I am on holiday. It IS a holiday: Spain, sunny, warm, no shopping, no cooking, no housework, no paperwork. Delicious meals that waltz out of the kitchen and dirty plates that disappear back in there. Not having to try and fit in the things on my Things-To-Do List in between unsynchronised naps and calm gurgly baby moments. Here I don’t have a Things-To-Do List, which is why it is indeed a holiday. But then again, having two small children to juggle means I might, if I’m lucky, snatch ten minutes a day to myself; the ten minutes having been broken down into four chunks of around 2 and a half minutes, which means I hardly notice I have had a break from playing with non-lego lego, making up obstacle courses, squeezing Tommy into a wetsuit and then another wetsuit because the first one was too big and then peeling it off him again ten minutes later, breastfeeding, nappy-changing, baby-jiggling, reading books, picking up clothes, finding the lost pyjamas and giving baths; often doing two or three of these things at the same time. Grandparents take the edge of things. A bit of Grandad bat’n’ball means I can breastfeed sitting quietly in the afternoon sun rather than fending Tommy off with one foot as he tries to force a beach bat on me. A book with Granny means I can send a couple of photos to L’Homme who thinks he’s the one working. The gung-ho tree-surgeons that are here today have been doing a great job of keeping Tommy busy picking up branches and pine cones and feeding them into their chipper machine. So it is a lot easier than when I’m at home on my own with the two kids. But right now, as I write, they are BOTH ASLEEP. AT THE SAME TIME. And I barely know what to do with myself. So what am I doing with this unexpected, magical moment of free time? … writing about my children. Ridiculous. I am off to watch those young tree-surgeons in their harnesses, swinging chainsaws off their belts as they climb up the pine trees.
(the chipper machine was turned off while Tommy was anywhere near it; I may crave more time to myself but not at the expense of letting my little boy turn himself into sawdust)