We’ve been having a fantastic summer break. After a number of years as a childless young adult and then several more with pre-school age kids, I’ve finally been reunited with the magic of not needing to be somewhere on time every day and coming up for air from term time structure. It’s of course great to have more concentrated time with C and M too.
But with all the joys, come the hard truths, and I’m on about one of those today, namely: lack of personal space.
It starts early on bright summer morning (my children rarely sleep in). The groans and sighs. No, not of sexy time. Of children awake and firing up on all cylinders. Then ‘pitter patter pitter patter” and “whoomph.” My leg spasms, M is kneeling on it. “Good morning mama! Cuddle!!” Chris and I really need to get that blackout blind.
Later I’m walking. On an angle. Probably due to the child rudder hanging off my handbag. I used to get told off by my mom for doing this to her. Mom, I finally understand!!
I’m so accustomed to being hung off and climbed on that I didn’t bat an eye when C’s tennis instructor inadvertently bopped me on the bum with a tennis racket. I probably thought it was M trying to get my attention. If I even felt it at all!
And who likes admin, right, but it’s a necessary evil. The kids are playing nicely so I can quickly sign into online banking and check my emails. Right? Wrong! Children can be fine if you are not playing with them. You can be floating around the room, tidying up after them, preparing their dinner. But the second they sense something unrelated requires your focused attention, they’re on you like a shot!
The other day (a long day), we got the kids off to bed and I escaped for peaceful shower. Just as I step into the welcoming steamy cascade, the bathroom door slams open. “Mommy, I need a poo. It’s going to be a messy one!”
Oh personal space, where art thou?