Highway to the dangerzone

As I write this, the house resembles a cross between ‘a good time was had by all’ and ‘there appears to have been a struggle.’ In all honestly my standards and abilities as a housewife in any sense of the word are at best described as lazy and at worst, non-existent. Add in a full-time PGCE course and we are just keeping our heads above water. By we, I of course mean my husband and mother, I swan in and out like the perpetual student I am, adding to the mess and devastation and causing a space shortage with all the impossibly irresistible books I order…daily.

Going from maternity leave to a student two days a week, a pandemic to maternity leave and finally a full-time, commuting student has definitely come with its fair share of struggles. Most of all the mum-guilt of being selfish and taking on something for me. No stranger to a heart tug, my eldest has piled this on one step further with the realisation he can message me from his Alexa. Getting messages asking when I will be home and telling me that he loves me sure hit like a dagger directly to the soul as I navigate back roads around RAF bases, attempting to catch a glimpse of whatever all the camp-out enthusiasts are sitting in the rain waiting for. Side note- it is the law to sing ‘Highway to the danger zone’ every single time you drive by, right?

The next struggle is how old I am. In my mind, I feel as young as I did the first time. The reality is that was 16 whole years ago. One of the lovely girls in my group genuinely asked some of us if we had ‘the thick DVDs’ growing up! A valid question given I was 13-years-old when she was born.  I am lucky to have found some amazing friends already though, some of whom also had the soundtrack of ‘apple bottom jeans, boots with the fur’ to their first dally into university all those years ago. We tend to stick together. Age has its advantages, don’t get me wrong, but there is nothing like being immersed into a completely different world and mindset. We have been nicknamed ‘the good group’ by our peers and I am wondering if they are actually politely saying ‘the old bints,’ though not bint as clearly that shows my age so insert young person insult here.

My last struggle is of the toddler variety. A whirlwind of a girl with a rugby player physique and a head strong nature of the Elizabeth Bennett variety. This directly juxtaposes her angelic face and eyelash fluttering skills to get what she wants. Sometimes her banshee screams and ability to start and finish a fight with her brothers make me wince for her future, other times it makes me want to smile with pride knowing she will be able to stand on her own two feet and get the job done. I am all for creating strong, independent women but I am really not sure I want to live with one for the next 18 years. Especially not one who has had her dummy removed this last week, send help and lots of gin.

Mostly I have loved taking the time to write something that isn’t delving into the dark depths of educational theory for a few moments. Who am I kidding though, it has been the perfect get out clause to tidying the kitchen and packing the bags for the morning. Turns out my husband is a much better house-wife than I am, who am I to spoil his routine.

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