Suspended Animation

I’ve said it before and I will say it again, oh but the best laid plans of mice and housekeepers! I started the New Year abundant with plans for carefully ordered routines. The kind of routines that would change my life, shift ten pounds off my lardy bottom and finally allow me the time and creative space to re-invent myself as the superstar vintage housekeeper I always dreamed I’d be!
And for one day, and one day only, it all went swimmingly. On the first Monday of the New Year I had one little boy safely ensconced in school,  the laundry washed, pressed and smelling of violets by midday, a stomach mildly thrilled by a detox day abundant with pineapple, and half a  pretty new blog design in place by three o’clock. I was, for one day only, the epitome of a Mommy managing the whole work/life/me (me me) balance with aplomb and I went to bed patting myself on the head and drifted off to sleep in sheets fragranced with the sweet scent of good housekeeping, never for a moment taking into account that the universe takes rip-roaring pleasure in laughing at my expense…
Today I slept in. And Finley didn’t feel like getting up and there was much screaming in evidence and worst of all, my lane was up to it’s ivy sprinkled eyeballs in knee deep snow and just as I gritted my teeth and forced myself to plunge my size seven spotty wellies into the white carpet that was my path, a women leaned out of her car and shouted “Go back in, school is cancelled!”, which is I think you will agree the kind of statement likely to have a six year old doing snowy somersaults and a busy mummy ready to string herself from the nearest tree by her earmuffs. How in heavens name do Mummys who don’t work at home manage??
And so instead of pineapple and turned out cupboards there will be sweet cocoa, sniffles and table football. Instead of an afternoon spent  wrapping up tree ornaments and laying them lovingly in egg boxes there will be Mr Magoriums Wonder Emporium, tartan pyjamas, cheese and marmite toasties and much effort applied to tackling Dracula for the next round of the playground Mummies Book Club.
One could I suppose carry on regardless, but where would be the magic in that? Though a big part of me is growling with resentment, the little girl still inside me recognizes snowy days as the joyous gift they are and I rather think I owe it to my babba to make this the kind of rare day he tucks into his memory box.
The housework can wait. I am in charge of the magic around here…

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