It should be the most marvellous time of the year with the long summer stretching promisingly ahead. Dreams of poolside reading and swing seats in the sunshine and dappled bbq evenings. And yet.
As a teacher and a mother of a school child, school administration seems to ratchet up: reports, letters, reply slips, trips, reminders, data collection, spreadsheets. Feel like there should’ve been a loophole in the new GDPR where I could just sign on one dotted line to give the nod for all permissions ever.
Sports day. PE kits. Lost trainers. Plimsolls that are too small. Egg and spoon anxiety.
School discos and outfit panics for the sub-10s. Work nights out and babysitting/taxi/finance panics for the plus 30s. And why do they all have to be on the same night?
Six weeks. Yeesh. That’s a lot, right? Six weeks? With both kids? At home? On my own? I wonder what the grandparents are up to…?
Six weeks? To bask in long nights? To just get in the car and go somewhere for a few days? To spend all morning in our pyjamas and watch Paddington even though it’s sunny out? Six weeks to just sniff their hair and work on their sock tan lines? Six weeks. See you on the other side.