So it’s our first ever school holiday, at the end of the twinnage’s first ever term of school, and the boys and I are embracing the gentle art of pottering. Unscheduled, routine-free time suits us far too well, and it’s entirely possible that I’ll forget to send them back to school next week. The only downside is that I can’t go running, because the Stoic Spouse is at work and the boys are with me whenever I’m not at work.
Tempting though it is to stay home and crochet whilst reading them stories all day, I figured that we probably ought to Do Something. When did the children Doing Something become such a thing? I’d have rolled my eyes right out of the top of my head if my parents had tried to fill my school holidays with organized and worthy activities. I was far too busy damming the
hideously polluted stream at the bottom of the garden, playing in the street with friends, drawing graphs of the changing temperature of our pond at different times and depths (I kid you not), visiting my friend who was skilled in taxidermy by the age of ten, and writing stuff. But then, I’m a maladjusted, curmudgeonly old bint, so what do I know?
Seriously, though, friends keep asking, ‘What are you doing this holiday?’ and I can only mumble ‘Well the laundry pile could use some attention,’ and, ‘There’s a fair-to-middling chance that lunch will be cooked eventually.’ At which point I feel like a rubbish parent for not having scheduled Latin crammers and lessons in ashtanga yoga, let alone an educational trip to Venezuela. Sorry kids, but I’m not that sort of parent.
So instead, we’ve been pottering. And yes, I’ve been knitting and crocheting whilst we do so. Pottering involves mostly time at home with play and books, but also some time on the allotment under the wise guidance of my allotment-mate, who helped us plant onions and broad beans this week:-
Also, plenty of cooking. The Stoic Spouse cooked partridges (yum!) so I boiled up the bare carcases with leek, carrot, onion, garlic, mushrooms, coriander seeds, mustard seeds and peppercorns to make stock. The boys were fascinated by this strange form of cooking in which you throw all the solid stuff away at the end:-
Also, there’s been the feeding of chickens at our local farm shop:-
Oh, and spurred on by allotment activities, we finally got round to digging up the potatoes at home. Digging up potatoes is like unearthing buried treasure to small children. These were the potatoes left to languish below-ground far too long after my IVF-induced apathy this summer, that I guiltily assumed had probably rotted, but surprisingly they came up just fine. Look! That’s dinner sorted…
Even better, we discovered that our straggly, untended raspberry plants didn’t get the memo about it being too late in the year for fruiting:-
So in all, nobody has improved their Latin. Nobody has been to Venezuela. A great deal of time has been spent at home. Mummy has been knitting. But you know what? Maybe that’s all OK. Yeah?