The week that was - the Stuntman's first week at Kindy

It was ‘ back to school’ week for my littlies this week, with the Stuntman heading off to the same daycare as Little Miss for the first time. He’s been cared for by family members on a regular basis for most of last year while I worked, but he’s never gone to a big daycare centre before, so it’s been a big week for everyone. 

A bright and cheerful kindy room :)

I’ve been experiencing a rollercoaster of emotions all week at the thought of my darling baby boy heading out into the big bad world without me. I called the kindy several times a day to check in on him, and would tear up and have to run to the bathroom at work whenever I thought of his sweet little face searching the room for me. Oh gawd, now I’m tearing up writing this!

During one check-in phone call his carer told me that whenever Little Miss came into the toddler room (she’s in the pre-school room), the Stuntman would grab hold of her and give her a big squeezy cuddle, not wanting to let her go. The carers would have to eventually prise them apart to go to their separate rooms. I’m sure the daycare teacher thought I’d be happy to hear that story, but it actually sent me back to the bathroom for another weep. I’m a sook, I know.

He’s made a surprisingly good transition to the centre, playing nicely with the other kids, going down for a sleep without much protesting, and only a few teary episodes throughout the day (probably less than me if I’m being honest!). Due to his food intolerances, the kindy provides a special allergy-friendly meal for his lunch, but so far he hasn’t been willing to try it, so I’ve been sending along a sandwich for him (on his special soy-flour-free bread) so that at least he’s eating something. Hopefully next week when he’s feeling a bit more secure he’ll be willing to try the prepared meals.

While he’s been pretty much fine at the kindy, at home he’s been a clingy little monster; screeching to be picked up whenever I’m around, wanting boobies all the time, and waking up screaming several times a night. These are all pretty classic separation anxiety signs I guess, which is not really surprising. I’ve been trying to be as patient with him as I possibly can be, but what with the lack of sleep, the constant whingeing, and the aching back from lugging him around everywhere, I’ve been a bit of a grumpy mum this week.

Due to our work schedules, I generally do the kindy drop-off, and Mr McD does the pick-up.  I’ve been feeling like I’ve been missing out on the fun part, but today I got to do both ends of the day, and to tell you the truth, the pick-up wasn’t all I’d imagined it to be! I had a mental picture of both kids running towards me, arms outstretched, so excited to see their mummy, but this was pretty far removed from the reality of it. 

When I walked through the door, Little Miss caught sight of me first and ran up squealing “Mummy, Mummy!!” (all good so far), then grabbed my arm and pulled me towards the art corner where she had some new creations to show me. The Stuntman clocked that I was there at this point, raced over and grabbed my other arm and started pulling me in the opposite direction, also squealing “Mummy, Mummy”, but more upset than excited. He then started trying to climb up my leg, saying “Up, up, boo boo, mine”, while Little Miss was still trying to pull me across the room. 

At this point I overbalanced and toppled onto the ground, almost squashing Little Miss, and pulling the Stuntman down on top of me. Luckily, he’s like a cat and always lands on his feet. Me, not so much; I landed squarely on my arse. Fortunately it’s well padded ;)

The young daycare teacher raced over to see if I was OK, and, much to my humiliation, tears welled up in my eyes. One even ran down my cheek. OMG - why was I crying?? No idea. The poor girl was really worried I’d hurt myself, but I think it was just the shock of falling, and the fact that my emotions have been on such high alert all week. I just couldn’t keep my game face on. That coupled with mega embarrassment just sent me over the edge.

The Stuntman couldn’t have cared less about my predicament, and actually tried to yank down my top while I was prostrate on the floor, in an attempt to help himself to the boobies. While I was trying to haul myself up off the filthy, sticky kindy floor (in black trousers no less), my handbag fell off my shoulder, sending my phone, wallet and multiple lip balms flying across the room. It must’ve been quite a sight for the other mums and dads who were picking up their kiddies.

You can always count on me for some light comic relief.

I eventually managed to sign the kids out, collect both sets of bags, water bottles, hats and artworks without falling over again or dropping anything, and we made it back home in one piece. The kids must’ve sensed I was right on the edge when we got home, as they played beautifully together, ate their dinner without any fuss, and went off to bed like little angels. Small mercies.

I will definitely be leaving the pick-ups to Mr McD from now on!

Any back to school/kindy stories for you this week?

Just another Manic Monday (except it's Tuesday)

6 o'clock already I was just in the middle of a dream..... 

In the middle of a dream at 6 o'clock? I wish. By 6am most mornings Mr McD and I have already had a mini-argument about who gets to have first shower and who's turn it is to get the Stuntman up from bed (he's an early morning poo-er, every morning without fail - not a pleasant way to start the day). By 6:15am we've had our first coffee and by 7am Mr McD's out the door.

I work Tuesday, Thursday and Friday, so Tuesday is the start of my week. Tuesday is my Monday, if you will.  After spending Monday at home with my two kids, I actually look forward to going to work - the train journey, having a coffee while it's still hot, going to the toilet by myself - so Tuesday mornings I usually bounce out of bed ready to get the day started.

Not last Tuesday though. Last Tuesday everything that could go wrong, went wrong. Nothing major, nothing life-threatening, just a million little events that resulted in me getting in to work at 10:30am, in my 3rd outfit for the day, and only wearing one earring.

For starters, Mr McD's alarm didn't go off, which usually wouldn't be an issue, except that on this particular morning the Stuntman decided to sleep in, so no one woke up until the sun started to creep in the window at about 6:30am. Shit. We were already running about an hour behind schedule! Then Little Miss declared that she absolutely would not get dressed until she had finished her breakfast, and proceeded to eat her bowl of Cheerios one by one... the Stuntman meanwhile was attached to my breast as if he'd been starved for days, and would scream blue murder if I dared to try and extricate myself from his death-roll grip before he decided he was finished. It was now 7am - I was still unshowered, Mr McD had showered but couldn't find his work shirt, and the Stuntman had hidden the remote control again so we couldn't even use the calming power of television (remote control later found in Mr McD's shoe).

I eventually got the baby off me, jumped in the shower for 1 minute and 47 seconds, speed-dressed and returned to the lounge room to find Little Miss still eating her individual bloody Cheerios, smiling slyly as I tried to gently cajole her into getting dressed. Gentle cajoling failed, so my next move was to simply take the bowl off her. A tug of war ensued - cue my first outfit change.  

After tears and recriminations (mine and hers, respectively), a ceasefire was reached and we got her dressed and ready for kindy. Mr McD took this opportunity to sneak out the door, somehow only 20 minutes late. The little Stuntman, realising he had been without attention for a total of 11 minutes, started smearing his piece of peanut butter toast along the wall behind his high chair, with a high pitched squeal of delight guaranteed to make everyone turn and look at him. Little Miss took it upon herself to take charge of the situation, saying, "Silly boy, that's very naughty, what a mess, we have to clean it up," in her bossiest big sister voice, and started to spread the peanut butter further along the wall... with her sleeve. Cue outfit change for her. Nanna looks after the Stuntman on Tuesdays, and she walks in the door during this madness, causing both kids to start running around the room in excitement, screaming their heads off like tiny little banshees.

By now it's 7:30am - we need to be out the door by 7:40am if I'm to have a chance of getting to work on time. Our game plan is for Nanna and the Stuntman to drop Little Miss and I at her kindy in the car, then I walk to the train station and head to work. Easy. 

Quick score check: I'm dressed, Little Miss is dressed, the Stuntman is still in his pj's covered in peanut butter, bags are packe..... ARGH NO! Bags are NOT packed! Quickly sort out my work bag while Nanna cleans the Stuntman up and gets him dressed, then I pack Little Miss' kindy bag, round everyone up in the front hallway and prepare to exit the building. Open the front door - it's raining. Shit shit shit. Head back inside to find a raincoat for Little Miss and an umbrella for me. Attempted exit number two - I pick up the Stuntman and make a run for the car in the rain. Just as I'm lifting him into the car seat, he spews on my shoulder. Just a little spew, but spew none the less. Back inside for second outfit change for me, and a quick wipe down for him.

It's now 8:10am. I'm seriously late. We all get in the car and I tell Nanna to floor it. She doesn't. It takes us 20 minutes to drive to kindy (I can do it in 8), so it's 8:30am by the time we pull into the driveway. I get Little Miss out of her car seat, grab my work bag and go to grab her kindy bag from the back seat. Where's her bag? FFS are you kidding me?!?!?!?! The bag is at home, on the front porch. Of course it is. Nanna, bless her, tells me she'll do a round trip and bring it back, so I race inside with Little Miss, explain the bag situation to the kindy teacher and try to leave quickly and quietly. No chance. Little Miss decides that today she needs an extra long cuddle, does not want to play with any of her friends and no thank you, she won't go and read a story on the pillows. It's 8:45am. So after a very long cuddle, during which time, unbeknownst to me, Little Miss had removed one of my earrings, I finally managed to say goodbye, walk out the door, run up the street and get to the train station. 

Just to see my (late) train pulling away from the platform. By this stage I'm beside myself; I'm so late I'm almost early for tomorrow, I didn't have any breakfast and I'm not entirely sure I've put mascara on both eyes. I have to wait 20 minutes for the next train. Fuck it. It's out of my hands now. The universe decided I needed 20 minutes to myself, I think, so I go and buy a coffee (on oat milk) and a piece of (sourdough) toast, and fire off a few emails from my phone.

I finally get on the train and sit back and try to relax for my hour long journey (it only takes 40 minutes during peak hour, but I've missed that well and truly). I stumble into my office at 10:30am, looking like I've been pulled through a hedge backwards, and feeling like I've run a marathon.

"Slept in huh?" says the receptionist. You have no idea.