There must be a solution somewhere, not that I know of it ...

  This is what my days consist of. Get up. Aarrgghh. Get children up. WAKE UP! Put kettle on for coffee. Mmmm. Help Eldest Son find his uniform - yes, the same uniform he had on a few hours ago that I swear to God I saw him dump on his bedroom floor but is, miraculously, no longer there in the morning.

Make ES a packed lunch. Curse at cupboard for not having any ingredients for packed lunch such as bread, ham, nutrigrains, crisps or even juice. Put plain Ryvitas in ES packed lunch box. Find an apple at the bottom of the fruit bowl. Extract apple from mouldy lemon. Put apple in lunch box. Tell ES to do the same things I ask him to do every day that he always forgets (wash under armpits, use deoderant, wash face with Clearasil, clean teeth, put pyjamas back in room, turn electric light off in room, think of the planet, worry about the poor, ponder the point of Marxism, get on bus).

Wave ES goodbye. Try to capture two smaller boys and get them to eat breakfast. Do they want eggs? They say they do. Make eggs. They look at eggs. They say they don’t want eggs. End up getting out all cereals, make toast, boil more eggs, fry bacon, cry. Perch baby on seat and spoon a yoghurt in her. She spits it out…

Shall I continue? This goes on for an hour and a half until I finally get them all fed, washed, dressed, teeth cleaned, hands washed and then in to car with books and bags and coats and lunches. I then come home and clear up the mess and try to stop the baby from climbing on to the window sill where she inevitably gets stuck. I have never had a climber before but boy is she fast. She goes up and down cutain poles and gets up on the piano and swings down the bannisters yelling ‘whee!’ very loudly. I then turn to look at my dog. This is always a bad idea because my dog always looks as if she wants to go for a walk. In truth, that is maybe because she does always want to go for a walk.

On Sunday morning, at some ungodly hour (or maybe, as it was a Sunday, it was a godly hour) my ES and I set off to walk the dog in the freezing sleet. As we heaved up the hill in front of our house, ES groaned. ‘Why are we doing this?’ he said.

‘Why are we doing this?’ I squeaked at him. ‘Don’t you know? JUST LOOK AT THE DOG’S FACE!’

The dog, it has to be said, was grinning with happiness.

‘Oh stupid dog,’ said Raymond. ‘All she thinks about is walks and food and more walks and sleep.’

The dog wagged her tail.

After I have got the baby ready to go for a walk, which entails persuading her to come down from the curtain rail/piano/window sill and then stuffing her into her winter snug suit, which she hates, we all go out for a walk. On most days this is successful. The dog grins away and runs around and the baby waggles her feet and coos at the birds.

At the moment though, she is very keen on walking herself. I bought her some natty red welly boots for this purpose but she hasn’t quite got her head around them and, consequently, topples over in to the mud a fair bit. If that happens - or, God forbid it, she ends up in a puddle - she gets very cross and says, ‘Bum!’ very loudly and then bursts into tears. Then, when I try to put her back in to her pushchair, she goes utterly rigid and refuses to bend her body to get in to the seat.

At 12.15pm we got to pick up Youngest Son who is generally having a nervous breakdown about going to someone’s house/not going to someone’s house and then we all go and do something scintillating like the food shopping. At 3.30pm Middle Son returns. At 4pm ES returns. They then all argue about homework and hit each other and complain about what I am making them for dinner, regardless of what it is.

My mother came round the other day and reared back when she saw how messy the house was.

‘You need help,’ she said.

I told her that I just didn’t have time to do the kids and work (I do it late at night and early in the morning and that I didn’t know how I could afford help.

‘Do you have savings?’ she asked sternly.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘But they are for a rainy day!’

‘This is your rainy day,’ she said.

So, I have called up nanny agencies and I have said lots and lots of really nice things about my children and how lovely they are and a variety of women aged from 18-34 have applied for the job. They have appeared in all shapes and sizes (most of them overweight I have to say. Do they really know what a nutritious meal is?) and all of them have said they are not interested in the job. The only woman who was - a very nice lady - wanted a king’s ransom.

The rest all wanted £300 a week plus. These are women who have no A/S levels, no A Levels, no GCSE passes above a D grade. One of them told me she’d done a childcare course but only recently learned how to change a nappy. I told her I would have thought that’s the first thing a wanna-be childcare person should learn.

My husband employs young talented people who have degrees and diplomas and further degrees. They start on just shy  of £20k. I am going to ask any of them if they’d like to come and work for me…maybe that is the solution.

This post was written by  Lucy Cavendish, a journalist and author of Samantha Smythe's Modern Family Journal. Her new book, Lost and Found, is due out in March. She lives in the Thames Valley with her husband Michael and their four children. You can keep up with Lucy at Samantha Smythe's Modern Family Blog.

Photo credit: Boot Load

Comments

[Just a Plane Ride Away]

Oh dear. I fear I laughed at your expense while reading this post. I do like your idea of hiring one of your husband's employees. Perhaps he could slip you a few resumes?

And that is the truth about dogs. We have one, imported from Texas, who loves this cold, frosty, wet weather. She's 1/2 English pointer, so maybe being back in the Motherland makes her feel connected to the winter.

[Susanna (A Modern Mother)]

I could have written this post. Did you spend the morning with me?

[TooManyHats]

We have cats. They are much more independent than dogs. I don't think I could handle one more creature great or small being dependent on me. Between dh and three kids, I am busy enough. Well, that is not completely true, a baby is never a burden :)

Don't worry so much about the house, there is always time for chores there will not always be kidlets to nurture and adore.

[childcare course]

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