Summer holidays with the kids can drive you crazy
It made my irrational dislike of the chore that is compiling the kids' lunches a much-missed habit that I longed for because it acted as a signal that I might get a lunch by myself.
By the time you read this, the plan is that my two toddlers will be safely tucked away at daycare and I’ll be that person over there in the corner, rocking back and forward while quietly speaking in tongues.
I have just completed three weeks of solo parenting without the support of my much-loved early childhood centre, and their associated angels, while it was closed for a much-deserved summer holiday.
To say I was apprehensive about the break to start with would be an understatement.
It actually went OK in the sense that we all made it through, and there were lots of lovely summer memories made at beaches, parks and laxing out at home.
But there were also a lot of moments I’d rather forget ever happened. I’m not too proud to say this mumma lost her rag a number of times.
So, if there’s one thing I’ve learnt over the past few months, it is that child-rearing is not designed to be done by one person. It just isn’t.
I know there are plenty of single and solo parents out there, and seriously, nothing but praise to you all, but after the summer holidays, I just can’t help thinking that it’s not healthy for anyone to think they can parent alone and remain sane.
It absolutely takes a village and every now and then we need to step away to breathe and be someone other than ‘‘mum’’ or ‘‘dad’’.
One of the nicest things about this stressful time was connecting with other parents in the exact same position.
At 9.50am on one of our many morning trips to the Esplanade’s bike park – an incredible facility by the way, bravo Palmerston North City Council – I overheard a stressed looking mother talking to no-one in particular, and yet speaking for us all: ‘‘Is it too early for wine yet? It’s 5 o’clock somewhere,’’ she bemoaned. ‘‘I’m so over this, I’m so ready for kindy to go back.’’
Myself and a nearby dad gave her a half-smile of knowing acknowledgement and a silent nod of solidarity. I got it. She was speaking my language, preaching to the converted.
Then, this past weekend, I was at a wedding and made some new mum friends, bonding over our mutual dislike of the holidays.
OK, so we had a few drinks on board, but we were damn near rolling around on the ground at our own humour as we joked about how we would rather have the excuse to go to a funeral than spend more time with our kids.
We were kidding, of course, that was a bloody awful thing to joke about, but the sentiment was meant in a if-we-don’t-laugh-we’llcry kind of way.
That’s what stress does though. It makes the irrational, rational.
It made my irrational dislike of the chore that is compiling the kids’ lunches a much-missed habit that I longed for because it acted as a signal that I might get a lunch by myself, no whinging and no demands, to eat my food.
Most parents acknowledge that routine is the key to keeping everyone happy.
It took almost two weeks for my kids to stop asking each morning if they were going to daycare or not. They missed their friends, teachers, play time and the routine.
But they didn’t miss it so much that they thought I might like them both to be healthy enough to actually attend their first day back in care.
Like clockwork, the weekend before they were due to return, a random vomiting bug struck down my youngest, pushing back my much-wanted, much-needed time alone by however long.
But I honestly haven’t been that upset by it because, of course, the health of my little monsters comes first, and mumma’s sanity takes a back seat once more.
Also, I’ve learnt over the past couple of years that kids have the most uncanny sense of timing when it comes to these types of things, so I half expected this exact situation.
And it’s actually nice having this one-on-one time with my youngest, who is often overshadowed by her crazy older brother.
Who needs personal space, anyway? Pass the wine…