Reasons to be cheerful

Oh buggery f**k, what a day! A plumber came to identify the source of leak that was causing a steady stream of water through the ceiling and down the wall of the first floor bathroom. It could only be coming from the the loo upstairs and since there was no access panel the plumber had no choice but to smash through the tiled walls of the kids' bathroom to get to the concealed cistern. Unfortunately in so doing he cut through a cold water pipe and flooded the whole house. According to my son who'd stayed behind to watch him work while I went out to pick up the others, water was pouring through the light fittings on two floors as the plumber ran around trying to work out where to turn the water off. I returned to find the drenched stair carpet curling away from the skirting in disgust and the bathroom destroyed. It was probably better I'd not been there, the sight of water coming through the extractor fan and onto the stove before flooding the kitchen might have finished me off. It's been a long, strenous half term with my four darlings at home. However, from somewhere I found the strength to enquire about liability insurance. He wouldn't know, would he, since nothing like this has ever happened to him in 34 years of plumbing. He took a pot shot at the plumber who'd installed the pipes in the first place for laying them too close to the wall and told me the stair carpet would dry out soon enough. Oh, and he found the leak. So that's OK then.

Feeling Foolish

Oh shit. Not a good day.

I drop son #3 at tennis, sign him in and tell him I am going to be late to pick him up so to sit on the green chairs in reception and wait for me there. I then drive to collect son #2 from school where he arrives from a school trip just 5 minutes before his tennis lesson is due to start. We dash back, dropping off another boy at home en route. Son #2 is 20 minutes late for his lesson. I tell him to change and run. There is no sign of son #3.

I park and walk around the tennis centre, speak to his coach who hasn't seen him since the lesson ended. I speak to some waiting mothers, no sign. Then I approach the receptionist whose desk overlooks the green chairs by the doors. "Yes I did see him," she explains. "He was swinging on the wires outside, so I told him not to." I go and look out the front and then return. "He's nowhere to be seen," I say. "Do you have CCTV?" I get the impression she thinks I'm a bit of a nuisance and she actually deals with an enquiry from another man at the desk while supposedly scanning the video for evidence of my missing six year old.

"Ah, here he is!" I go around to her side of the desk and watch him on film standing by the entrance gates of the tennis centre. He is watching the cars go through the big iron gates Then he tires of watching and without so much as a backwards glance he pulls open the pedestrian gate and walks out of the picture. "Oh my god!" I cry and run to my car. Sensing the urgency another member of staff follows me and jumps into my car beside me. We scan the pavements and I explain that son #3 has actually done this before. I know that he knows his way home, despite this being London, home being a mile and a half away over busy roads and despite his tender age. Last time I called the police and he was missing for an hour and a half before he showed up at home. The man in the passenger seat whom I don't know from Adam clearly thinks I lose my children all the time. As we drive the housekeeper calls to tell me son #3 has arrived home on foot. I turn back to collect son #2 and we head home for supper.

I do homework with son #3 and my little girl. In stead of getting on with their homework sons 1 & 2 start messing around and I get cross. Really cross. It is late. I am tired. I have had quite a bad afternoon and I don't fancy a long night of homework. When I insist that son #1 come and sit down in the kitchen he starts being arsey, rude and obstinate. I lose my temper and make futile threats which he knows I won't follow through. Then I tell him that until he changes his attitude there is no point in attempting the homework and to go and do his music practice in stead. After much arguing he plays for about 7 minutes. Then nothing. I go and look for him, but he is nowhere to be seen. When I go upstairs to ask son #2 who is now getting ready for bed he says he heard the front door open and shut.

Son #1 has run away before. That time I was cross too. I said some stupid things then as well. Last time we called the police but they didn't find him and he came home cold and hungry 2 hours later. Now it's dark. I stand watch by an upstairs window. I know I have to go out and look for him. This is my problem and I have to try and put things right. It is cold and windy. I have no torch and crossing the common outside our house is scarey enough. I walk the streets for 40 minutes before I go back. I am almost in tears. Should I call the police? My husband is out at a business dinner. He will not be impressed when I tell him I've lost son #1. As I near our house someone small and slight is waiting outside. My heart leaps. But it is our Philippina housekeeper. She tells me son #1 is in bed and snoring. He never left the house. He has outwitted me and his homework remains undone.

Wednesday Morning

This morning I got myself up, showered, washed yesterday's smeared make-up off and applied fresh, dressed myself and two children, made their beds, reminded two others to do their own, breakfasted with four children (five if you include their father), cleared the table, cleaned three sets of teeth, made a packed lunch, found two pairs of mislaid shoes, a smock, a fleece, kitted out one child with full outfit for his Roman assembly including life-size red and gold cardboard shield (borrowed, emphatically NOT made by me) rounded up assorted homework from the kitchen table and playroom floor, tested eldest on French vocab while washing up breakfast, waved goodbye to husband, unloaded a child's bike from the car, loaded five children into the car (1 of neighbour's), drove to first school, dropped off three, returned to second school, dropped off two (one forgotten book bag the only known casualty so far), filled the car with petrol, listened to a discussion on the Today programme about how women are on average cooking only 9 different dishes for their families.

Nine? That sounds like a lot. Agree with Arrabella Weir that this sounds like one more stick to beat mothers with. What? Only nine different meals to shop, chop and cook? Can't you do better than that, you slattern, you failure of a mother!? What are you doing with all that time you could be pouring over cook books thinking of delicious and nutritious new dishes to serve your offspring who will in any case say Yuk! and refuse to eat it after you've spent hours being creative in the prison of your own kitchen.

I come home, sit at my computer and realise it's not yet nine o'clock.