Why I Love Sunny Saturdays

Sunny Saturday Craft

I’m really coming to appreciate sunny Saturdays at home with the family. They’re beginning to feel like mini holidays. Provided we have no plans, no kids’ parties or other places to be, Saturday has become the day we don’t leave home.

It’s taken eight months of my daughter being at school for us to have this real weekend distinction. It took me that long to train myself out of lazy parenting habits that were making my life impossible.

Before school entered our lives, the children only had childcare two or three days a week. For the rest of the time we did as we pleased. Some days would be busy; trips to the farm or the zoo. Others would be lazy pyjama days, when breakfast lunch and tea were picnics or in front of the TV. No wonder my children didn’t want to go to nursery – every day at home was a holiday, for them at least. No wonder, also, that the rigid structure of a school-plus-nursery week left me reeling.

Finally, though, I’ve figured some rules that help make life work, and much of it is about the distinction between week day and weekend. On week days children must be dressed before going downstairs. No exceptions. At the weekend they can wear pyjamas all day for all I care – it means less washing. On week days breakfast is eaten at the table, although programs can be watched on the ipad. As a result my daughter often gets her own breakfast and program before I’m even up. Weekends mean two hours of sofa snuggling, television, and pancakes if it’s Mummy’s early shift (dry cereal if it’s Daddy’s!)

That brings me on to the main reason why I love Saturdays at home. Hubbie and I divide and conquer. We’re both struggling with life at the moment, meaning all we want to do is sleep. On Saturday I get the early shift in bed, 7am-9am, to sleep/work/read. When I get up hubbie goes back to bed until late morning (lunchtime). I get out some craft, build a den, de-poop the lawn, and let the kids loose.

The rest of the day is spent doing our own thing. Ironing, working, lawn mowing, with one eye kept on the kids. I chuck food at everyone from time to time and pack all the mess away while the grubby kids are in the bath.

It’s a day when there is no rush. No, “we’re late”. No “should”. The kids learn to play, to be bored, to resolve their own issues. (The dog paces around and drives us all crazy, but you can’t have everything.) And hubbie and I get to potter, to just be.

Of course, rainy Saturdays are hellish. Summer, you are welcome!

Sanguine Saturday: 2013 365 Challenge #328

Can I come out now?

I’m starting to really enjoy Saturdays since my daughter started school. For the first time I can vaguely relate to the host of mothers who look forward to the school holidays.

I used to follow the debate with interest, as those mothers climbing the walls by day two of a school vacation fail to understand the mums that love every minute. I will be a bit of both, I have no doubt, but the fact that there is anything to look foward to is encouraging.

I was wide awake at 4.30am this morning, despite it being the weekend. Hubbie was out with work last night and I fell asleep on the sofa at 8pm, as I have been doing all week. I feel like I have jetlag. I’m not even watching the cricket (as a Brit, I’m happy to give it a miss just now). I think it’s the time of year, with the dark nights and a brain buzzing with Christmas plans; it throws my body clock out of kilter.

So I ventured downstairs in the wee freezing hours and ended up standing at the family computer (which is on top of the piano at the moment!) for four hours looking at photos for November’s cover. The children shuffled down at 7.30am and hubbie appeared nearer ten o’clock, despite not drinking on his night out. We’re getting old!

First handwritten letter

The thing I love about Saturdays is the way the children take themselves off to play while hubbie and I get a chance to chat. Today, my daughter was running school in the playroom, teaching my son his words. Aside from a gentle reminder to her that he’s only three and can’t read yet, they occupied themselves for hours without intervention. The trampoline has been a godsend, too, allowing our energetic boy to burn off steam without getting into trouble.

I finally dragged myself away from online Christmas shopping to cook lunch and encourage the kids to write their letters to Father Christmas. They’re not really hyped up about the big day (I worry that they’re spoiled because they can take or leave getting presents – they’re more interested in their chocolate advent calendars) but I need to be organised this year, if I’m going to find time to write a satisfying ending for Claire.

After lunch I risked a trip to the local shopping centre to get white tights for my daughter’s nativity (she’s an angel) and to let the children to cash in their reward charts. Goodness me the supermarket was heaving, but my darlings were superstars. Funny how much more relaxed they are when I’m not in a hurry. I guess it took a strict routine for me to appreciate the freedom we always had before.

I’m not saying the school holidays don’t still fill me with trepidation, but there is a ray of light. The contrast to the school run stress and chaos appears blissful, at least from this vantage point in the middle of it. For the first time since the children were born I’m looking forward to the end of term.

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Below is the next installment in my novel Two-Hundred Steps Home: written in daily posts since 1st January as part of my 2013 365 Challenge. Read about the challenge here.You can catch up by downloading the free ebook volumes on the right hand side of the blog:

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Claire looked at the faces staring expectantly across the table at her and wanted to scream. The boys had only been with her for a week, and she had crammed as many activities as possible into their days, not just to wear them out, but to keep herself from flying apart.

When they were occupied they didn’t bicker and she had more space to think about her assignment. Although time to think wasn’t always a blessing. Conor hadn’t been in touch since the visit to St. Mawes Castle. She kept reminding herself that a week in the office wasn’t like a week with two boys to entertain, and that he’d just been too busy to contact her.

As the weekend came and went with no surprise visit, she couldn’t ignore the insidious sense of disappointment that sharpened her temper and dulled her senses.

“What are we doing today, Aunt–, I mean Claire?” Jack was the first to break the silence. After a week together they had finally learnt it was best to wait until she’d drunk at least one cup of coffee before they badgered her with requests.

Claire looked from Jack to Alex, trying to work out how much energy she had and what activities were left on the list. They’d been based in the same hostel all week – one without internet or phone signal, which was driving her almost as crazy as it was Alex. Part of their daily routine incorporated locating a café with free WiFi.

“Are we moving to a different hostel today?” Alex looked up from his phone, having long since given up waving it around in an attempt to find the elusive spot where a text message might go.

Claire smiled warmly at her eldest nephew. “Yes, Alex. I have to say, you’ve coped brilliantly with the lack of contact with the outside world. I’m sorry it didn’t occur to me to check before I booked us in here. The location is brilliant, though, isn’t it? And the pool table has been fun?”

Alex nodded without enthusiasm. Claire suspected their hilltop location, with views to die for and a crystal clear beach in walking distance, had been more her idyllic holiday destination than theirs. The next hostel on the list wasn’t much better, but they were only there for one night, possibly two.

“We’re staying next to the lighthouse tonight – that will be fun, won’t it? Although let’s hope it isn’t foggy. Apparently the foghorn sounds all night in bad weather.”

“Wicked,” Jack said with a grin. “Can we go in it?”

Jack was definitely more her kindred spirit. He’d done the cliff top walks, the pony ride and jungle trek with obvious delight, whilst Alex had only really come alive at the theme park. Claire shuddered at the memory of being dragged on the rides, and wondered why she hadn’t thought to take the boys there when Conor was with them, instead of to the castle.

Their windsurfing lesson the day before – which Claire had excused herself from, claiming work commitments – had been Jack’s crowning glory, as he’d been the only lad of his age to come near to controlling the unwieldy craft in the allotted time. Claire wondered if there was anything that might remotely interest Alex.

“Yes, I believe you can play lighthouse keeper,” she said, in response to Jack’s question. “I think you even get to sound the foghorn and have a go at tracking ships.”

“Brilliant.” Jack said, and received a disgusted look from his brother. “What? Just because you’re in lurve,” he drew out the word, “doesn’t mean the rest of us have to be boring.”

Alex punched him on the arm and Claire concealed a smile, for once not irritated by their fighting. It had taken a while to get used to the physicality of brothers. With two sisters in the house, Robert hadn’t been a rough-and-tumble child, although she remembered a few times when they’d fought. Mostly he and Ruth had been the ones at war, verbally more than physically. Claire found the fighting easier to deal with than the telling tales and snide remarks she remembered from her own childhood.

“Leave him alone, Jack, and Alex, don’t hit your brother.” She drained the last of her coffee, making a mental note to pick up takeaway when they stopped at the café, and stood up.

“Right, here’s the plan. We’ll go check in, visit the lighthouse, and get our bearings. Alex gets to choose tomorrow’s activity.”

A surprised smile from the older child rewarded her suggestion and she returned it gladly. As they left the breakfast room in relative harmony, Claire felt that she might be starting to get the hang of this parenting lark.

***

Ikea Ideal Day: 2013 365 Challenge #314

Ikea, Milton Keynes – photo by Ian Paterson

Family Martin woke up grumpy today. We’re all still adjusting to the new normal, particularly poor hubbie who is feeling squeezed between work and the children, with no time for him. We had promised the kids a trip to an indoor play centre, but we weren’t in the right frame of mind.

When hubbie is low, spending money acts as a pick-me-up so, as we’ve also been promising the kids new wardrobes for ages, we decided a trip to Ikea might be in order. It tends to be a momentous family outing, because it’s miles away and the children aren’t used to car trips over an hour. I loaded up the iPad with TV shows, chucked in some snacks and off we went.

Ikea on a Saturday is a crazy idea, but we went with a plan. After twenty minutes waiting for a parking place, and another twenty minutes queuing for the obligatory meatballs, we happened to mention to the children about the crèche, not thinking for one minute they’d entertain the idea. They cry going to nursery, after three years of going, so dropping them with strangers seemed unlikely.

Happy crèche

They were keen to try it, though, so we booked them in and spent the half hour wait letting the darlings pick the colours of their wardrobe doors. Amazingly they then went into the crèche without a fuss. Hurrah.

Oh my goodness what a difference! I can’t imagine trying to design, order and pick the twenty-odd components required for their units with them competing for our attention. As for getting through the market hall without, “Mummy I want… mummy look… mummy can I…?” Instead our bag only contained a couple of stocking fillers and the usual tat hubbie and I couldn’t leave without. 🙂

The best part was going to pick them up after the hour and seeing two happy smiley faces. Free childcare (which I get very very rarely) and happy kids, what more could you want? When I collected them, daughter said, “Mummy, I don’t want to do crèche again.” Ah well, it was fab while it lasted!

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Claire cupped her hands around the mug of tea and gazed out the tall Georgian windows at the view. After the bustle of her busy day, it was good to stop and rest her throbbing feet. With a belly full of food and the aroma of hot tea drifting up to her, she felt her face relax for the first time in hours. The Eden Project had assaulted all her senses in good ways and bad, and her mind still wrestled with her Gift Aid idea, wondering if it was possible to take it further than a mere suggestion. There seemed such merit it, her brain wouldn’t let it lie.

When the phone rang, she didn’t realise immediately it was hers. Glancing around the dining room, she flushed as she saw people looking her way. She grabbed the phone from the table and held it to her ear, shielding her face with her hair.

“Hello?” Her voice came out in a hiss.

“I’m sorry, is this a bad time?”

“Robert? No, of course not. How are you? Why are you calling? Is everything okay?”

“Can’t a man call his sister without it being the end of the world?” Robert said defensively and Claire smiled. It was clear he wanted something.

“Maybe not every brother, Rob, but definitely you. You never call me unless it’s to tell me off.” She remembered the last out-of-the-blue call, after a photo on her neglected blog, and her smile grew wider.

“Yes, well, that’s not why I’m calling. I haven’t spoken to you in a while, that’s all. I wondered how you were getting on. And Ruth, of course.”

“You could call Ruth yourself.”

“I did, actually, but she was just heading out to some meeting at church of all places.”

Claire’s smile dropped as she wondered what her sister was doing going to church on a Wednesday evening. “Was she taking Sky?”

“No, Sky’s with her dad, can you believe? Apparently he’s moved back nearby and sees her twice a week.”

Claire felt genuinely glad that Chris had decided to move nearer to his daughter. She didn’t want to get into that particular discussion with Robert, though. They were unlikely to see eye to eye about it.

“That’s good,” was all she said. “If you spoke to Ruth you know more about her than I do, I’m afraid. We talked a week or ten days ago, but all she had to say to me was about the church, too. I do hope she’s not getting caught up in some cult.”

“In England? Really, Claire, you do come up with the most fanciful things.”

She heard the hesitation in his voice and she imagined him realising that criticising her wasn’t the best lead in to a favour. She was about to tease him some more when her work idea came into her mind.

“Actually, brother mine, I have an concept to run by you. How easy would it be to set up a national scheme to allow gift aid to be taken easily? It only needs to have details like a person’s address and tax eligibility, but it would need to be read by a chip and pin machine or have a barcode or something.”

There was a pause and she could almost hear her brother’s financial brain whirring. “That would be quite straight forward,” he said eventually, “but you’d need someone financially motivated to set it up. Who would benefit?”

“The charities, I guess. Quicker entry time, more gift aid collected.”

“That wouldn’t be enough. Unless each charity were to subscribe, or members paid for their card, who would fund it?”

“What about British Tourism?”

“Hmmm. Possible. Marketing, that’s the key. Being able to use the list of names to market to, or having the card sponsored by a major partner. Interesting idea. Who came up with it?”

“I did.”

“Well, well done sis. It has merit. Let me know if you need financial partners, I can put the word out.”

Claire beamed. If her brother thought the idea had merit, then it wasn’t too daft to put in her report.

“I will. So, why are you really calling?” She decided he’d been too helpful not to put him out of his misery.

“Ah, yes. I have a favour to ask. I was going to ask Ruth, but she didn’t give me a chance and, on reflection, you may be the better person.”

“Come on, Robert, spit it out.”

“Er, can you take the boys for a few weeks in the summer?”

“What?” Claire sat up straight, wincing as her chair legs scraped on the floor. “Why?”

Her words were greeted with silence. Claire waited for her brother to speak, fear twisting at her stomach as she wondered what his next words might be.

“Francesca and I split up. A few months ago, actually. The boys are in a boarding school, so it hasn’t been a big deal. But it’s the long vacation now. Francesca’s having them for half the time, but they’ll be with me for three weeks.” He took a deep breath, and his next words were nearly a wail. “I can’t have them on my own for three weeks! I have to work. And, besides, what do I know about looking after adolescent boys?”

“And I know so much more?” Claire blurted out without thinking.

“Well, you’re a woman; these things come naturally.”

Claire thought about her time with Sky, and snorted. “Not so much.”

“So you won’t take them?” His voice was accusing. Then, in a defeated tone, he added, “I guess I’ll have to ask mother. Or Ruth.”

Good luck with that, Claire thought. She tried to imagine travelling round with her nephews. Would it be so much harder than having Sky? There would be two of them, so wouldn’t they entertain each other? And they were older than her niece.

“How many weeks are we talking exactly? And when?”

“Claire, you’re an angel.”

“Wait, I haven’t said yes. I’m just asking for more information. I can’t have them for last week of July or the first week of August.”

“Oh.” He paused, then said brightly, “Well maybe I can swap weeks with Francesca. How about if I brought them to you this weekend?”

“What? Robert, no, I can’t. My boss will freak. I’m struggling to get into the hostels as it is, without needing two extra beds.”

“That’s okay, the boys can stay in a tent.”

“On their own? They’re only, what, seven and nine?”

“Ten and twelve.”

Oops.

“Even so. And surely Francesca won’t change plans just like that.” She wanted to ask more about the breakup of their marriage, but her head was spinning with the idea that she might have to look after two boys for a fortnight.

“She’ll do what I tell her to; I’m paying her a handsome settlement for her to live in an apartment and get her nails painted.”

So, not an amicable split then. Oh dear.

She thought about her nephews, caught in the middle, shuffled from pillar to post. She thought about them stuck at her mother’s house for two weeks, while her dad wrote his novel and her mum went to WI meetings.

“Alright. I’ll take them. Two weeks though,” she added quickly, as Robert filled the airways with his dignified gratitude. “And they bring a tent.” She thought about how expensive the Eden Project had been, and mentally multiplied it by three. “And you pay for all their accommodation fees and the like.”

“Yes, yes of course. I’ll speak to Francesca, and I’ll call you with the details.”

As Claire disconnected the phone, she wondered what on earth she had agreed to.

***