Something for the weekend

Do any of you remember that song by Michael Gray released in 2005 (for those amongst you who liked a little ‘house’ music) which went: ‘I can’t wait, for the weekend to begin….. I’ve got to get my fix, and fly tonight, and when the clock strikes six on Friday night, I need to blow it all away’? I guarantee that when lovely Michael wrote that he wasn’t a parent. Really? 6pm? I wish.

Do any of you remember that song by Michael Gray released in 2005 (for those amongst you who liked a little ‘house’ music) which went:

‘I can’t wait, for the weekend to begin….. I’ve got to get my fix, and fly tonight, and when the clock strikes six on Friday night, I need to blow it all away’?

I guarantee that when lovely Michael wrote that he wasn’t a parent. Really? 6pm? I wish. Isn’t that supper time, bath time, putting pj’s on time, cleaning teeth time, brushing hair time, reading book time, saying (over and over and over and over again) go to sleep time, checking for monsters under the bed or in the wardrobe time, getting a glass of water or milk time, telling your child to stop playing on their phone time, or iPad, or computer time….???? 6pm, really?

My weekends when I was younger were full of adventure, parties, nightclubs, romance, booze. One nonstop fun filled extravaganza until I landed hard on Sunday night.

Then I had a child.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s still hands down the best thing I have ever done in my life, but sometimes I do miss ‘carefree Laura’.

Now that the daughter is 15 she is mature enough for me to leave her with a responsible adult overnight or go out to dinner for a few hours leaving her on her own. She sits with the animals doing homework, playing on the computer, watching tv, but she doesn’t like to go to bed until I am home.

At about 10.30pm the texts start and if I don’t respond straight away I get a phone call, which isn’t too bad if I answer, but if it goes to answerphone I get a message from a slightly demoralised sounding teenager (she knows how to play me) asking when I will be back.

‘Mummy, it’s me, your daughter, so I’ve done my homework and I’ve put the dogs to bed and I was just wondering (que deep sigh) when you might be home because I miss you’.

Of course this works beautifully I feel awful, like I’m somehow emotionally neglecting her, so I rush home.

When I get home she is absolutely fine, sometimes happily sitting on my bed with an assortment of animals watching Netflix on my tv.

Children learn at a young age exactly how to play you. My favourite one which she has honed over the years is to say; ‘don’t I know it?’ as a response when I explain I am a single parent on my own and cannot do everything. That comment, ‘don’t I know it?’ reminds me that I fail at being two people and meeting all her needs due to my inability to be in either two places at once or clone myself.

Entertaining a child on your own at the weekends, every weekend, at every age, especially when there are just two of you, can be really challenging. I have often wondered whether it would be easier as a single parent with two, three or God help me 4 children on my own, or its easier with just the one.

Okay so logistically its easier with just one. One child you can throw in the car or take around with you, whereas juggling multiple children is like trying to mobilise an army. Maybe at weekends having more than one means they can entertain or play with each other. Or maybe it means it’s just more organisation, more expense and more experiences that make you yearn for your childless days when you were propping up a cocktail bar in stilettos and a bandage dress rather than sitting in a soft play area with a bunch of screaming snotty children and equally ghastly adults.

I ask you, is there anywhere worse than a soft play area?

Once I spent three hours in a soft play area with the most soul crushing hangover, slumped across a brightly coloured plastic table sitting on an equally brightly coloured and extremely rigid plastic chair eating pizza that tasted like loft insulator drinking warm Pepsi, holding my head to stop it from exploding due to the excessive screaming and shouting. Screaming and shouting like you have never heard before, so loud in fact that that my ears rang for hours afterwards.

At some point during this horror show as my hangover reached ‘soul crushing paranoia’ stage my kid asked if I would climb into the structure that dominated the room. You know what these things look like, huge brightly coloured plastic (again) tubes connected to each other with platforms, rope climbing walls and walkways. The framework, which is normally steel can rise up to 2 meters and can be made up of 2-5 tiers. Every aspect is geared towards an immersive and sensory experience with a multitude of different features and play areas. They are made this large to encourage adults to get ‘stuck in’ as well if your little bunny wants you to.

All around you are parents with glazed expressions standing by watching or sitting down trying to make conversation with other adults despite the ‘din’ whilst getting some nasty little gromit to blow their nose. The ones I feel most sorry for though are the adults that are either stranded half-way up a rope wall, marooned on a platform or my personal favourite; stuck in a fuc*@ng bright orange tube. Mostly the expressions on their faces resemble pictures of inmates taken on ‘death row’. There’s a sort of ‘I’ve given up on life’ look to them. The utter acceptance and understanding that they cannot go anywhere or, God forbid, pretend not to have a good time whilst dear little Toby and his friend Barnaby play ‘pirates’ is etched into the furrows that are appearing on their brows. You are stuck there until your kid is done with you, there is no escape. Like so much of parenthood you grit your teeth and smile whilst thinking being ‘euthanised’ might not be so bad.

But that isn’t the half of it. What about the noise? The kids, all jacked up on adrenalin and sugar run around like crazy little crack heads screaming to such an extent that you feel your ear drums might go ‘pop’. I am sure there is a ‘soft play area’ in Hell.

These God awful soul sucking play areas are just one of the many leisure activities open to parents with young children but I don’t think, for me, anything is worse. I don’t mind a petting zoo, or a pottery studio, or dance classes, or the cinema, or a Laser tag thing, or go carting (for older children). I can face all of that, it’s just being in a soft play area feels like standing in the middle of a large McDonalds, with that awful clown grimacing at you. Just bloody awful on every level.

All my weekends when my daughter was little were dominated by her. Thankfully we have always had dogs so that was something we could do, go to the park, take the dog, grab a hot chocolate and a pastry, but what if its raining? Walking in the rain with a young child can be pretty awful too. Then you either have to go out to do something under cover or entertain the little darling at home.

I was such an epic failure at the home entertainment aspect of being a parent, unless my daughter wanted to snuggle up on the sofa and watch a movie. I’ve never been one of those mothers who was ‘crafty’, and by that I don’t mean I’m bad at Poker, I mean I am bad at making shit. There are parents who spend hours in Hobby Craft and come home with some sticky backed plastic and build a Nuclear Reactor in the kitchen just by adding the inside of a loo or kitchen roll.

This is never more evident than when you have to help them make an Easter Bonnet. I can’t tell how awful some of the ‘bonnet abortions’ were, until one year I spent hours designing and building a massive hat with an egg on it and put Tallulah’s toy rabbit in the middle of it. It took about a week but we were amazed by it in the end. Of course that year the school decided that there would no longer be a winner in the Easter Bonnet Parade, as they were all winners, wtf? I wanted to shove that large egg up the Heads arse.

We tried other things, painting, which we still do actually, but making things was just awful. Some mothers, some high achieving alpha Mumma’s are really good at this and the kids actually make decent things with them and they don’t mind glue, glitter and feathers all over their kitchen table. I never was and never will be that mother and thankfully my daughter at 15 has no desire to make anything and is much happier watching a movie.

But when they are young, sometimes you dread that question; ‘what are we doing this weekend’?

For some parents, baking is the answer, yet another thing the Alpha Mummas really excel at. They bake with their children in beautiful marble kitchens whilst looking like they’ve been sprinkled with fairy dust due to a bit of flour in their hair and produce cakes, muffins and scones that look like they’ve just won Bake Off. The times that T and I tried to bake I produced cakes that tasted like bathroom grout and looked like they’d been sat on whilst almost burning down the house and covering us head to toe in egg. So bad were some of these experiences that several years on from me attempting to make a Courgette version of a Carrot cake Tallulah still shudders

For those of you with fathers in the picture, or who are fathers, or who are not ‘girly girls’ like me, I’ve always thought that the idea of kicking a ball around a field, garden or doing some sort of sport is excellent entertainment and completely exhausts the little monsters. My father who was a wonderful man used to play football and badminton with me and my sister in the garden and I loved it.

My daughter missed out on this and although we walk our dogs and go to Wildlife and animal parks and I loved, well we loved, actually probably still do; a petting Zoo she still really missed out the most because it was just the two of us. There was no other sibling or parent for her to interact with and this at times has made our relationship very intense.

It’s easier now she’s older, we like doing the same things (almost) but I used to wish I was either one of those ‘crafty’ mummy’s or ‘action’ mummy’s, rather than ‘Slummy’ who hardly moved from the sofa all weekend as I was so completely knackered.

All this said there are a wealth of things you can do at the weekend and with it looming, as I’m writing this on Thursday, I would like to add some ‘Tip Top Tips’ to give you some ideas. See my 'Top Tips for the Weekend post.