We have had SUCH a lovely start to the summer holidays this year. It's been brilliant. Day trips to beautiful, sunny locations. Lazy hyggeligt days at home playing together. A perfect mixture of action and inaction. And considering that last year the summer holidays started with us all getting a stomach bug, one by one, cancelling multiple planned excursions and sitting inside in jumpers looking at the rain, this is A Very Good Thing.
So good, that I've been waiting for a disaster, quite honestly, to keep the balance. Today, I'm delighted to say, the balance was restored by a day that has been a series of rather unfortunate events.
It started early, in a wonderful fashion, with myself and the small peeps breakfasting around the kitchen table. We started composing a story about 'Princess Barnacle', one of the crabs we caught on our lovely day trip on Tuesday. I was simultaneaously making a packed lunch for us later in the day and assisting with the sounding out of words, and admiring the rainbow crab Miss O was colouring.
An excellent start, I'm sure you'll agree.
We were all showered and dressed and assembled in the hallway by 8:30, ready to head out to Master R's early morning swimming lesson (one each day these week, intensive swimming lessons to try to help him progress, so it's been like school run - up and out). I loaded children and bags into the car and did the outloud checklist before locking the front door; lunch = check, children = check, swim stuff = check, swim stuff for the other lesson in the afternoon = check, waterproofs for adventure at a nature reserve between the two swimming lessons = check, wallet = check, phone = check, water = check.
Off we went! There was the usual argument about what to listen to in the car, of course. Master R and Miss O would have me listening to The Greatest Showman every moment of every day until my ears bled, unless I occassionally insisted that we chose something different, and today I plumped for the radio. I do miss listening to the radio. Once Miss O starts nursery two days a week I'm going to relish tinkering around with the radio on in the background and being able to HEAR the end of news stories and conversations. Or simply listening to my choice without the background noise of whinging and complaining.
Anyhoos, we arrived at the leisure centre and that's when I realised I'd forgotten the library bag, which I normally bring so Miss O and I can amuse ourselves with stories while Master R works on his kicking legs (from the thigh, kid, not from the knee!) and breathing technique. It was ok. She was happy enough playing with the locker key and chatting to me. His lesson went well, although he's still determindly bending his knees so makes very slow progress on his back.
After swimming, I tried to find the post code of Arger Fen, where we were heading for a "time travellers" activity about life in the Stone Age (which I was VERY excited about, this being my favourite part of history. I've recently got Master R interested in cavemen, thanks to The Croods and Walking With Cavemen). Could I find a post code for the blasted place? I could not. I could find a map reference, but funnily enough I can't enter a map reference into my car's satnav. I could bring up the location on Google Maps on my phone, but not extract a post code from that. Frustrated, and working against a time constraint, I opted to use my phone as a satnav.
I knew it would be awkward, because my phone is pretty rubbish at providing directions. It's harder to see where you are on the map. Our destination was further than I'd estimated beforehand, and we were stuck between one of those lorries that does a steady 40mph whether it's in a 30 or a 60 zone. Terrific. As we got closer to the fen, the roads got tinier and fiddlier, the children got whinier and we'd heard the entire Greatest Showman album and were now listening to nothing, because Master R couldn't bear to listen to Moana and Mummy couldn't change tracks and drive on these wibbly roads at the same time.
Then the satnav lost signal, and abandoned us. I performed a masterful (that's sarcasm right there) three-point-turn up and down the grass verges of a single lane track and we finally arrived at the fen. The rain was pouring round, the group of other children were waiting (because we were late, obviously) and Miss O had fallen asleep. I wrestled welly boots onto children as fast as a could, we threw on anoraks and with a car key in one pocket and a phone in the other, we set off.
The first activity was well thought out and engaging (Actually, they all were! And so well resourced!) - we had a laminated sheet with a list of things to find, like something a Stone Age person would eat, or wear and then along the trail there were pictures of animals and objects and we had to decide which was which. We had some great discussions about whether a deer would count as food, clothing or both, but pretty soon we abandoned the laminated sheet and pen because those things fail in the damp. About 2 minutes in, Master R announced that he was hungry. I explained that our healthful and delicious lunch was in the car. I apologised for not giving them a snack in the car (rookie error!) and explained he'd just have to wait.
Cue whining. I pointed out that whining was going to achieve nothing except winding me up, since I did not, in fact, have a three course meal or even handful of raisins in my trouser pocket. Then he announced that he needed a wee. Of course, we'd been to the toilet before we left the leisure centre, but apparently I was the only person in the family who could possibly squeeze out a wee at that point. I established from the activity leader that there was a toilet up ahead and we agreed he could wait, rather than do a nature wee.
Soon we saw a shelter up ahead, with animal skins stretched out on ... I want to say looms, but that's surely not right? Frames! That's better. Anyway, lots of fun activities were awaiting us. But we needed to use the facilities, so we set off. Ha! "We set off", in this instance, means that I asked Master R twice to come here. He was transfixed by the interesting items all around and utterly ignored me. Or possibly couldn't hear me over other people talking and through his hood. So I called him again loudly. Eventually I grasped him in one hand and Miss O in the other and marched them off, reiterating that being ignored makes Mummy "angry... really quite angry". Reiterating the importance of responding to instructions even if you don't follow it.
We were told the toilets (which I'd spotted, not too far away), were down the trail, then along a narrow winding path to the right. Off we set, followed by two other families. We passed a tiny opening in a thick tangled area of woodland, but, in spite of Master R's best attempts to convince us that it was the right path, concluded it couldn't possibly be THAT path. When we reached the next junction of the trail, we concluded that our previous conclusion had been flawed. Back we traipsed. By this time, a third family had joined the toilet quest, and, seeing us returning to the tiny path, the darted down it first. Thus, as we crept through weeds and saplings, the order of desperation was completely reversed. Desperate toddlers who'd needed a wee for 20 minutes at the back. Older kids who'd just realised they needed a wee at the front. Hmph.
There were two composting toilet available (I love these things! They're popping up in all sorts of outdoor venues and they're so clever!), but since one had a hornets nest in, we all waited for the other. After a whole bunch of older children had been, a kindly mum let me take my fidgety, desperate pair, who were at this point arguing over who got the dubious honour of balancing on a log. Which was in front of a toilet. I found that funny. I'm such a child!
No catastrophes in the composting toilet, happy to say. We discussed how it works, exited and made our way back to the shelter, just in time to catch the end of the explanation of how to make a little fabric pouch in the style a Stone Age person would have, and how to make paints from natural materials. Although creating a 'Clan of the Cave Bear' style totem pouch, imagining myself to be Ayla from the self-same books would have been fun, it was clear my chiddlers were going to like the messy fun of making their own paint, so we joined the not-so-orderly queue to collect a pestle and mortar.
It was at this precise moment that my phone rang. Now, I don't know whether you've ever had a lively debate with a GP over the phone about the relative merits of living on anti-anxiety meds (no thanks!) or taking a very occasional sleeping tablet, while supervising children picking and mashing blackberries, arguing about which ones they can eat and all while surrounded by many other parents, all politely pretending they couldn't your half of the conversation, but if you HAVE, you'll know how amusing it really isn't.
I could write an entire blog post about trying to manage the problem that is my insomnia, which I've had on and off since middle childhood and have recently had SERIOUS problems with. I could go on and on about how I would love not to need a sleeping tablet but sometimes, even when I'm perfectly calm and everything in my life is serene, I just don't sleep. I just don't. And that left without any solution, I quickly spiral into anxiety and panic (not to mention exhaustion) as the situation gets out of control. I could explain how simply having a packet of strong sleeping tablets in the cupboard, next to the herbal Nytol, normal Nytol, synthetic melatonin and special sleep inducing face cream, makes me much, much less likely to end up in that downward spiral. Lord knows, I tried to explain it to this particular doctor. I did convince her, in the end. I have been told in no uncertain terms, however, that this set of 7 zopiclone tablets has to see me through the rest of my adult life. Here's hoping!
After that stressful episode (I really hate confrontation of any sort and am generally not good at advocating for myself, so although I'd been successful, I was feeling quite emotional), we got down the nitty gritty (and grimy) of painting. Blackberries make an excellent maroon paint. Crushed chalk with a drop of blackberry juice and a bit of water makes a lovely lilac. Mud makes an unappealing brown colour and lichen a disappointing beige. Such a good little bit of creativity! They loved it!
THEN the children got to make spears! How cool is that?! I politely held myself back from making one for me too, and supervised Master R while he peeled down his bark to make a sharp point, banged the lump of wood into the blade thingy to split the end, cut his feather and tied it in place.
He proudly stalked about the place like a pre-historic hunter, aiming his wee spear at thistles and blackberries. What a brilliant craft! AND absolutely one we can replicate at home! By this point though, I was famished, Miss O had been constantly begging for and scoffing blackberries for half an hour and we were all increasingly cold and wet, even through our waterproofs.
So we said thank you, collected our sticker and headed back to the car for lunch. I stripped the children of anoraks, waterproof trousers and wellies and flung them in the front seat, changed my shoes, climbed in and... discovered that I'd only brought half the prepared packed lunch. We had some naan bread strips, my very soggy tomato and lettuce salad and some vegan-xylitol chocolate cookies. But no salad or fruit for the ravenous children. Classic. Oh well! We declared it "not our day" and scoffed the food we did have.
Thinking to wash down the very dry cookie with some iced water, I held the thermos between my legs and unscrewed the cup on top. At this moment, I discovered that the bottle had not been done up properly. Water had collected in the cup. Iced water. Iced water which flooded out of the cup, all over my chair and crotch.
I laughed. What else can you do?! I laughed, sent a selfie to my wife and we headed back home.
By the time we got to the driveway, the children were both asleep. I did the through-the-rain-unload of all the wet things, bags, children etc and put on warm wintery clothes. Within ten minutes we had the missing salad and fruit, some fresh popcorn and The Gruffalo on the television. Phewee.
Later we did brave the rain again to go swimming AGAIN, because Master R still had his regular swimming lesson. We went a bit early so Miss O and I could play too. They were both a bit maniacal in the pool, to be honest. Kept jumping in and swimming in opposite directions, which, considering that Miss O hasn't learnt how to lift up her head the breathe and Master R is not consistent at swimming beyond 5m, is quite hazardous. But it was fun. Miss O and I played sharks while Master R had his lesson (and I THINK he was doing straight legs a bit more). At the end of his lesson it all descended into disagreements and crying. Master R wanted to play in the pool a bit more, but Miss O was cold and had tummy ache from drinking pool water, so I said no. In the end they were arguing in the changing room because "She's looking at me!" "He's looking at ME!" and I told them they were hilarious. Hilarious aggravating children.
For the most part, I've managed to see the funny side today. I think having a blog helps, because by thermos-gate I was just thinking "this is going to make a funny blog post that I will LOVE to read to them when they're teenagers". And my goodness, it wasn't REALLY a series of disasters. Just a series of slightly unlucky moments with slightly tetchy children. That's all it takes to push a Mama to her deep-breathing place! We've also had some lovely moments today. We finished that story about Princess Barnacle this evening and Master R is so proud of it. He kept reading it to us aloud.
They are both quite tired and grumpy at the moment though. I think a quiet day at home is called for tomorrow. After that last swimming lesson.