Diary of a ‘part timer’


I should have tidied at the weekend. Why didn’t I tidy at the weekend? School shirts: un-ironed, cupboards and fridge: bare. The boy returns to school after a bout of the flu. Tell him to keep his jumper on to ‘keep warm’ knowing actually, it’s to hide his un-ironed t-shirt. Make it to school on time after an incident with a How to Train your Dragon figure and a size 5 shoe. A visit to the dentist with one of the two girls, results in half an hour in the chair, 2 fillings and no anaesthetic – nice to get in some ‘me time’ so early in the week. Weekly shop arrives: note to self – don’t do an online shop after 2 gin and tonics on a Saturday night. Put new toothbrushes in the cupboard. Wonder why we don’t have milk.


Begins at 4:48am after a dawn chorus and a 45 minute game of ‘Where’s she gooooone? There she is!’ After that, my youngest was completely confident that I would no longer be able to return to sleep…and promptly returned to sleep herself. Go to work for a ‘break’. In reality, endure a back-to-back lesson day with the first wee of the day at 3:15pm (doesn’t matter, no time to drink anyway) and return home for a ‘break’. Discover son has lost both his shoes and is wearing an odd pair of different sizes. His recollection of when, where and why this may have happened, much resembles the I Have Lost my Coat incident (involving my underage inebriated self) on a snowy New Year’s Eve many moons ago: mainly vague, distracted and punctuated with uncontrollable sniggers, quickly followed by uncontrollable despairing wails. (That said, I’m 98% sure my son hadn’t been sneaking 20/20 fortified wine on the canal tow path with his friends).


Deal with I don’t want to get up from daughter one, I don’t like my porridge, toast, yogurt… or you from daughter two, where are my suit trousers? from husband and I hate school, why must I go to school? from the boy. Miraculously, make it into the car on time for the second time this week. Savour a miniature celebration on the drive, only to realise I’ve terrified an early dog walker passing my house. Pretend I’m speaking to a child he can’t see, look more of a lunatic than before. Go to work for a ‘break’. Return home to I don’t want to go to bed from daughter one, I demand a yogurt and a drink of milk from daughter 2 and is it the weekend yet? from son and husband. Go to bed at 11:30pm after removing face drool from laptop – where it inadvertently landed when I dozed off.


Day at home with daughters one and two. DAY AT HOME! Make a list of all I need to achieve. Do none of it. Make up for the dehydration of the earlier week with 49 cups of (tepid, let’s not get carried away) tea. Punctuate the day with a couple of visits from good friends (more tea) and the day culminates in a meeting at work (more ‘me time’ – twice in a week, crackers). Go for a hail-pelting run with friend (Third ‘me time’ getting carried away now…) return to google how many calories are in a chicken Rogan Josh – conclude they must be lying, log half a portion on Fitness Pal (despite eating every bite and contemplating licking the plate).


Back to work for a ‘break’ receive text from husband: Can’t find keys. House unlocked. Prepare a sarcastic rant, receive found them! delete rant, partly disappointed. Whinge all day about the thought of having to fill the car with fuel at the end of the day. I HATE re-fuelling the car and always do something stupid. Fill the car with diesel, chastise self for being silly about re-fuelling the car – it’s never as bad as you think. Almost drop the pump, go to catch it, accidentally squeezing the handle. Hose the side of car with diesel like a demented Ghostbuster. Squirm with embarrassment at using the term ‘demented Ghostbuster’ in a busy kiosk when I confess to the pump attendant. He is nonplussed. Home in time to collect boy from football club, learn that he did some really good colouring. Make a mental note to make husband play football with son this weekend. Or learn to play football myself Check weather forecast and decide colouring skills are a useful life skill. Suffer I don’t want to wear these pyjamas from daughter one, I am displeased with the notion of going to bed Mother, may I stay a while longer? from daughter two (or that was what I surmised from the Siren Cry and head butts), and various dinosaur-type roars and ninja moves from the boy.

They are in bed. They are asleep. The weekend begins! Asleep by 9:30pm, awake with a child by 11:56pm.

Happy weekend everyone!


One comment

  1. An exhausting read – but that could be my jet lag!

    Well done you have certainly captured the life and trials of a working Mum brilliantly – a thought also for the Husband that has to put up with it all!!!!

    There again perhaps not!


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