I didn’t think I could get any more emotional this morning, Hugo actually thought I’d lost the plot as I followed him around with a grin on my face. And then I received The Text Message to send any emotional mother over the edge of all text messages from his yr 6 TA
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The tears started rolling last October when Hugo’s year group sung with 7k other school children at the O2; I defy any parent with tweens not to shed a tear when they break into Ed Sheeran’s ‘Castle on the Hill’ en masse! Since then, it’s fair to say I’ve been a bit of an emotional wreck – not just due to Hugo’s perseverance to stay in school (read: not get his troublesome arse suspended), but the year of proud moments and revelations that come, unexpectedly, with year 6.
I just wish someone had warned me last September that Year 6 would knock my mothering socks off – house captain nominations, singing at the O2, SATs revision, SATs exams, school residential trip, school productions, SATs results and leavers events. Not to mention the currently gentle lapping waves of hormones which will inevitably become a tsunami in the not too distant future!
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I often worry that I fill my Instagram stories with mundanity only rivaled by a ‘lifer’ in solitary confinement; the day-to-day drivel which remains on repeat week after week – it’s my life, I love it, but I’m perfectly aware that it’s not for everyone entertainment-wise! It lacks the ingenuity of Nicola of the wonder-stories-tastic WeeSlice, the mothering hilarity of Susiejverrill and the warm, encouragement (and llama enabling) of Gemma, Mutha.hood . Then I get a late night email reminding me exactly why I need to share those insignificant, ‘nothing’ moments/minutes/days – it’s hope and to someone, somewhere, that’s exactly what they need.
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I’ve been asked a few times what I feed our rabble of 5 boys; do I have a menu plan? Do they all eat the same thing? The answers are whatever they eat; some weeks if I get my shiz together and NO! We have fussy ones, stubborn ones and I’ll-eat-anything-as-long-as-there’s-lots-of-it ones. But call me a blind optimist or naively hopeful, I persevere and occasionally hit culinary gold with an all-round winner.
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I had another blog post scheduled for today, but sometimes it’s the day to day minutia that create the most important message – today, I felt was one of those days. Normally the reserve of an Instagram post, I’ve decided to start giving some of my more War & Peace style captions their own space – where they can be found, referenced to and just make someone (even if it’s just me) feel a bit better when the shit hits the familial fan.
It was a mere week ago, Mother’s Day, that I wrote of the magic (and tribulations) of being a step-mum – I often feel a responsibility to round-off my honesty with a dose of hope, to bring my ramblings full circle – ‘sure it’s shit, but it’s shit for everyone and we’ve got this!’ It’s almost a bad habit. And last week I did exactly that with THIS post. Well, in the essence of honest balance I’ll willingly admit today, being a step-mum, was really pretty shit, and that alone.
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