Surviving The Summer With Children

Marianne Hill - 14 Aug 14

I remember when I used to look forward to the Summer holidays. It offered the promise of warm, sunny weather, no need for an alarm clock and most importantly, weeks of relaxing, tranquility stretched ahead of me. As a teacher one major perk of the job is the holidays. Especially the Summer holiday. That is unless you happen to have the pleasure of living with my children. As I write, the soundtrack to my life is playing in the background – “no, that’s mine!”, “mummy!”, “ouch, that hurts!”, “get off of me!”, “give that back!” “I had it first!” and so on, all punctuated with the obligatory screams, wails and shrieks. Of course it isn’t all unbearable, at the end of each daily tunnel is the light known as bedtime. It’s just that sometimes, and by that I mean frequently, it can be a very long tunnel to get through.

Take today for example. The joy began at 8am when I heard the boys’ bedroom door open, the approaching patter of running feet and the familiar cry of “angry birds, mummy, angry birds”, which is Henry’s way of saying “good morning mummy and how are you today?” as he reaches for my iPad, settles himself in bed next to me and lights up the room with the glare and racket that accompanies the game he is currently obsessed with. Soon after Sam appears at the door, drawn by the frantic screeching of angry birds being flung against towers of crumbling blocks and then the two of them get busy arguing about whose turn it is and wrestling the iPad from one to the other. Suddenly getting up is a more attractive prospect so I prepare breakfast for the boys. With cereal in bowls, juice in cups, chairs set up around the table and the television on, all that’s left to do is to negotiate the surrender of the iPad, placate the resulting hysterical tears and settle them into their places for breakfast.

Breakfast turns out to be a sedate affair, if you ignore the Weetabix splattered up the wall and the juice spilt on the table and then splashed into far reaching corners of the room by little hands slapping into the puddle. Breakfast provides a short interval for a cup of tea and a quick shower before the calls of “mummy, finished!” signal the start of a new chapter of chaos and activity. Soon the children are washed, brushed and dressed, presenting a short lived illusion of calm, coiffed and well behaved little cherubs. Let the day’s entertainment commence.

We spend a happy hour going for a walk. The calm is only broken whenever we meet a junction and both boys decide they want to go in opposite directions and they squabble and point, shout “no this way!” and throw themselves on the floor kicking legs, waving arms and wailing in despair and temper. Eventually I will be helped along by some such blessing as a passing tractor, a cat or even an ant which brings both boys to their feet, tantrums forgotten in an attempt to pursue whatever has just been spied. I breathe a sigh of relief and we continue peacefully once more until the next junction.

Eventually our lovely walk must come to an end and we return home for a drink. Once the battle over who gets the blue cup has been won, we are able to move on and then they settle down while I make lunch. Again, this is surprisingly relaxed with the boys chattering away about general nonsense. I watch them and laugh at their conversation and the good humour they share and allow myself to pretend that this is how life always is. Then it is Henry’s nap time and I spend an hour rubbing his back to get him to sleep, only for him to wake up after half an hour ready for more fun.

The afternoon is spent at the pool and after the battle of wills that is also known as applying suncream we are ready to go, armed with various inflatables. We have a brief delay due to Henry having a wee on the floor, but after a quick bout of mopping and disinfecting, we are finally out the door. All is surprisingly calm. I occasionally hear a wail on the breeze, but generally I am able to sit undisturbed. Again I wonder why can’t life always be like this? I watch my boys playing happily together, jumping in the pool, laughing, swimming and having fun. Of course though this isn’t the reality of my life and the good humour is soon forgotten as I attempt to get them out of the pool so that we can go home for dinner. It’s a challenge to retrieve reluctant children from a pool, but I persevere and am rewarded by getting my fun-deprived, screaming children back onto dry land. The bemused poolside spectators are denied further entertainment as we head home.

While the boys are busy fighting and arguing in the front room, I hurry to get dinner ready before any serious injury is sustained. I spend a quiet half hour while they eat and I have a cup of tea while steeling myself for the prospect of bath time. With everything cleared away I chase the boys around the room gradually undressing them as I catch them, and breathe a sigh of relief when they are finally contained in the bath. Hair is washed, teeth are cleaned, battles for toys are fought and won and then the boys are out of the bath, powdered and dressed in pyjamas. After another brief chase I deposit them in their beds for a story. As soon as the book is finished, like greyhounds out of a trap they are off and running around the house. Spurred on by the prospect of the end of the day coming ever closer, I give one last chase.

Finally both boys are asleep and I roam around the house tidying away the detritus of the day. I find a potato scarred with teeth marks in the fruit bowl and a stray spoon encrusted with what looks like yogurt lurking behind the curtain. Numerous toy cars are rounded up and placed in the garage. The dog, sensing it is at last safe, emerges from under the dining room table and with a wary look from side to side, takes his place on the sofa. Normality and calm is gradually restored.

Later I go in to check on the boys. I find them cuddled up in the same bed together, snoring soundly and feel such a strong surge of love as I gaze upon them, that all the tension of the day is forgotten as I tuck them in, close the door softly and head for the bottle of wine waiting in the kitchen. However, as much as I can reflect on the day through rose tinted glasses while they are sleeping, I know that when the bedroom door opens in the morning and I hear the approaching patter of running feet, anticipating the tantrums and arguments the day will bring, the first words that will go through my mind will be, “I remember when I used to look forward to the Summer holidays.”

Marianne Hill

Marianne Hill is a primary school teacher who, in those rare, quiet moments when she is not surrounded by children at work or at home, can usually be found either writing articles or blog posts, reading, listening to music or posting on Facebook. Alternatively she could be out running or cycling around the Estepona area of the Costa del Sol of Spain, where she lives with her children Sam, 7 and Henry, 5. Twitter - @marianne4373

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