Sunday. Hands down my favourite day of the week. My partner in crime usually takes the crew over to their Nana Carmel’s for roast dinner, victoria sponge cake and copious amounts of love bombing (disguised as slagging). Everyone hearts the Sunday Club.
I sometimes use this window of time to get the weekly shopping and batch cooking done. If time allows, i squeeze in a coffee date with my sisters too. Wild, I know.
Today however, I decided to break free and head to the pictures. (No one says that anymore, do they?). Odeon Cinema Charlestown, here I come! “Yes Susan. I will have the large nachos with 3 dips to accompany my large Diet Coke…Thank you very much. Me too Susan – I’m also a fan of Sleepless in Seattle… €22.45? Wow! Trips to the cinema are expensive nowadays, huh?”
I was giddy with anticipation. What can I say. I had a lot to look forward to – an afternoon spent with Ryan Gosling. You know what they say, a Sunday well spent…..
My afternoon was going so very well. Most importantly, I was riding solo. No other dependents. No juice clean ups, no lunch making, no sibling refereeing. Just Sunday funday.
It took me a moment to unwind, but after my second dip of salsa, I was right there in the rhythm of the movie; toes a-tapping, head a-swaying.
Even when the movie was losing its way two thirds through, I stopped myself from overthinking it. This was my chance to switch off my brain, get lost in Gosling-land and not for a moment question how the ‘fresh’ guacamole (really Susan?), keeps its iridescent green glow, even in the dark.
I had a lovely, easy, laid back time. Afterwards, I applied some lipstick in the bathroom. I ordered a skinny latte on the way out and browsed through Carolyn Donnelly’s bed linen in Dunnes. All before my 5pm pick up.
I returned with my partner in crime to pick up the crew from Nana’s – just in the nick of time for some after dinner delights. Unfortunately, this was short lived. We were interrupted by a horror – Ziggy screaming from upstairs. Wait a minute – I hadn’t signed up for a double bill. Ziggy came running. Followed by hysterical girls stampeding down the stairs. There was blood. A split chin. Crying. Snozlers. The works.
The D-Doc was contacted, there was talk of A&E. My partner in crime panicked. He lost his cool. He became a melting ice cap in hot water – rapidly heating up, unsure where to move, trying to gain composure by telling everyone to relax in a really, really, re-healllly loud voice. This, of course, had the opposite effect. Babybear was whimpering with tiredness. Millie was crying in sympathy. Ziggy wondered if there was blood on his favourite t-shirt.
As Ziggy sat on my lap, I began to hum ‘City of stars’ from the soundtrack of the movie, softly into his ear. Everyone was amped to eleven- I thought a lullaby might soothe the mood. Ziggy asked if I was ok and could I please stop singing that song. He has lovely manners, even in crisis.
Turns out, the person steering the ship amidst the frenzied fog, was my injured 6 year old.
The cut under his chin finally stopped bleeding. We packed the car. It was abundantly clear – my partner in crime and I had failed at adulting. Big time. I blame Emma Stone. I’m not sure what my partner in crimes excuse was?
He started the engine. In unity, we held hands in the front seat. A silent acknowledgment. Meanwhile in the backseat- Ziggy talked about Pokémon to Millie, who delicately held a sleeping Babybear’s pinky.
We decided my wondrous Mam would know whether a trip to A&E was necessary. After all, she’s seen broken bones, spit skin, infections, poxes, nit epidemics…all of the lovely dramas that go with rearing a bunch of human children. She’s like a paediatrician- with years of experience, none of the pay, but a cornucopia of hugs and cookies nevertheless.
She had one look at him, took out her medicine box, pinched the skin together, stuck a plaster on and gave Ziggy some tea cakes and sent us on our way.
On home turf, Ziggy wanted to show off his war wounds to his friends. Millie followed, cartwheeling.
We went inside, put Danny to bed and acknowledged that our parenting skills had seen better days. And just like that, the day was coming to an end. A day of 2 halves. The first half, wondering if it was too late for coffee and the second half, if it was too early for alcohol.
I began my weekly batch cooking. My partner in crime got ready for his gig.
Bedtime snack- tick , kids washed and dressed for bed- tick, puréed baby food- tick, clear dishwasher – tick, tidy downstairs- not a chance!
Putting the kids to bed proved hassle free. A short and sweet snuggle with Millie. Ziggy was still buzzing, talking about ‘the chin incident’ with bulbous pride.
I made it back downstairs to freeze the baby food and looked longingly at a bottle of beer in the fridge. Could I? Should I? I heard a cry from upstairs – Baby bear. I closed the fridge door. He had his needles on Friday and has a nasty raised bruise on his left thigh. I take a sip of water instead and grab the Calpol from the windowsill, just in case.
I resign myself to an early night, jump into bed and slide Babybear under the nook of my arm and we’re off to snoozeville.
Before I know it, I’m woken up in the am by my partner in crime asking how Ziggy is. He’s all good, I reply. All good.