I finish work early so that I can take my daughter to see a doctor, and pick up my son who is back from a week away skiing with his class. Work is busy, I end up being late and pedaling like a maniac through the city.
The doctor’s waiting room is packed with unamused-looking people, I sigh: I am going to be late picking up my son. Feeling like an inadequate mother, I ask a friend if she can pick him up for me. Eventually, as we’re already 15 minutes late, and there are still 4 people before us, I grab my daughter and tell a disgruntled doctor that I’ll be right back.
I arrive panting in front of the school gates, where my friend, her son and mine are waiting in the cold. We drop the suitcase off, have a quick snack, and head back to the doctor’s. I am now late to drop my daughter off at her dad’s, and my son is unimpressed by his welcome home committee. I want to cry.
The names of T and the New Ms T outside their door don’t hurt in the way they previously have, but I still reverse the car into a post as we head home. I allow a special TV dinner, and this seems to placate my son.
I drag myself out of bed to go skiing with my son. The weather is cold and overcast in the city, foggy, freezing and snowing up in the mountains. I pull on my ski boots, and fantasize about drinking hot chocolate
wrapped around Mr Nice by the fire. My son and his friend are keen to show off whatever they’ve just been learning in ski class, so they hurtle themselves down at breakneck speed, and without much consideration for where the run might be, while the snow pricks my face and I worry about loosing them in the fog… Just what I need after about 2 hours sleep.
I eventually manage to convince them to go home, the hair sticking out of my helmet is covered in snow, and I can barely hold the steering wheel. This has been a very up and down weekend, and I feel immensely tired.
Finally we are home, my daughter is delivered back and something in my heart slots back into place: My little family puzzle is complete. I lock the door, unpack the children’s bags and make soup.
This gooey and ridiculous song is for Mr Nice who makes me feel all gooey and ridiculous. Céline Dion – J’attendais