Thursday, 10 July 2008
Sometimes I feel we're doing too much. Like this morning, waking (in a panic) at seven-forty, dashing in to Charlie's room to find him lying on his tummy studying his dummy, then meeting Sally on the stairs bringing up three mugs of tea! And all just half-an-hour before we're meant to leave for school. Last night we sang the last of our (so-called) summer concerts (it was raining yet again); I'd already been to Lincoln singing evensong (the final one of term: the cathedral choir is now on holiday); there was no babysitter (and no car) so Sarah, Sally and Charlie had to have a lift and Charlie had to try and sleep through all the music (easy) and applause (more difficult). And as we were all then late for bed, Charlie woke at two a.m. for his eleven o'clock feed, which meant he failed to wake himself (and us) and six. Even Sally didn't wake 'til seven. And finding Charlie sleeping, she just went downstairs to put the kettle on! It's common for parents to feel that sometimes life seems to be run on their behalf by their children. But when your ten year old is making the tea and waking you up for school, things have really gone downhill. Or uphill. I'm still not quite sure.