight Watchers motivation and drank all the Prosecco and ate all the chocolate. The hall had been my project for last week, and downstairs is looking good, but the half painted stairway that I can’t reach anymore is nagging at me every time I walk up and down it.

Then Monday began badly. This week already felt stressful – Liam away overnight, a day of two birthdays sandwiched between hospital appointments, and a meeting I’m not looking forward to. I was trying to leave to meet friends and had a series of unfortunate incidents including a last minute nappy to change and a child’s fingers shut in the door, cue much screaming and reassuring.

So there was of course an irony in the smoke that started emerging from the bonnet as I drove down the dual carriageway. Accompanied by a rapidly rising temperature gauge in the car, an urgent diversion and parking up at a builders merchants, and all plans for the day being abandoned. So I cried, rang Liam, told the security guard my sob story, and the boys and I were rescued by a kind friend.

But the funny thing about my mood is that the car, which would normally be the biggest of my worries practically and financially, was actually a free and quick repair due to an error at the garage. So in theory, I should feel better today.

But I don’t.

So I started wondering about this as I attempted laundry, mindlessly and demotivated, this afternoon. The speeding ticket seemed to have kick started an emotional reaction in me, which followed along these lines:

I’ve never had one before, so I felt guilty, annoyed, and disappointed in myself. I should know better, be more attentive, be more careful, leave earlier, rush less, and not be distracted. Basically, I let myself down. And broke the law.

And now I can’t even finish off the hall painting job that I started.

Or stick to a diet which I avoided starting for fear of failing.

Or breeze into the week without worrying.

Or confidently manage two birthdays on Valentine’s day, complete with well thought-out gifts and homemade cakes of excellence.

Or be as good a friend as I’d like to be.

Or keep the house as orderly and tidy as Marie Kondo.

Or get myself out of a broken down car situation without feeling helpless and pathetic.

Or know in all certainty what the best way to handle a difficult meeting will be and how to make a wise decision in a seemingly Catch 22 situation.

The long and short of it seems to be this –

I’d like to think I’m superwoman. I place ridiculously high expectations on myself to be everything, do everything, and not make mistakes. And when I do, I wallow in guilt, self-pity, and disappointment at my humanity, and decide I’d like to give up.

The interesting thing is that when I see this in my children, I spend a lot of time reminding them – you’re human, you will make mistakes, it’s okay. We’re not God, we’re fallible creatures who will get it wrong. And we can rest in the arms of a kind God, who gave everything including His own Son for a relationship with us, who chooses not to look on our mistakes but at who He made us to be, and He declares that we are His design, and it is good. And when I remind myself of that, the mood starts to lift, and I can hand over the burden of worry and the pressure of perfection, and know that all I need to be today is me.

So it turns out I don’t need to define my week by an emoji. There is grace – for the mistakes of last week, the disorder of today, and the anxieties of tomorrow. And there is hope, in a new sunrise, a fresh start, and love that never fails.

And Weight Watchers can wait, because it would be downright rude not to eat cake on the birthdays anyway.

Rainy Days and Mondays will not get me down.

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14/1/19

Dear Diary,

6:15 Alarm goes off. Drag myself downstairs. It can’t only be Monday. Put kettle on. It can’t only be the second week of term. Make cup of tea. Empty dishwasher. Hear footsteps on stairs. Internally pray the person breaking my solitude doesn’t speak to me. Or even worse, ask me a question. Please let them have the respect to wait until I’ve drunk caffeine. Amen.

6:40 Child 5 opens door on his own toes. Comforting Mum mode switched on.

7:00 Husband speed walks to the shop to get change for the bus. Two lots of £1:10 needed four times per day. On no account will the bus driver let Child 1 pay with a £2 and 20p for herself and Child 2. We have used all the coppers and money from the kids money boxes, so times are desperate.

7:20 Remind Child 1 who has lost her dinner card but isn’t intending to make lunch for school that ‘food is more important than foundation’. When you are 12, anyway. At 37 with eye bags this impressive those priorities are reversed.

7:30 First two children leave. Husband leaves. I wrestle two smallest offspring into their clothes. I am sweaty and worn out when finished. Child 3 plays basketball in the hall and Child 4 makes strong objections about going to school.

8:25 At the school bus stop. Child 5 declares he’s done a wee, as the trickle seeps out of his trouser leg and down the hill towards the unsuspecting waiting parents.

9:15 Back home, child in clean set of clothes. Attempt computer type jobs. Child 6 asks for lunch.

9:30 I am feeling motivated despite the ‘wee’ (no pun intended) incident. Months ago I decided to paint a blue wall in the lounge. I tried a tester which the kids all thought was black, so I concluded maybe that was too dark. So those two test patches have been on the walls ever since, all through Christmas, as a little pointer to my unfinished moment of creativity. Today is the day. I paint over the patches with the second tester pot. I hate it.

10:15 In B&Q (not the fire station, despite Child 5’s hopes and dreams) to buy paint. Child 5 announces he needs a wee. Make the long walk with the pushchair from the paint aisle to the secret unlabelled door on the back wall that hides a customer toilet.

10:25 Waiting for assistant to mix a whole tin of paint that I may or may not like when it’s on the wall. Child 5 announces he’s done a poo. It’s true. Wait for paint, head back to the hidden toilet. Didn’t bring bag with change of clothes and wet wipes, so he’s cleaned with wet toilet paper and is going commando. Pay for paint.

10:30 Arrive back at car. Lifting Child 6 into car seat when he announces ‘shoe gone’ in his best speech. It’s true. He has one lonely Converse on his left foot. Given that we’ve already lost his other pair of shoes, I load him back in the pushchair, get Child 5 back out, and we make the long walk back into the shop, down all the aisles we’ve been in, all the way to the very back, through two doors into that same toilet, and there is the offending shoe. We retrieve it, and go back to the car.

10:45 Undeterred by the morning so far, I decide we’ll go and get the boys haircut on the way home. Foolishly tell them the plan. Child 5 likes to say ‘what?’ on repeat, no matter how many times you rephrase what you said, or how loud you say it, he just carries on. ‘What?’ ‘Haircut.’ ‘What?’ ‘We’re going to get your hair cut.’ ‘What?’ ‘We’re going to the hairdressers to see if they will cut your hair.’ ‘What?’ Along with that, Child 6 is in parrot mode, learning new words every 5 minutes. ‘Haircut’, haircut, what, what, what.’
Is it too early for wine? 

11:00 Hairdresser is closed on Monday. Drive to second hairdresser.

11:05 Both boys have fallen asleep. I don’t want them asleep now, or else there’ll be no moment of peace to paint the wall when Child 5 is in playgroup. Wake them up and go into second hairdresser. They can’t do it today. Book appointment for tomorrow. Get back in car to go home.

11:20 Child 5 decides he has a spider on his head. ‘There’s a spider on my head! I need the hairdresser to take it off! We need to go back! The hairdresser needs to take the spider off my hair!’ Me:‘You don’t have a spider in your hair, and the hairdresser can’t cut your hair until tomorrow.’ ‘What?’ Meanwhile from the back seat comes the echo, ‘spider, spider, spider’.

11:30 We go home for lunch, playgroup, painting, and bed. I’m not sure who is doing what or in which order, but it’s good to have goals on a Monday afternoon.