Let’s go to the beach, each, let’s go get away….

Thank you, Nicki Minaj, for that eloquent lyric which invaded my fucking head all week. 

Last week I promised the kids that if they didn’t murder each other or set my house on fire (aimed mainly the little ones admittedly) then I’d take them to the beach on Friday (26th).

Great idea. Except that I forgot as I no longer live in the North West, any beaches are a 2 hour drive away. Balls. 

Anyway, no one died and not one fire erupted, despite the new gas hob working. Damnit. So we packed up the car, I made lists, then cross referenced the lists, then ticked all the stuff of as it was rammed into the boot. Taking four kids to the beach by myself was a great idea. I was already wondering how quickly my sanity would evaporate.

Imagine my surprise, and suspicion, then to discover that we had a bloody good day. We got into the beach, offspring were dutifully covered in sunscreen, which the sand stuck to immediately, and no one moaned. I genuinely thought I must have gone deaf. The boy and I made sandcastles (after his sisters had buried him) then the girls jumped into the sea, but not before actually asking a lifeguard for advice on sea safety.

I did wonder if the husband had managed to get some tranquillisers and sneakily injected the children whilst they slept. Apparently not. He was as shocked as I was that I wasn’t effing and blinding and threatening a nervous breakdown. (Not that this is a regular occurrence *cough*)

The sun went in, we were in Lincolnshire after all, so we took a trip to the local fish restaurant. The kids all sat beautifully, ordered their lunches and were sickly sweet polite to everyone in the place. At this point I was genuinely worried that they’d been drugged, or replaced by aliens.

We finished our day between the local water park area and the beach, made some great sandcastles and even better memories. As for me, I couldn’t stop exclaiming in amazement about what a good day we’d had.

They were just as good at the local castle the next day (definitely not a guilt cramming of experiences after a summer of Netflix, no sir).

I’m loving these new versions of my kids, but a bit bewildered about the lack of bickering and bollockings. If the aliens have indeed swapped my children for these well behaved angels, good luck guys, and God speed.

Chocolate Nesquik and misunderstandings….

Who the bloody hell thought this stuff was a good idea? 

The house is clean, tidy and quiet. Kids playing quietly and nicely for once today. Eldest with her face stuck to her phone, youngest with his tractors. I thought it would be a perfect time to catch up on season 4 of Arrow (it was the Flash crossover episode FYI). 

Halfway through the episode, the boy jumped up, citing the need for a bathroom break. Imagine my horror, when he came back into the living room, brown mess all over his hands, arms and face.

I gagged. I imagined trips to a&e to Dettol his insides. I nearly cried if I’m perfectly honest. Until, that is, I picked him up ready for a hosing down. He smelt delicious, absolutely wonderful.

Walking into the kitchen, I was welcomed by the sight of the nesquik tub I’d been pressured into buying (strawberry is the only one I will usually countenance) all over the counter, floor, and husband’s hideously expensive new wheels for his van. Suppose that serves him right for clogging up my kitchen with them. 

So at least J wasn’t playing ‘splash and eat’ with his own waste matter, every cloud and that. It’s a mantra I’m repeating as I dump him in the bath and clean up the kitchen. 

“At least he didn’t eat his own shit”.

Balance…..an impossible dream?

So I’ve really struggled to think of what my first blog should be about. An introduction to the family? A moan? A “my kids are ace” humble brag? Or maybe just about something simple, like balance. When people ask me how I cope with four children, 2 of whom did not come out of me, on a good day I may say “It’s just about balance”. On a bad day, a short “gin” is the reply. I’m all about keeping it simple.

As my youngest doodled next to me on the floor of my office this evening, I realised that we’d achieved a pretty decent balance today. That could have gone slightly west when I realised that he was drawing remarkably phallic shapes, all over the neat pile of invoicing I had left on the printer, but he was so proud of those little things that I couldn’t help but laugh.

This morning all of the children got showered and dressed without anyone screaming, no doors slamming, and no lost socks. Absolute win. I made them all a nutritious breakfast and toddled off to my garden office (smug as hell about this, but that is for another time), the children came into the glorious sunshine and played together beautifully like some perfect All-American clothing advert. Balance tipping to “Happy”

At 11am, we packed up the car and went to the local high school outfitters for the two elder girls new uniforms. This was when the boy decided he’d had enough of being lovely, and his “Incredible Hulk” side took over. The shopping trip was a decided nightmare, complete with glares from other parents, including myself as I caught a glance in a mirror. It wasn’t fun, and it didn’t get better as I handed over my card at the till (Kids are really sodding expensive). Balance wobbling over to “is it gin time yet?”

As the three girls had been very well behaved, I decided we should go for lunch. This was made even better by the Hulk crashing out fast asleep. Lunch in peace was delightful, we had great conversations and the children were unfailingly polite to everyone they met. Balance back to “Happy”

My return to the office felt like walking into Hell. Hell with Donald Trump rally videos on repeat on a large screen. Absolutely grim. At one point I was lady garden deep in paperwork. At this point, the Hulk decided to wake. What followed was an afternoon of hysteria (both child and me), things being thrown (not me), stones being pulled into my office and piled against my leg, doodles on my jeans etc. He eventually calmed down (after I’d pretended I’d gone deaf and waved him in the direction of the paper tray, located next to the printer). At the time all I could think of was how shit this was, how much I didn’t want to exercise*, or cook** and if I could get an IV of gin. Then as I spotted him drawing, finally calm, it gave me the chance to reflect on the day, and I remembered all of the good stuff.

When things are bad, they can seem so very bad. They can be overwhelming, and you sometimes feel so lost in the dark that there is no possibility for light. Then your kid hands you a pretty accurate drawing of a willy and it’s hard to stop laughing.

This blog is part of a quest for me to find my calm, to centre myself and remember who I was before the craziness of the last couple of years, whilst providing a happy environment for my family. So in order to help me with that, I’ll be taking little notes every time something makes me happy, and looking back on it each day. The good may not always outweigh the bad one day, but it will another.

It’s just about balance.

* Was highly unlikely, in all honesty

** Ordered pizza, I regret nothing.