Mr Firstooth finished work for Christmas on Christmas eve and although his time-off hasn’t quite reached two weeks, it’s felt like a month. A good month, lots of eating, drinking, sickeningly sweet family time, days out and days in. The Christmas week-and-a-bit has been so busy, that I’m ready for him to strap on his boots and get back to work. This would sound really terrible, selfish, if
he wasn’t also ready to get back to work and back to normality.
Our normality has routines, structures, time apart and a reason to get up early. But we’ve been living on holiday time. This means; we’ve not even bothered to get dressed some days, showered in the middle of the day (unheard of in normality), we’ve eaten an entire tub of Celebrations (not because we were hungry, just because), we’ve bought and eaten another tub of Celebrations days later (because it was reduced, by one pound), wine has been a daily thing, the only meal I’ve cooked was on Christmas day (I can’t even remember what we’ve actually eaten for dinner, have we been having dinner?), we’ve gone to bed past midnight (three hours after my usual bedtime), we’ve let the kids sleep when they want to sleep (somehow they clocked on to the looseness of the days and taken advantage by screaming bloody murder at bedtime, until one of us says ‘oh fuck it, just get them up’), we’ve woken up at half eight (which sounds amazing, but it throws the rest of the day out, being two hours late for breakfast sets the pace for the rest of the day. Actually, it was pretty amazing).
It’s been a luxurious break and of course Mr Firstooth enjoys and deserves a break from the daily grind. But I’m desperate to get back to normal. I didn’t think I’d miss the early starts, dealing with tantrums single-handedly and cooking meals for everyone to not eat and throw away. Actually it’s been a Godsend having Mr Firstooth take over any tantrums to prevent me losing my shit. Especially when that tantrum was about the toddlers pair of socks with balls on, he wanted them, they were in the washing machine. You’d think we had set fire to the sodding things by his reaction.
It’s easy to get swept away with the laziness that comes with everyone being off work and around. I assumed we’d be more proactive, that we’d launch ourselves out of bed with a fist-pump and get stuff done. The reality is, when he’s off, nothing gets done. I’ve just piled in four loads of washing into the machine, where on earth did FOUR piles of washing come from? Why didn’t I do this when we had all this time to burn? Or rather, why didn’t he help me. And the worst part is, there’s MORE. I don’t know how or why this happens, but nothing productive happens with an extra pair of hands around. We tend to kick back, let loose and eat like kings.
It’s a bittersweet finish to the Christmas break. I will no doubt miss his company and our family time, more to the point, I will at some point moan that it’s all a bit too much and I wish he never worked (we’d have to hire some kind of help then surely?), but I can appreciate our time that little bit more when our focus is solely about eachother, enjoying ourselves and thinking ‘it doesn’t matter’ about things we’d usually try to avoid. It also makes me appreciate how necessary it is to have a normality, to be the ‘housewife’ and mum while he’s at work. I may find it really difficult to get housework done, with two small children removing the washing from the washing machine, throwing porridge over the floor I’ve just mopped and eating a biscuit on carpets I’ve just hovered (or my personal favourite is when the baby pulled over my mug of cold tea, hours after I’d scrubbed a tomato sauce stain out of the carpet), but at least it gets done.
So, for the sake of my slacking housework, kids that have taken a liking to late nights (but being extremely angry about this and it’s all my fault for their lack of sleep, stupid lazy mummy) and a diet that has consisted mostly of some sort of wrapped chocolate, it’s time for Mr Firstooth to hang up his slippers and head back out to work. I will think of him while I’m having debates with our toddler about why eggs and jam won’t taste nice for breakfast.
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