The normal routine of my morning is in full swing. I am packing my daughter’s bag. Nappies, spare clothes, drinks, snacks and toys and we are set. We are clear of the front door. It’s taken two hours and I’m sweating like an athlete at the Olympics but we are out. Let’s do this.
I sometimes have a plan but most days, I am flying by the seat of my pants. I am rapidly losing interest, in the local parks and woodland walks, in my immediate area. I need a change. Low on cash and low on fuel, we jump in the car. I head to the neighbouring town, park up and get baby and buggy ready for a wander.
It’s packed, people everywhere and it’s not even 9.30am. Then it dawned on me, it’s the Summer Holidays. Where all the full time parents, working parents and Holy-Shit-I-have-a-kid parents; converge for 6 weeks in the same amount of space.
Parks are looking like Glastonbury. Play centres and cafes, have a brand new al fresco feature, a long ass queue! A queue of strung out parents, with their buggies and children, already going mental out of boredom. Its week one.
You can spot the rat-race folk, a mile off. Dressed for Autumn, pasty and stressed. Opening their wallets at every opportunity, in the hope of purchasing, a little peace and quiet. I feel bad for the office crowd, they have very little annual leave and here they are, spending it in a queue. We all know they will spend longer waiting, than their child will be entertained.
I decided not to join the queue for the swings, or wait for a cancellation at the play cafe. I didn’t join the queue for the activity centre either. I was going to get my daughter some beach shoes so she can actively enjoy, our stoney beaches, for the rest of the summer.
I researched them on line, located the shop and all I had to do, was get my little cherub to try a pair on. As I placed her tiny foot in the shoe, she decided they were the devil and booted off! She hated them. She refused to put the second one on or allow me to check the fitting of the first one. She took it off and threw it across the shop. Still screaming at her now bare feet, we left the store empty handed. Not the most productive of mornings. I had one task and didn’t achieve it.
We head home for lunch. My girl is happily dropping tiny pieces of orange Play-doh, all over the carpet, while I cook. I don’t remember my mum going through this shit. Schlepping me round, parks, indoor play centres and cafes. Let alone, standing in a queue for that pleasure. Even at home, we didn’t paint bloody jars or build rockets out of loo rolls – we just chilled. We were outside and back then, that was all that mattered.
I feel the pressure to provide constant learning activities for my child. The social media in this regard, just adds to that. My toddler can’t bake cakes with me, she just wipes her mixture soaked hands, on the floor and laughs. My girl won’t sit and paint a stone. She will pick it up, alongside the mud it was found in and throw it at the fence – cue more laughter. I have more crayon on my walls then in her colouring books. I need to simplify our activities – for the both of us
My daughter likes bubble guns, her water table and mud so off to our garden we go. Is she learning? Are we bonding productively? What am I teaching her? Can she see wildlife? Can I make a learning game, from the mud she’s currently rubbing all over herself?
No.
That said; I can see her smiling and laughing, like she’s having the time of her life. She’s enjoying being a kid, her little feet covered in mud and chasing bubbles around the garden. Not a queue, loo roll or poxy painted jar in sight.
We get 16 Summer holidays with our babies. Maybe less if we consider, how uncool us parents become, when they reach double figures.
I need to remember my own summer holidays. The hours and hours of play in the summer sun. My friends and I had a great time, every summer. No organised activities, just fun. As a toddler, I just wanted my mums attention and I got it. I don’t remember what we did, or how much she paid for it. I just remember us being together and that was everything.