After The Boys of Summer Have Gone…

Stick a fork in me Summer Holidays 2019, cos I am well and truly done.

Now that I am recovering from the shock (some would rightly diagnose it as PTSD) of the school holidays; I thought I would share a short week-by-week diary of all the joyous moments I have spent with my wonderful offspring this summer.

Think of it as one of those ‘family update’ things that slightly wanky/smug people send at Christmas. But this one will be less ‘Simeon passed his grade 5 piano exam’ and more ‘Jonah drew a knob on my cream suede clutch bag.’ You get the drift…

Week One:

Not gonna lie I am feeling a fair amount of trepidation at the sheer amount of time I will be spending with the kids over the next six weeks.

Still, we have lots of exciting things planned. We will have a chance to reconnect and strengthen our familial bond. I will make nutritious wholesome packed lunches which I will disguise as ‘quirky’ and we will undertake stimulating educational activities which I will disguise as ‘fun.’

Week Two:

The enthusiasm of last week is waning slightly due to the fact that the sun has taken his hat off. In fact he’s thrown his fucking hat into the sea. The sea of rain.

The boys are so committed to wringing every drop from the summer holidays that they have started getting up at 6.30am. Even though on school days I have to drag them from their pits at 7.45am. Thrilled about that I really am! They are very much enjoying staying in their pyjamas until 10am and kicking the shit out of each other over the smallest of disagreements.

Ellis is loving having his ‘boys’ around though and is learning so much from them. Not least the skill of being able to fart on demand without shitting himself.

Week Three:

Things have taken a turn for the worse. It’s still raining. They’re still fighting. Wine o’clock is getting earlier each day.

Explorations on YouTube have led them to discover One Direction… finally a subject they agree on! They ARE the best band ever. Niall HAS got the best hair. Liam DID pick the wrong audition song the first time he met Cheryl.

We spend the bulk of this week either in spectacularly skanky soft-plays eating Pom Bears, or dancing in our pants (them) drinking G&T’s (me) singing ‘You don’t know you’re beautiful.’

Week Four:

We are off to sunny Spain! Wahoo! The airport experience was exponentially better than in the past due to the fact we did not take the trunki’s. So no little old ladies getting whacked in the shins, no collisions with wheelchairs and their occupants. (I actually just sold the trunki’s on gumtree and when the woman picked them up I want to shake her very hard and say “do you know what you’re getting yourself into here you silly cow!?”)

We had a glorious sunny time with our lovely friends and brought back all of the children alive despite the villa being about as child-friendly as an alligator swamp.

The kids have bonded over moonlit swims, melting ice creams, water fights and too many willy/bumhole/foof related jokes to remember.

Week Five:

Back to reality. The good news for the kids is that since we are moving house everything is upside down, meaning I can no longer really see the mess that they’re creating. Definitely less nagging going on.

The downside is that the kids are a bit bored and totally ready to go back to school. Shouts of “Maaaam he’s kicking me in the kidneys!” are becoming more frequent. I can’t really blame them though; if I had to spend as much time with Rob as they’ve spent with each other the past month; I’d be kicking him in the kidneys as well.

Incidentally I discovered my first white eyebrow hair this week. Not sure if it’s down to the kids or the alcohol saturation levels in my system. It’s fine though; I’m sooo looking forward to taking all three kids with me while I get them tinted. The eyebrows that is, not the kids.

Week Six:

Starting to feel slightly delusional and confused. Again could be due to blood-alcohol levels but more likely to be caused by the horror of shoe/uniform shopping… the result being that I woke up absolutely heartbroken on the Wednesday. Heartbroken to find I was not actually going out with Barack Obama. It had been a lovely dream where we had been deeply in love and although he was still very politically and morally attractive, he had decided not to run for office and instead to take a job for Hermes parcel delivery service. We toured the US together delivering parcels and shagging in the back of his van. I’m not going to lie, I felt bereft and cheated when I woke up in Whitley Bay with those three little fuckers demanding I serve them Shreddies.

Anyhoo… week six; the time each year when the smug mums start Facebook-posting, ‘oh my god I’m so devastated the six weeks holidays are over/I just love spending every waking minute with my kids/Also have you seen how clean my house is in all these photos?’. These posts make me first roll my eyes before the inevitable guilt starts creeping in… “what is wrong with me? Why do I want to send my kids back to school?

Look I bloody love my kids with every fibre of my being… but by week 6 we all need a bit of space. I’m pretty sure I caught one of my mum-friends googling boarding schools the other day but I didn’t make a big deal of it.

Week Six and a half (School-Eve):

Daddy is away, Ellis is in bed and the three of us are snuggled up on the sofa. We have read a chapter of the Beckham book, we have watched the Sunderland match highlights (spoiler:there were no highlights) and then the bit that always happens; the bit I forget is coming every year; it happens.

Tears. Both of them in tears. Because they have loved the summer holidays. They don’t want to leave me and Ellis tomorrow. They will miss us too much.

And suddenly I realise that I’ve been too hard on myself. I’m not Miss Hannigan after all. I whack on my rose tinted spectacles, tell them how much fun it’s been for me too, cuddle them in a bit tighter and thank my lucky stars that no matter how many wrinkles it gives me, hopefully I’ll get to do it all again next year.

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