Partner and I are rattling around the house this half term, with just the two dogs for company, as step daughter is at uni, step son is in Australia and the girls are at their dad’s.
Of course, I realise that this totally alienates me from all you poor, suffering parents who are ∗knee deep in Lego and fighting minute by minute battles over camps in bedrooms and sibling hatred/enjoying culturally fulfilling days out at museums ∗delete as appropriate and yes, it is a perk of divorce. However, let me reassure you that the two puppies and partner, as well as teaching lots of gorgeous little rugrats Taekwon-do, are keeping me busy.
Such as this morning, when partner got locked in the loo. The washing machine is on a spin cycle and the dogs are play fighting. All I can hear are the words: come upstairs, from somewhere above me. I ignore them as I’m busy blogging. I hear the voice again. Now I’m irritated as I’m not only blogging but I’m already trying to zone out from the noise of the dogs. Just come upstairs, now! The spin cycle has finished and I am aware that the voice sounds more urgent, so I finally respond, reluctantly, to the ‘now’, muttering all the way upstairs about what an inconvenience this is. I release him from his loo prison. You took your time, he said rather grumpily. Blame the ten minute spin, I reply, stretching the truth.
It’s a beautiful day. We’re sitting outside with the dogs as psychologist mum is heading across the Waitrose car park to claim her free coffee. Eldest son has broken his foot, she tells us. I didn’t notice for three days and now he’s milking the fact that I must be a dreadful mother. We’re off to Bluewater. I’ve ordered the wheelchair and have contacted shop mobility, so that we get to use the disabled parking, she continues gleefully and with that, she heads off into the shop. Now who’s milking it, I think to myself. It sounds as if she has her half term all wrapped up.