Wednesday, January 30, 2013

Three Fly Free, Return Home, Destroy Nest




Today I dropped off all three kids to various care and education joints around town. Ivy to school, Ted to pre-school and Georgie to daycare, for the first time. All three. Without me!

It went a bit like this. Drop off baby at day-care (oh my baby! wah wah wah). Drop-off big girl at Year 1 (oh, my big girl! wah wah wah.) Drop off big boy at pre-school (oh, my big boy! wah wah wah.)

I felt nervous and a bit nauseous all day. I had planned to work (so much writing to do) but I could not settle to anything useful. Exhausted from the lead-ups I think: all the shopping and bag-packing and lunch box-filling and uniform-finding and chart-making and haircutting and administration and Back To School Feasting. Plus, the school holidays have worn me down. Down to the ground.

Today, I was filled with sentimental thoughts about the kids growing up. I remembered Ted waking up early yesterday for 'pre-school practice', and kissing me so he could take it off his list for the morning. I remembered sitting for an hour reading Little Women to a quiet and captivated Ivy in her 'big-girl' haircut.  And, anxious and sad, I thought about little George staggering about the house wearing beads around her neck and underpants on her head, begging me to read her favourite book Peepo to her for the twentieth time.

But tonight, I am not feeling so sentimental.

Tonight, I feel like I got hit by a truck. A truck full of frat-boys. A truck of frat-boys pissing out the window. I am remembering,  with creeping dismay, the after-kindergarten crazies Ivy used to get last year. And the after-day-care crazies Teddy used to get. And I am surveying my bomb site of a lounge room with a heavy heart and an uncontrollable eye-twitch as I recall the hideous afternoon I have just spent with three post-institutionalised children.

I tried to zero in on the needs of each loony, one at a time. Ivy and I read Anne of Green Gables. Teddy and I went through cookbooks and marked off pages of sweet treats to cook. George hit me over the head with (hardcover) Peepo until I relented. As I focused on each one, the other two made some new unspeakable mess. It was like being trapped in an episode of Real Housewives. All the kids did was eat and fight and dance and scream and cry.

Correction. It was like the Real Housewives WITHOUT THE MAIDS. Because they are finally asleep, the clothes are ready for tomorrow, and the bags and lunches are packed, but the house is a hideous (and glittery) tornado of destruction.

Wednesdays are going to be interesting for a while.

Wah wah wah.

10 comments:

  1. Sending metaphorical gin. Nb, yours is a season of real housewives I would definitely watch. x

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    1. I cannot imagine...the drama! the comedy! Pat that bump for me Tor xxx

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  2. Oh Rachel you have summed it up so well. Hang in there. In the meantime sip (skoll?) that gin Tori mentions above. Although maybe not I cant imagine dealing with all that with a hangover as well. oh my

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    1. I know, there is nothing more evil than a hangover plus small children. Shudder. And shoulders back, tits out, onwards with today! x

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  3. I have a similiar day each Wednesday and Friday, a few years on and I don't seem to have made any progress - the only change is where I drop them off and pick them up!

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    1. Thanks for the solidarity sista. Hope the school year goes well for your two little ones Claire x

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  5. Oh lord, I'm off to research boarding schools, in the UK, for all progeny at large at unborn. I know exactly what you mean about not being able to settle to anything. When rare moments of solitude present themselves my tiny mind explodes with all the ways I could/should profit from that time, when all I really want to do is prop up my feet, and reach for a slab of chocolate and my book. At least your kids are bloody cute, look at their happy little faces! Bx

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    1. Ah, boarding school (sighs wistfully....)They are so happy, it is true. Makes it all worthwhile. But oh my god the housework. Hope you are feeling well Bex. Have another little lie down. Pregnancy #3 is no damn walk in the park. Small children are very very bad at giving mum a cup of tea and a foot rub x

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  6. This: "All the kids did was eat and fight and dance and scream and cry."

    Rach, you sum up life with three kids so perfectly. Can you be my ghost writer? I am too bloody exhausted by them all to be this articulate.
    x

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Thanks for talking to me. I don't got cooties. Oh, except for when I got cooties.