Some days it feels like I’m barely maintaining the chaos.
When I’m trying to write, Isaac is playing with his toys, Amy is causing destruction and Maisy is pitching in, like any good puppy, to cause as much mess as possible.
Amy’s a tricky one, because she waits until I’m not watching, before disappearing into the kitchen to make a rice cake and cheese/pour some milk/get out the eggs/look in the fridge/make a godawful mess.
And I’m watching her, I truly am, except for in the 5 seconds when she causes absolute havoc.
So I break off what I’m doing, clean up, kick her out of the kitchen, put the dog outside, make everyone something to eat, before sitting back down again.
Then it all happens again.
We’re put combination locks on all the cupboards and the fridge, which helps. So long as we (meaning Nathan) remember to CLOSE them. I mean, surely it wasn’t Amy’s fault she ate an entire block of chocolate yesterday, silently, so she didn’t wake me. Although, that one, not helped by the combo lock so much, she used a chair to get to the very top (unlocked) cupboard. Sigh.
Mornings are my time to write. By the time bedtime knocks around, I am too tired, and too sore to sit down and type, so I don’t bother.
Unfortunately, Nathan is taking advantage of these last few months before Amy starts school to sleep in as much as possible, leaving me ‘working’ and dealing with children and tidying up and it’s just exhausting.
And yes, I could break off my writing and pay full and absolute attention to my children. Surely they wouldn’t get into mischief then?
Well no. Actually, you’d be wrong.
Even if I’m paying FULL attention to the children, which generally involves having them both hanging off my body, leaving aside the fact that not writing when I need to sends me a little bit batty, Amy still gets into mischief. She just waits until I’m changing Isaac’s bum, putting a load of washing on, turned around or in the toilet. Which you could argue wasn’t me paying FULL attention to her, but shit, I’ve got to do something other that let them sit on me and pull my hair.
She’s such an overwhelming child sometimes, I can’t even begin to explain.
It’s just frustrating to feel like I’m spending the day running three steps behind everyone else. To have dislocatey bits and still be making sure Amy stays in the small yard, keeping Isaac entertained, and keeping the house as least semi-livable.
But then we have moments where the house is mostly tidy, Isaac is napping (a rare experience) and Amy is curled up on the couch next to me, snuggled into my lap while I read a book.
And that’s when I think I’m doing something right, instead of barely holding on.
















