Crazy Wednesday

If Sunday’s the day my children leap from their beds at 6am, full of exuberant anticipation; and Monday’s the day I rise relatively fresh to find children who just want to cling to their pillows; then Wednesday seems to be the day none of us wants to face.

I was born on  a Wednesday, but at this stage in my life, they don’t fill me with joy.  This is mainly due to the swimming lesson run, of which I could say much; and also perhaps the natural slump at the mundane middle of the week.   (I *think* it’s meant to be Marvelous Middle and I wish I could feel this way about it.)

Today I have a particularly special Wednesday in store for me.

Between 3pm and 6.30pm this afternoon, these are the places we should be.

  1. 4.15pm-5.30pm   Leo’s Beavers troop are having a water fight at the scout camp approximately 3 km to the, er, right of the school he attends (as you’re facing it, I’m sorry, I don’t do compass points).  Outfit: Beavers T-shirt, waterproofs.  Accessories: A waterpistol, mud.
  2. 4.30pm  Watching week at Leo’s regular weekly swimming lesson, at the sport’s centre approximately 3km to the left of the school.  Outfit: swimming trunks, goggles, swimming hat.  Accessories: A parent, watching.
  3. 3-5pm  The annual tea party for the Friend’s of the Commons society at a local hotel about 1.5km to the left of the school, involving tea, scones, strawberries, cake…Outfit: nothing specific requested, but presumably something dry. Accessory: the ability to have a sociable and civilised conversation with other adults without your train of thought trailing away.
  4. 5.30pm – Ceremony in which Leo will be transferred from Beavers to Cubs, back at the Scout camp.  Outfit:  A clean and neat full Beavers Uniform.  Accessory: One proud and paying attention parent.
  5. 6.30pm – School play, at the school.  Outfit: A pristine neat and clean school uniform.  Accessory: Another watching parent, but not me this time.
  6. 6.30pm – Once a month meeting of the Waterstone’s book group, which pretty much makes up my entire social life at the moment. Outfit: Who cares, it’s only me, and it’s looking pretty clear that I won’t actually get there.

NB  Elements to bear in mind while solving this logistical puzzle: * I don’t have a car.  * At some point the children have to eat something. * My daughter is currently at a delightful phase in development where she keeps up an almost constant high pitched whine of dissent which pretty effectively scatters all my sane thoughts to the wind; but possibly she is protesting at being moved around by the cyclone of events, none of which concern her.

‘You’re ginger, You can do anything,’ pep talks a friend of mine.  For a moment, because I’ve just been reading Harry Potter to Leo, I consider whether this is somehow true; is there some magical solution?  Maybe not the power of ginger (if only there were such a thing) but some magic wand that could be waved that makes being in several places at once possible?

It seems to be a frequently required skill in the parenting arsenal.  For example, tomorrow, when I need to attend another performance of the school play at 2pm, at which younger siblings are not allowed.  Could a magic wand be waved that could somehow suspend the existence of younger siblings for say, one hour, for such occasions?  I mean, I totally get why a hoard of pre-schoolers wouldn’t be ideal at the school play, but also: what precisely are we meant to do with them?

Further Hints: *Anything which I want to do is expendable, so; goodbye to the tea party and the book group.  *Anything which is a one-off will probably take precedent over things that happen every week; and I have to be honest here, I’m not regretting the missed swimming pool run.

Solution:  With a helpful lift in my friend Lucy’s car, and some on the move eating/outfit changing, we will probably make it to both Beavers and the school play, but it’s not too surprising that when I went into my local shop to buy picnic tea food this morning, I mainly came out with ready meals and wine.

Final Thoughts:  While some things get easier as children grow older, the logistics definitely grow more complicated.  A regular day is a rare thing, and if I’m honest, a little dull.



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