Saturday School Sport. Three simple words that put dread, fear (& sometimes anger) into the heart of every parent. Don’t get me wrong, I love that my kids are active and are not iPad ‘zombie-ing’ every moment of every day, but Saturday mornings suck. Thanks to school sport, Saturdays now have lost all meaning, effectively rendering them ‘dead.’ Mums and Dads of school aged children will get what I am saying, no doubt nodding their heads in collective agreement.
Take this morning for instance… My alarm clock rather ungraciously woke me at 5:45am, (5:45am on a Saturday morning is beyond crap, unless you are specifically an early bird, or you are a hard-core runner, of which I am neither). So, as I was saying, it was early when I dragged my sorry butt out of bed in order to prepare myself and the kids for today’s cricket game and our 6:30am departure. Today’s game was scheduled for Ipswich, (for those of you that haven’t heard of it, Ipswich is ridiculously hot and is in the middle of nowhere). And from my place, Ipswich is at least an hour’s drive away. That is provided you don’t get lost, which we did.
I am pleased to report that I made it to Ipswich by the required time of 7:30am, but sadly, this was where my success ended, as I had absolutely no idea where the playing fields were and the GPS app on my phone wasn’t working. Don’t ask me why, it’s never not worked before, but I may as well have thrown my phone out the window of my car, for all the good it was doing me! For ten minutes I drove in what I believed to be the right direction before discovering it was in fact not. (Insert choice swear words here)! I of course then had to turn around and drive back to where I had come from so I could try again.
Flustered and in a hurry, I headed off in a different direction. The ‘school sport gods’ must really have been frowning upon me, because we were now officially late. In my haste, I must have read the map incorrectly, as once again it became painfully apparent that we were going the wrong way. Saturday sport had now officially turned ‘septic’ and my anger had reached epic proportions. Not only was I forced to get up at an unsavoury hour on a Saturday morning, but now I was driving around in circles in a suburb I didn’t know, all the while my son was screaming at me from the passenger seat reminding me that we were late, a fact of which I was painfully aware. To add insult to injury, all of this was going on and I hadn’t even had my morning coffee!
The situation had become desperate, without knowing what else to do, I pulled over the car and started walking the streets of Ipswich, looking for a street sign, a landmark, a person I could ask directions of – anything. (Seemed like a better idea than screaming and believe me I had already contemplated that.) Luckily, I was saved by a very nice man, who pointed me in the right direction and assured me that our destination was only a couple of blocks away. When we finally arrived at the playing fields we were half an hour late and the game was already underway. I practically pushed my son out of the moving car while I simultaneously yelled an apology at the cricket coach for my tardiness.
Frustrating story, right? Don’t worry, it ended well: As of this moment my son has managed to get over his anger at me for making him late and is now out happily playing cricket with his friends; As for me, I have a coffee in my hand (finally) and have just released all of my frustrations through this blog. So, I’m all good now, that is until this time next week when I will have to do it all over again!
A friend of mine recently confessed to reading Vogue magazine in the laundry. I stared at her quizzically, Vogue in the laundry? Sensing my doubt, she went on to explain how it was actually a stroke of genius because if she were to dare and try and read it on the lounge (as normal childless people would), she would be interrupted with an endless barrage of requests and complaints from her children. You know the gratingly irritating kind like, ‘she stole my iPad’ or ‘their biscuit is bigger than mine’ or my personal favourite ‘he’s looking at me.’ However, if she was in the laundry, a place so dull, that no one other than those who absolutely must would go, she found that her time was uninterrupted. And so, ‘Vogue in the Laundry’ was born.
I have to hand it to her, it truly was a brilliant idea. Not only was it sound, (my kids never go into the laundry unless it is for time out), but it was one so good that I too, would have to implement in my own home. Immediately. Sensing my excitement my friend went on to say that as a way to take this particular activity 'to the next level,' she also takes with her a nice glass of sauvignon blanc to enjoy as she is flipping through the pages. Now she was really talking my language. All I needed to truly make this picture perfect would be diffusing some gorgeous essential oils to cover up the smell of ‘dirty, smelly boy’ that wafts mercilessly from the piles of unwashed clothes that always seem to be there no matter no many loads of washing I do.
Now I know what you are thinking: If you are childless, you will be horrified. The very idea of vogue magazine, the epitome of glamour and style, sharing the airspace with dirty clothes is so very uncouth that is utterly and totally unfathomable. (My 20-year-old self would most definitely agree with this.) However, if you have kids you will not only understand but celebrate this initiative with gusto and enthusiasm. We mothers all know too well that ‘quiet time’ is as precious as gold and rarer than the holy grail. So, if reading vogue in the laundry is going to help us achieve this, then yes this is exactly what we are going to do. Sure, we may have to share space with the dirty laundry or the cats smelly litter box, but this is a trade-off that we Mothers are more than happy to make.
About the author
So, who is the Princess in Steelcap Boots? That’s me; shopaholic, chatterbox, book lover and collector of pink things. I am the girliest of girls, who happens to live in a house full of boys – my husband, my two sons, even our dog is a boy! Life in my household is hectic, loud, messy and most of all smelly! When I’m not immersing myself in reading or writing, I can usually be found wielding an electric drill and donning a high-vis vest and a pair of steelcap boots, whilst at work in my husband’s business. (For evidence click here)…