Thank God that’s over

My elder daughter is only two and a half and I’m already a slave to the school holidays. Autumn Half Term. An evil spectre of a week in which anything fun is cancelled, the weather is resolutely drizzly and Ziggler is filled with rage about the fact there’s no nursery, even though she claims to hate nursery.

It’s a good way of appreciating the things you normally moan about. Playgroup may be lonely, logistically difficult and a bit socially stressful but it’s something to do for a few hours, and there are biscuits.  I have documented my feelings about soft play.  Multiply the horror of soft play on an average day by at least 11.  That’s Soft Play during drizzly Autumn Half Term.

We got through it by variously dossing about at home playing, doing colouring in and watching telly (and reaching crisis point by about 3pm when we all got a bit hot and cross), going round to people’s houses and arguing over their toys and meeting up with a friend in town.

I met my friend Star at University.  We both live in London and we both have small kids but I haven’t seen her since before Ziggler (and her son Orville who’s the same age) was born.  It is a testament to what a straggly-haired struggle it is to get 2 kids from South London where I live to North London where she lives, and vice versa.  I would rather drive the thousands of miles to Cornwall than that particular twenty.  Anyway, we met Star, her daughter Jolly and her son Orville at Waterloo.   We ate Pizza in Pizza Express, along with 3 billion other half-termy kids.  We strolled along the South Bank and got over excited by the man blowing enormous bubbles and terrified by Minnie Mouse blowing us kisses.  We spent a good ten minutes watching boats and buses and aeroplanes.  Ziggler was amazed by the London Eye and wants to go on it when it’s her Happy Birthday.  She, Jolly and Orville ran round and round a tree (which was the bit Ziggler chose to tell daddy about at bath time).  Pickle had a lovely time romancing passers by with her six-toothy grin.  Then we joined all the other people with pushchairs, scurrying homewards on public transport like insects before the storm of rush hour in London.

Ziggler has demanded to go into town and see Star every day since then and she is obsessing about going on the wheel for her happy birthday.  Not sure I (or she) can hack it ’til February.

So Hurray!  Half term is over!  It’s not just the kids who need our weekly routine of nursery-playgroup-nursery.  I am more like a toddler than I care to admit.

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About vickola

Bad housewife.
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