Three weeks into the holidays and I feel only slightly relaxed and rejuvenated. Why? Well, have you ever been stuck in a house with four children of varying ages and degrees of personality, just waiting to challenge you on whatever strays from your tight lips? Add a broken (hearted) car and torrential rain into the mix and it becomes the tasty cocktail known as school summer holidays.
The forest has lost its appeal and my photography is as mundane as the same old trees barking for a picture. Change is required before the apes (my sprogs in union) decide to conquer civilisation and tear down the fragile structures of society we have left on our lonesome postage stamp known as home. With no escape in sight, my only option is to call on the soothsayer, the one who holds the golden key to my children’s hearts: their father!
He has the ability to tame the natives into submission and coerce them to follow basic rules like make your bed, yes you do have to wear clean underwear everyday or do the wash up without killing each other.
As a side bar, it always amazes me how children are so enthusiastic about washing up till it becomes a chore. Suddenly the plates are too heavy, the pots will be stained forever and utensils are weapons in soapy water hunting their unwary fingers. My last Sprog fought for his right to do the wash up like the others at the beginning of the summer holidays. Now, when I see his face grimace at the mere thought of it, I cry a little inside knowing he has taken that step to becoming a big boy and feeling the pain of responsibility.
So, with a ticking time bomb of mutinous imnates walking around my prison, I am counting down the days to their father’s vacation time. With him as the main focus, I might just get away with planning mini escapes from this paradoxical paradise.
If you don’t hear from me, know that I love you all and the natives have probably disposed of me!