Holiday Haze

I haven’t composed a post for some time now, largely due to the fact I am suffering severely from school holiday burn out.  As I approach the end of a seven week school holiday period, I can feel the ‘writer’s block’ gradually beginning to lift.  My children are at school today, but only for ‘Orientation Day’ as they don’t actually start until next week – unlike every other school in the town!  This is the day I had earmarked to restore order to the house, re-stock the pantry and possibly sneak in an afternoon nap.

The school holidays are a wonderful time in so many ways.  Freedom from routine is welcomed by parents and children alike.  I relished the morning lie-ins, lack of lunch boxes cluttering the kitchen bench, and after school activity run around.   Midday movie marathons, long aimless walks around the town with spontaneous pit stops at pet shops and fast food outlets, interspersed with lazy days at the beach and board games at home. It’s all good. 

Except that is, for the constant bickering, claims of boredom and increasingly late nights eating into what little ‘adult time’ I had at the end of the day.  Despite having three siblings each, my children cannot seem to stay away from the sister that is bothering them most, nor do they ever have ‘anyone to play with’.  They have an entire room full of toys and games, movies and books and yet have ‘nothing to do’.  Seven straight weeks with four children is enough to wear anyone down. 

It took me several weeks to recognize the futility of housework during school holidays and when it came to laundry, I operated at subsistence level at best.  I gave up on mopping the floors and rarely made the beds.  I hoped that the state of the house would eventually bother the children to the point that they would tidy up; alas, they remained unperturbed.  Even now, I should be seizing the opportunity to clean the house and remove the layer of scum from the floor.   But instead I write – procrastination of the highest order, intertwined with therapy and relaxation.

I slipped into survival mode during the last fortnight.  Barely able to hear the children when they spoke, I was alert only to sounds that may indicate life-threatening injury or danger.  Thankfully there weren’t any and I remained undisturbed in my zombie-like state; immune to the whinging, fighting and constant claims of starvation.  I gazed desperately each morning at the empty calendar, counting the days until school recommenced - willing time to move faster.

It was evident this morning that Abby was as pleased as I, that today had finally arrived.  She was up, dressed, packed and in the kitchen helping me arrange lunch boxes before her younger sisters had even wiped the sleep from their eyes.   Excited to be a middle school girl, distinguished from her younger siblings; Abby’s superiority evidenced by her new ‘middle school’ PE uniform (it’s the little things that count the most).   

Regrettably, despite Abby’s help in the kitchen, we were a few minutes late for school.  Once there, I spent a moment ensuring Charlotte made it to the right classroom and that she introduced herself to the brand new teacher. Lulu was ushered toward her classroom, as I followed Abby over to the lawn where the middle school teachers were introducing themselves to the congregation of fresh-faced students. 

I returned briefly to Lulu’s reception classroom to say goodbye, before racing off to drop Josie at childcare.  However, upon entering the serenely organised room, I noticed the gaggle of parents seated next to their children, lovingly reading books and playing with playdough.  The teacher was crouching next to a child, talking reassuringly about their plans for the day.  It occurred to me then that this was a milestone day for the majority of the children in the room. Their very first day of school.  Here I was, rapidly depositing children in any room to which they had claim to be in, my eyes set firmly on the prize (a day to myself) and the sounds of ‘hallelujah’ ringing in my ears; and there were parents parting with children for the first time.  I felt twinges of guilt mixed with nostalgia and thought momentarily about settling in for the morning, I rapidly came to my senses and headed out of the school gate, leaving the first time school mums (and dads) to it.  It took everything in me to refrain from leaping in the air and clicking my heels together with joy and relief.  The two year old on my hip also reminded me that I still had one more stop to make before I was free.

The day has flown and the clock tells me it is almost time to collect the girls from school.  The dirty floors will have to wait for another day.  Besides, the holidays aren’t really over until next week anyway!