Whenever my daughter says she’s going to write a list, it’s usually a sure-fire sign that I’m about to be cajoled into agreeing something that I’ll regret at a later stage.
And so, the Summer Holiday Bucket List was born.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s good to have a plan and something to strive for.
Whenever I write a to-do list, I always make sure it includes the most basic of tasks. That way I get the pleasure of a bonus tick for something I would be doing anyway.
Make tea before starting work – tick.
Stare out of the window in thoughtful contemplation – tick.
My daughter’s summer bucket list is entirely reasonable.
There is nothing on it that is logistically or financially impossible.
But it does include things that I hadn’t planned for over the school break.
The list is a reminder of never-ending mum guilt
We got the easiest (and cheapest) ones out of the way first. Which is why, as I write this, I can see five caterpillars wriggling around in a tub on my bookshelf.
I ordered a kit online and when they were shipped to us less than a week ago they were no bigger than a grain of rice.
The gang are now so hefty they could unjam the tub lid if they really wanted to. Soon they will form chrysalids, ready to be moved into their net enclosure and transform into beautiful butterflies.
We also ticked off a science experiment she wanted to do using cornflour, which turned my kitchen (and my daughter) bright blue for an afternoon.
Now we’re into the bigger stuff: things I’ll actually have to book and find time to do between my work and her summer clubs.
The list is stuck to her bedroom wall and it’s taller than she is.
It serves as a constant reminder of how never-ending mum guilt is.
Is that feeling of not doing enough worse with an only child?
Leaving it uncompleted isn’t an option.
Not least because the first thing kids usually do when they start the new term is write a diary of what they got up to during the holidays.
And my wee one is a clype: as sure as night follows day she’d write “my mum was too busy to do my bucket list with me” complete with sad face emoji.
I’d be the talk of the mum’s WhatsApp group by pick-up time.
I wonder if that feeling like you’re not doing enough – planning enough, having enough fun – is made all the more acute when you’re the parent of an only child.
The need to organise playdates and activities that bring them into contact with their own species is even greater during the holidays, if they don’t have siblings to keep them company.
When she’s left home to go to university, I’ll be in my early forties and just approaching my prime. I’ll be able to sleep till noon, go on weekend trips to Italy and drink wine with unsuitable men.
The least I can do in the interim is make sure her childhood is as fun as possible.
But I have to admit that last week was a complete failure in that regard.
Bucket list postponed by Boris
While Boris Johnson was fighting for his political life and trying to stage a sit-in in No.10, I was in my element as a political geek but completely absent as a parent.
I’d built my daughter a (rubbish) fort in the living room. She remained in there, quite contentedly, for the best part of two days.
There was no question of going to the park, or swimming or doing any of the experiences from her bucket list.
and I’ll let her eat it in the fort too pic.twitter.com/jcJL39Uy4W
— Kirsty Strickland (@KirstyStricklan) July 6, 2022
At one point she stood up to check on the baby caterpillars and let out the weary groan of a much older person, as her legs protested their lack of use.
Honestly, it’s a wonder neither of us ended up with bedsores.
But I didn’t want to risk missing a single moment of the political drama.
The poor wee soul asked only for food, drinks, and the occasional update on whether the army was going to be sent in to drag Boris out.
Childhood memories are a highlight reel
Despite her love of lists, she is a remarkably low-maintenance child.
She’s excited by everything, delighted by everything and annoyed by very little. Even when her mum turns semi-feral over the antics of a bunch of poshos 300 miles away, she still remains sanguine.
Although, I suppose like everything else, it’s a matter of perspective.
When we think back to our own childhoods, the boring bits don’t feature in our memories. It’s a highlight reel and only the really good – or, really bad –moments make the final cut.
Maybe she’ll remember her time in the fort fondly. A period of government collapse means lots of beige carbs and sweeties. And she wasn’t phased at all by the nutritional imbalance of her food on those days.
Chances are though, she won’t remember it at all.
Which would work out perfectly for me, because I’ve got some making up to do.
If the old Etonians could just get their act together and stop treating our democracy like a Game of Thrones blooper reel, I’ll be able to make a dent in the bucket list in the week ahead.
Fife fruit farms, we’re coming for you first. My daughter and I could both use the fresh air.
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