With Big school looming in T minus 2 sleeps…. Things have begun to get decidedly more wobbly on the emotional front that I was expecting them to be. Oh my, where has four years and two weeks gone? How are we here already? This almost feels worse than my maternity leave ending, a mixed bag of joy that (and oh my this makes me beyond sad) I’ll have more time to do house work and sort shit out whilst he is at school and I go back to only having to parent one child between the hours of 9am – 3pm Monday – Friday; and mass panic that I simply haven’t held him enough, that I need to squeeze him and hold him and never let go. Essentially I feel like a teenager before a school friends house party, with a stomach full of thuggy butterflies swarming about, so bloody excited it might be the best thing that’s ever happened to me yet nervous I’ll be a dick and this could indeed be the bring about my downfall on the social spectrum that rules your life as a teenager. I have the school running’s fear and I’m unsure if I like it….
- He won’t make friends; that the friends he has have been forced upon him by my decision to like his friends Mums and hang out with them. And that prior to this point he and all other toddlers have had no control over who they are mates with – thus causing me to worry that he is set to be one of life’s loners and forever sad as a result. Mostly I want him to have mates so that a percentage of his time is filled with them occupying him, not me and I won’t have to pretend to be Dash on all fours (whilst scrolling through my Instagram feed in a half hooked pretend paw) as he runs round me being Rider shouting no pup too small – four year olds have more commitment to the role play than I do.
- I will not get my shit together and get him there on time every day. It is one of the great mysteries of parenting for me that I’m awake earlier than I ever have been in my adult life yet seem completely incapable of being anywhere on time. I have no idea what happens to time for me these days but seemingly someone’s speed up the clocks or slowed me down. That and it takes my children roughly 14 minutes 52 seconds to put shoes on. Also what do I do when we have got our ducks in line ready to leave the house at 7.45 and the boy utters those words… “I need a poo” this is a guarantee you’re late.
- The PTA or Friends of the School or Fundraising squad, I’m so likely to be sucked into this (I cannot say no) but I also know I’ll suck at it, for a few reasons. One I’m never on time for anything as mentioned above and Imagine that high on the list of PTA etiquette is “turn up on time for the meetings” and possibly “turn up on time for the events”, But most of all I plan for a living so the temptation to over burden myself with tasks and fail miserably at getting it all done as well as bringing up by children, cleaning my house and spinning the plates at my paid job. I’m thinking if I’m the sweary Mum they’ll give me a wide birth anyway, saying fuck in front of reception age children isn’t highly thought of.
- The Mothers race! Now it’s no secret my sporting prowess is well nonexistent, utterly totally nonexistent. But I’m massively competitive. Basically unless I’m going to win I don’t want to take part, therefore I’m pretty much allergic to sport as I’m so totally shit at every sport I have ever tried. I couldn’t win if I was the only competitor in some cases therefore to avoid taking part to save people from seeing the very bad looser I really am. The Mothers race fills me with dread, is it acceptable to train? can you pack footwear to change into for it? is it a gentle romp or a fight to the death kind of race? Either way I run like a Barbie that’s got a bit too keen at the club Tropicana punch bar, even if I did by some miracle win – I’d look like an utter twat doing so.
- Clubs. I already feel like life is a big old ball juggling session (and not in the kinky good way). A bloody long and exhausting session. How do we add more in. And thus far clubs haven’t gone well for us, the swimming teacher actually told Mr B he’d sack the lessons off if it was his kid as they were totally pointless. So the thing with clubs is they are likely to equal the most expensive 30 minutes of the week I spend sitting persuading my child to do what I say and getting nowhere. At least when this happens on a daily basis its free and I can reward myself with wine to take the edge off.
- The Nativity. Nope not what you think here, I couldn’t give a flying fuck if he gets picked as a shepherd, Joseph or a donkey hoof. He can be Mary for all I care. The problem with this is he simply will not join in. At his pre-school Christmas performance he told me not to bother coming because he wasn’t going to join in or sing. When we did go and he didn’t join in or sing (he sat at the back facing the wall with his crown on the floor next to him) and I asked why his response was “I told you I wasn’t going to”. In all honesty being the stable door might work best, then at least if he doesn’t take part it won’t be too obvious. Oh and did I mention he will not do fancy dress – this kills me as its one of the reasons I became a parent – to dress kids up in costumes and take humours snaps of them, he is having none of it, I’m devastated by this.
- Homework. I rather naively thought after getting a C in GCSE maths “Hurrah I’ll never have to do maths without a calculator again & fuck you Pythagoras I’m done with you”. Silly, foolish 16 year old me, although it probably hadn’t crossed my mind I’d have children and have to help them work out if X = Y and Y = a and a has a yellow hat on what is its value??? Basically we’re going to have to shell out cash and get a tutor, it’s not an advanced maths type of household. I can however totally teach him how to write boobs and boobless on an upside down calculator…
- Babyness. Not me having one, more that I have kept my boy like one. He still won’t drink cold milk, it needs to be at 27.2 degrees to be palatable for him. I’m not confident he is totally down with sorting himself out after a sit down wee if you get my drift, his shorts are mostly on backwards when he dresses himself and he can’t cut his own food up. I have taken the task of keeping him safe and alive very seriously, bringing him up and teaching him life skills maybe less so.
Poor boy with a hot mess of a mother being all neurotuc on him, he has no clue why I keep pausing and hugging him tightly. I know it will all be fine, but right now as we vevnture into the unknown there is still a small part of me thats properly fucked over the chapter ending and the page being turned.
I for one will be holding on a little longer as we hug for the next few days, wish me luck….
And if your School Running this monday – good luck xxx