I really didn’t want Jon to go to work today. I told him I was pulling a sicky and would not be getting out of bed. But then I thought, BEACH! Ruru asked me repeatedly yesterday if we could go to the seaside, and today there was no reason why we couldn’t. I rallied up a few local friends and a plan was swiftly made. How exciting, bye Jon.
There was to be a convoy, lead by me. A convoy that 10 years ago would have consisted of 3 very dilapidated but very much loved hatchbacks, today it was 3 sensible family cars each with baby boys in the back. I don’t have many friends, I like it that way, but the friends I do have I’ve known for an age and I like them, infact I adore them. So I was in the lead, singing along to Florence, I enjoy driving more than most, I’m a speeder, not a speedy speeder but a ‘push my luck a bit’ speeder, I’ve also been known to suffer from the rage. I was slow (sticking safely to the limits) and considerate of my convoy, pulling out into gaps where all 3 of us could join the traffic, not over-taking buses that had pulled over to let someone off at every other tree incase we couldn’t all make it round and I decided to take the route I knew best. Our journey took 20 minutes longer than it should have done because of buses, slow, stupid buses getting stuck in a small busy town and other idiotic impatient drivers not allowing time or space for others. I was good and waited and gave way and when we arrived my 2 gentle friends could feel the rage seeping out of my car door. They laughed at me and our beach excursion began.
I’m proud to have twins, and although I don’t really consider them twins, just brothers born at the same time, I do like it when others suggest they’re marveling at me for coping. Everyone likes praise. Coping is not a nice word really, but there have been times when I’ve only just been coping. Today however I was not coping, I was enjoying. My boys were running off exploring, confidently climbing steps of all the “colour sheds” (beach huts) listening to my crys to come back, telling me nicely they wanted a wee or their shoes taken off, and generally being good. I was even able to help my friend, with a young bairn, with her pushchair. This may seem minor, but I’ve spent the last 2.5 years being not much good to anyone but my boys. Today their independence and company of each other meant I could relax and help a friend. YES! I’ve been feeling a wave of hope recently, brought about by me starting to feel like I have children, not babies. And if anyone’s curious, no I shan’t be having anymore.
Hungry tummys called for “some biscuit, some Custard Cream” and of course the biscuit box had been packed, beach biscuit time for all. Time flew by, time to head home for lunch, then someone jested they may go home via drive-through McDonald’s, “Bugger that,” I said, “let’s eat in!” A suggestion I instantly felt nervous of. I’ve maybe been to McDonald’s 3 times in my adult life and I could see my friends’ concerns were the same, but we decided we all wanted to. Big Mac lovers as teenagers, we justified it as a rare treat. And it was; balloons, a class full of children on an outing with their rotund teacher and bbq sauce being high points, along with a busy train line running outside the window. We were all kept happy. Today was spontaneous, not something I’m sure me or either of my friends would describe ourselves as, we’re all mums who like home, calm and routines to keep our tiddlers in check, but I’m increasing feeling like such days are enjoyably doable. As long as there’s biscuits in the box we’re good to go. Still I know when I wake up tomorrow I’ll be pulling all kinds of Dorothy from Men Behaving Badly moves to keep him from going to work.