Half Term Happiness?!

I know it’s lazy to talk in clichés but the first day of this half term holiday was more like a ride on the rollercoaster of doom than a restful respite from the chores of 24-hour motherhood. 

I was ready for a steady morning of family motoring up the M1 to stay with my common-law cousins followed by a few days of happy mayhem.

We’d been really looking forward to it. The run-up week was busy but I’d planned our trip with military precision. It’s the only way to cope when you’re head’s full of fluff.

Then things spiralled out of control and I (almost) only have myself to blame.

I got offered a bit of extra work – fantastic! “Of course I can do it, absolutely. Yes, of course, by when? Yes, YES!” (Who was I kidding?)

I may be a woman but I’m not blessed with the gift of multi-tasking. Anyone will back me up on this but don’t remind me when I am pleading my case to the contrary. 

I actually did think the work-load was possible, until I realised I’d misjudged my ability and would have to fit it around life with two toddlers (one teething), my partner’s school parents’ evenings, a send-off to an emigrating NCT pal, an overdue visit from very old friend and a family funeral involving a six-hour round trip; all before packing duty. 

At no point did I factor in my partner’s bout of man-flu (YOU SWINE-flu would be more apt) and a journey north without his company! 

The trip began merrily with Mamma Mia for company. Six-and-a-half hours later I felt like starting my own Waterloo and it rained so hard I nearly aquaplaned when parking for our pee-break. I was so exhausted after a week of all-night working (and partying) that my eyes whirled into a blood-red frenzy. 

It was twilight when we arrived and I mustered up the enthusiasm to open the car door… where a neighbour’s dog had just pooped. As my limbs limped towards the warm welcome the kids saw the opportunity to cork-screw around each other like they’d dropped a few E-numbers en route to the nearest rave. 

Bedtime beckoned but sleep stayed away. 

Despite our protestation the small cousins had to sleep in the same room. Four giggle-to-tear filled hours later we removed my wailing Eldest (and mattress) into MY room, where two-year-old Smallest’s travel-cotted screams put paid to any hope of shut eye.

I was trembling with tiredness and could barely soothe them. While Smallest used his toys as missiles I pursued peace and the safety of my pillow and shut the light out. Eldest and Mother tried to sleep but the bombardment persisted. I moved Eldest around on his mattress so his head was out of range. 

I shook. I sweated. I suddenly broke. 

“SHUT UP AND GO TO SLEEP” I screamed, as in one swift motion I leapt in the dark towards the travel cot and laid Smallest down in the cot. 

I wept. 

Seconds later they were both snoring. Minutes later I too was fast asleep. 

Seven hours later we woke, relieved and mildly amazed, that we’d made to the morning!

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