Sunday

Today has been stressful—but let’s talk about how I’m trying (keyword: trying) to manage. We’re creeping up to the final week of the summer holidays, which means one thing: the dreaded uniform check.

Armed with a pile of neatly folded clothes, new shoes still in their boxes, and the vague hope that at least some of it will fit, I called the kids in one by one. The plan was simple: try it on, see if it fits, done. But of course, nothing in this house is ever simple.

First, the shoes. Oh, the shoes. Two different kids, two different pairs, both from the same shop, neither fits. How is that even possible? One’s too tight, one’s too loose—apparently, Goldilocks has been shopping for us. And now I’ve got to make a dreaded return trip, which means dragging at least one child along to be measured properly while they moan that it’s “so boring.” I mean 2 out of 5 ain't bad!

Then there’s the shirts. Good news: the school shirts finally arrived. Bad news: one packet is missing a shirt. How does that even happen? Did it grow legs and walk off? Or did the factory just decide four was enough instead of five? Either way, it’s one more thing to add to the already never-ending Back to School To-Do List.

Meanwhile, the kids are acting like I’ve sentenced them to a life of hard labour. Huffing, puffing, dramatic sighs—you’d think I was asking them to climb a mountain instead of put on a polo shirt for thirty seconds. My 3-year-old even tried to wear the trousers on his head, which, honestly, I didn’t have the energy to argue with.

And don’t even get me started on labelling everything. Every. Single. Sock. Every jumper. Every water bottle. Because let’s face it, if it’s not labelled, it’s gone forever—swallowed by the black hole that is the school lost property box.  >>>>>

So, yes—it feels like endless chaos. But here’s the thing: once this is done, I’ll at least know where we’re at. What fits, what doesn’t, what needs to be exchanged. One step closer to surviving back-to-school season.

Right now, I’m running on coffee, leftover biscuits, and sheer determination. But if I’ve learned anything from past years, it’s this: no matter how unprepared I feel, somehow the kids always make it through those school gates looking presentable. Tired, yes. Hair a bit questionable, probably. But in their uniforms, ready for a fresh start.

So to all the other mums out there in the same boat: you’ve got this. And if not? At least we’ll all be standing in the uniform return queue together, wondering how we survived the summer in one piece.