Monday

Always Something Going On With Me and My Life

Today, somebody said to me, “There’s always something going on with you and your life,” and honestly? I got super defensive. I was like, “No, there isn’t!” Yea, I’ve got kids and work, but I manage. I know they didn’t mean anything by it, but in that moment, I just wanted to seem like I’ve got it all under control.

Am I coping?
Honestly, I haven’t got a clue anymore. The days just roll into each other like some never-ending, chaotic river.

This morning, it was all sunshine and rainbows. The kids woke happy, willing to get ready—no sibling fights, no tears, just… calm. Or so I thought. We left the house without causing a scene, so I was feeling pretty smug until about an hour later when nothing went to plan.

I arrived at work early, grabbed a cuppa, and sank into my day. Just as I was starting to feel like I might survive, chaos struck. I wanted nothing more than to crawl under a rock and take a nap. I was eating my lunch on the move, juggling a million responsibilities, and thinking, “This is fine, I’ve got this.”

Then at 3:20pm, I get the phone call. My stomach sinks—the dread hits like a wave.
It’s the school.
The headteacher, Ms Conway: “I’ve had to call for your mother to come and pick Izaac up. He’s not had a good day, and he’s been very dangerous on the school trip. He’s not safe to access after-school club.”

Wait—what?!
I leave work early and I get to my mum’s house by 4pm. my Dad who went to collect Izaac, isn’t there with Izaac yet. They pull up, and Izaac is in floods of tears, nobody actually knows what’s happened.

I tell him to get in the car and, in my best stern voice, I say, “Tell me what’s happened before your headteacher does,” trying so hard to sound serious (but internally trembling). Slowly, through tears and sobs, he says, “Mommy, I ran away. I'm so sorry”

My heart drops.
My absolute biggest fear is loosing a child or them getting taken—nightmares, bad anxiety, the works. I worry constantly when we go out, travelling abroad, or even just in the local park. It’s like this relentless, gnawing anxiety that I carry every day.

And today, I lost it.
I burst out shouting, “You don’t ever run away! My one rule is stay where I can see you! Always! Do you understand? What if you’d got lost or picked up by a stranger?!”

Honestly, I’ve never felt so mad.

We get to the school, and I sit down with the head teacher. Turns out, Izaac decided to run off like he’s some sort of lightning-fast animal at the safari park. Then he got into a spider monkey act—climbing, swinging, and making a spectacle of himself. And then, oh yes—he decided to lasso his bag in a temper, and in the process, his bag hits a toddler, who’s sitting calmly with his parents. They’re annoyed, and suddenly Izaac’s the star of their “which school does he go to?” show.

I’m mortified.
It’s honestly a lot to take in. We chat about his behaviour and what needs to change. If he doesn’t, he might have to say goodbye to attending school!

By the time I get home, I’m ready for a bed. First thing? Start cooking dinner. Then another drama arises. The Wi-Fi is dead—of course—and kids are all up my backside about their devices. “Mom, my Wi-Fi’s not working!”
“Me neither,” I say, staring at the blinking green light on the router. It’s supposed to be blue. Instead, it’s flashing some random lime green. I turn it off, turn it on, unplug, replug, do everything your tech support hero would do. Still nothing.

I call the internet company, go through their diagnostic rigmarole, and finally get the truth: The Wi-Fi is completely fucked. The new router comes Wednesday—until then, we’re living like it’s 1995. No internet. No streaming, no online homework, no Netflix. Just... us, with our DVD's.

I fish out all 22 DVDs I can find (mainly old-school classics like Hercules and Alvin and the Chipmunks), and everyone’s hooked up to my phone hotspots. Zaara is on her tablet, Jacob’s got unlimited data, and I’m here, just trying to survive.

It’s now 8:30 pm. The kids are in bed, fallen asleep exhausted from all the chaos. I’m sitting here, hungry, staring at my Weetabix, wondering what tomorrow’s going to bring. Who knows? Maybe it’ll be better. Maybe it’ll be just as mental. Either way, I hope I survive it.

And maybe—I don’t know—just maybe I’ll remember that days like these are just part of the madness called being a mom.

Here’s hoping tomorrow’s a little calmer. Or at least, that I get some sleep tonight.