Back to school

‘You look tired,’ the mister said. ‘Very tired. And kind of sad.’

Like he could talk, having just returned from a few hours on the tennis court honestly believing that he could put some of Federer’s shots into his repetoire.

But I am very tired. And kind of sad. Not, you know, depths of your soul can’t get off the couch sad. More a slightly self-indulgent woe is me and well, better get over it there’s dishes to be done kind of sad.

It is post-holidays, back-to-school blues.

One thing about school is that I have to start getting up at half past seven again. I am not a morning person. Have I told you that? Nor am I a hot weather person. Such nots do leave only small windows of opportunity for greatness. As the mister asks ‘so what exactly are you – a mid-winter, mid-afternoon person?’ Whatever. Getting up at half past seven tires me out.

I did enjoy the school holidays. For all the usual reasons – the beach, the movies, the baker’s clay and while I do not like playing Connect 4 with an over-competitive 6 year old, mostly I do enjoy the company of my children. Plus, I discovered something I had not anticipated (this being my first school holidays as a parent). For people like me, who work from home the holidays are quite convenient, because during the holidays you are, very often, at home. So is everyone else of course, which does bring difficulties (I’m quite sure Virginia Woolf was not describing a wardrobe when she conceived of a room of one’s own, but I’m here to tell you it can, in fact, work quite well, particularly if the people who lived in the house before you had the foresight to convert a hall cupboard into a large-ish walk in wardrobe). But, if you are able to block out the noise and the mess – as I very often, but not always can – then it is an opportunity to do a tiny bit more work than at other times (yes, yes, putting aside that last undignified moment on Australia Day, the culmination of a full week of martyrdom, I’m sure I’ve apologised for it and anyway it wasn’t totally unjustified and we got a very ordered laundry cupboard out of it didn’t we).

With a return to school, time is much choppier. One of my children is at kindy (or preschool or whatever name you give to that which four year olds do for about three hours a day – can anyone explain to me what is so revolutionary about this thing The Rudder announced yesterday, because be buggered if I can see any difference between it and that which has been going on at least since I was four) and the other is at school. This means that I drop them off at 9, pick one of them up at 11.30, then pick the other up at sometime between 3 and 3.30 (I never have worked out when exactly school finishes).

So, while the kindy year is a golden one in many ways, I’m sure you can see that in terms of me getting any of my work done, this is a HOPELESS arrangement. As I said to the mister some days it makes my heart sing, and on others groan. That’s how life is.

Plus, I am about to turn 38, and I have not made any real plans for this year so I’m feeling a bit floundering and what’s the point and what am I doing with my time/life – but that is a post for another time. Right now, I have to go and catch the bus so I’m not late for kindy pick-up.