It’s 8am on the first day back at school a few weeks ago and I am having a serious talk with my sons.
“Boys, this is your year,” I said.
“The year you learn to look after yourself and your things.
“You’ve got new uniforms. Everything is named. Everything is expensive. You are going to take accountability for yourself and your belongings. Ok?”
Fast forward to 4pm pick up.
Me: “How was school boys?”
Middle son, P6: “Good thanks. I’ve lost my blazer, jumper and possibly a football boot.”
And so it begins.
“Bro, if you shout any louder you’ll lose your voice,” one son replied to my beetroot face on the car journey home.
“You’re not skibidee, you’re literally L Rizz.”
I understand their lingo as much as I understand the decision making process behind taking two football boots off and putting only one back in a bag.
Back with a bump to routine and rarely a night when you’re home before eight or nine ferrying to various clubs.
I think (hope) everyone with kids feels the same – like you’re winging it a lot of the time.
And I’ve realised that telling people how busy you are – well, it’s boring, isn’t it?
We all have our own stuff going on – kids or not.
Everyone’s head can get overcrowded. Your “important” is rarely anyone else’s and if you take a step back, it’s usually not even that important to you.
As my Uncle Dave says (possibly with spicier words peppering the sentiment) – “just remember, 8am’s ‘oh dear’ will be 8pm’s ‘so what?”
Everything will pass.
I told a friend with older kids – both having left home recently, one for a job in Edinburgh; the other for a flat share with Dundee Uni pals, that I was feeling a bit frazzled with the juggle of it all.
“Just wait until they leave,” she told me.
“You’ll miss it all. Even the things you think you won’t.
“Freezing on football sidelines on a Sunday in January, wondering how the fridge can be empty again, the muddy boots – the chaos. The feeling needed.”
She’s right.
These days of mayhem can be the times of our lives and we’re just too busy to take a moment and realise it.
My friend thought she’d love the peace and quiet but she’s very much experiencing empty nest syndrome – banging for the constant din and even smelly sock aura she was constantly trying to potpourri away.
She’s not alone.
In my small way, I know how she feels. I never thought I’d be this person – but even when my eldest has a sleepover with a pal, I feel the Monty-shaped hole in our house.
Tragic really.
It’s not just a kid thing. Many people who retire or find themselves not working for any number of reasons, whether ill health or redundancy, mourn the days of routine.
Monday to Friday when they’d stop for a coffee on Reform Street en route to an office, crack on with work, eat a healthy lunch, feel valued and remunerated.
Rarely when working did they wake up and think they’d ever miss getting up early, putting on a smart outfit and trudging through to do lists. But they do.
One friend thought taking voluntary redundancy would be amazing – a year off then back to it.
She’d take up pilates and get in the shape of her life; have facials and travel for a month.
The reality was a lack of structure that saw her put on a stone and carry a constant feeling of guilt that she should be doing something more productive. And how could she spend money on travel without actually knowing for sure if she’d ever have an income again?
Martel’s time with her sons is golden
As much as I’m guilty – and I think most of us are – of not realising these frantic times are golden, I also am acutely aware that one day they will pass and mourn them even when in those moments.
Take a beautiful sunset. Or a shared belly laugh with your child. You are in that moment and then follows an overwhelming sadness that everything is fleeting; everything must change.
And change it does.
My middle boy’s two tops turned up weeks after their disappearance and we had a homecoming party for them – with Ribena and cheese puffs.
It made the guilt of putrice-faced car shouting ease a little.
And the next time I saw my empty-nest friend, she seemed like a different woman.
For it turns out her kids will always need her – last week, one son for new shoes and the other for break-up advice.
“And I forgot to say,” she said.
“I’ve booked a cruise for three weeks. Could never have done that when they were wee. And there’s more time for fine wine and reading.”
And suddenly it doesn’t sound so bad.
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