The plan for the day? To have the boys dressed, fed and ready to leave for the supermarket as soon as the domestic cleaner arrives. Learning from experience, the nappy bag is packed with bribes of chocolate biscuits, juice and milk for those melting moments you wish to avoid in public places! I gather the library books that are way overdue, in hope that my boys will remain intact, and stay awake, long enough to get to the library after the grocery shop.
The dreaded call. The cleaner is sick! 8 adults for dinner, including 3 of my husband's directors from work, whom I have only briefly met, and their wives - still to be introduced! The house is upside down, turned inside out after a weekend of busyness. The casual tidy up over the weekend with the assumption that it would all be taking care of on Monday, suddenly hits me! Its all up to me now! Where do I start?
The next dreaded call. The trains are delayed. Husband needs the car! My whole day changes in an instant. House bound, with two ratty children who are suffering from three days of cabin fever.
I here the cheery musical hum from the washing machine telling me that the first of four loads of washing is complete. With visible blue skies breaking through the heavy dark clouds after a weekend of hailstorms, I seize every opportunity to wash, and hopefully dry to some extent, the urine-drenched bedding in time for bed. I get the first load out only to discover that I have been defeated by the washing machine. It won't spin. Stepping back in a time warp I start to wring out linen, towels and clothing as much as my weak body can handle. My body feels limp, lifeless. Oh no, a scratchy throat. Flu! Not today, of all days.
The boys escape out of the back door in socks & white t-shirts, only to discover them a while later completely saturated and filthy from puddles, muddy soil and wet play gym. I turn a blind eye. Time to tackle the housework, finish off the food preparations for the evening, pack the dishwasher, make beds, pick up mounds of toys throughout the house in vane.
Everything takes decades longer as the boys decide they want to help with the household chores. My oldest of 3 has the duty of helping set the dinner table. He places cutlery neatly on either side of the plate, pairing a knife with a knife and fork with a fork on each side of a plate and placing wine glasses in the oddest of places, but it keeps him busy. My almost 2 year old helps to vacuum. I walk away rather chuffed that he is relieving me of some work, only to return minutes later to see that he has left the vacuum cleaner on and is merrily playing with toys alongside it. Sitting down for only a minute to catch my breath while staring aimlessly at my laptop, my youngest picks up a brick from the fireplace and launches it in my direction. Adrenaline, reflexes… whatever you want to call it … saves the laptop screen from smashing into a million pieces by milli-seconds.
Freshly dusted and vacuumed, a glance around the lounge to see what else needs to be done, I notice onion peels sprawled as far as the eye can see after my boys were playing an imaginary game of shop-shop or cook-cook with a box of vegetables. This is followed by my toddler walking in to the room with his new straw cup of water holding it horizontally. I watch as it creates a stream across the lounge floor. At that moment my older son races in making siren noises on his black motorbike, and skids through the water. I guess I do still have to mop!
Lunch! Oh goodness! Its after 2pm and lunch hasn't crossed my mind. Wraps folded in half with marmite and grated cheese sit lightly toasting in a frying pan as I attend to last minute chores. Aaargh, the smell of burnt food coming from the kitchen. Not quite sure which is worse, the fact that there isn't another morsel of food for the kids to eat without having to go to the shop, or the smell of burnt food as guests arrive hours later. The realisation that even if I wanted to get to the shop, my husband left with the double pram in the car boot! The rather toasted wraps are rescued by salvaging what I can and adding fruit slices to the boys' plates.
It's almost 5. Time to apply some make-up for the first time today, find appropriate clothes to wear that does not involve Ugg boots & hoodie, pick up the onion peels and the squashed crayon off the floor, think about the kids dinner and whether to bother bathing the boys. Is it too early to pour a glass of wine?
The boys are too quiet. I step in to the guest bathroom and my jaw drops! Water leaking out from the toilet, the toilet paper that I had folded guesthouse style lies sprawled across the bathroom floor, and an array of wax crayon colours are artistically displayed on the bleached white bath!
One last walk through the house to ensure each room is picture perfect for nosey guests. I run my hand over the cat-creased bedspread, only to feel it is piping hot! Surely cat's don't radiate that much heat? It sinks in … the electric blanket has been on all day … no. 3!
Ready for bed at 5.14pm.
And just when I think it ends there …
I am chopping onions. The sing-song bell goes. Ah, husband is home! He's early! After searching for the remote for the gate, I run for the front door. Fiddling with the lock in a hurry, then misjudging the narrow gap between the door and frame, due to kids bike laying right behind the door, the door knob darts me in my back between the shoulder blades, followed by my hoodie getting stuck on the door knob. I jolt back, then as I pull away I hear a tear. I jog down the driveway to open the gate, only to see a lady peering over the gate who immediately asks for clothing or food. Sigh. Not even a greeting. Did she know anything about how my day was going and what I had to endure to get to her? I apologise politely telling her that I need to attend to my children and run back inside. I get to the front door and shut it. Oh no! The door won't stay closed, let alone lock. The children have escaped. Its cold and wet out there. Its getting dark. They are barefoot and barely dressed. But this gives me a few minutes to fix the door and breathe.
Husband arrives home with the last-minute groceries we need for the evening in a cardboard box. A box? He explains how he walks out of the supermarket with a full plastic shopping bag in hand and … smash! The contents fall out the bottom of the bag! Two bottles of milk spilled. He rescues what he can and with the help of a shop assistant puts the groceries in a box with two new bottles of milk.
The last minute rush and the door bell rings. With fire unlit and toddler in saggy nappy all six of the guests arrive promptly in the entrance hall. I immediately lose track of names, let along who belongs to who!
After a successful and rather indulgent evening of great conversations, husband's well known variety of curries with all the Indian trimmings, a roaring fire, gluhwein and Petit fours to end the night, I can only imagine that the newly married, career-focused women left thinking, 'Oh my, she doesn't work and she doesn't do the cooking! Oh to be a lady of leisure!'
Oh my, how to remain sane and cheerful with a combo day spicy mix like that, I don't know!! Sometimes it's all a girl can do to hold it all together - other times, the juggling balls are falling from flailing hands, bouncing wildly on the floor. Lord, help us!
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