Back-to-School Chaos: 3/5 are going back.

Everything’s labelled, packed, and shoved neatly into the boot. I’d even managed a decent night’s sleep, was up and showered by 6am, and sat with my cuppa feeling smug. Three out of five kids were heading back to school today.

And yet… instead of enjoying the peace, I sat there stressing.
Do they have everything?
Did I pack everything?
Are their lunch boxes nutritional and nut-free?
Why am I doing this to myself? Cue unnecessary mom-anxiety.

The Wake-Up Rounds

By 7am, it was time to wake the troops.

First up: Zaara. My resident morning gremlin. Honestly, it doesn’t matter how gently I go in — kiss on the forehead, whispering “morning sweetheart” — I’m always met with a dramatic groan and a “NOOO, five more minutes!” I swear, one day I’m going to storm in with a saucepan and wooden spoon, blasting open her curtains like a deranged marching band. But no… I’m an adult, and sending her to school already mid-meltdown would unleash a drama llama I don’t need before coffee.

Next: Izaac. My whirlwind child. The meltdown kid. The classroom destroyer. But also my most affectionate and loving. He’s a top bunk kid, so I nudge him and whisper, “Morning, jellybean.” His face lights up — “Morning, Mommy.”

“Oh my goodness, Izaac — guess what? Today you’re officially in juniors. You’re one of the big kids now. That means looking after the school and your friends, making sure everyone’s doing the right things.”

See, Izaac loves control, and with his additional needs (still under investigation), I’ve found giving him “jobs” helps him make better choices. He’s up, washed, dressed, even spritzed with aftershave. Standing at the mirror, he beams at his reflection:
“Ooo, looking fresh! Everyone’s going to love my new hair. Check these crispy lines in my trousers. Ooo Mom, you did a good job.”

I giggle. He stops, looks at me and says, “What you laughing at? You’re the best mommy.” Cue hug. Cue proud tears.

Back to Zaara. Still scowling like a rabid dog. She’s nearly ready.
“Make sure you wash and brush your teeth, please. I’ll meet you downstairs to do your hair.”
“I knooow.”
“Careful you don’t get dizzy.”
She frowns. “Why?”
“Well, with all that eye-rolling, I’d be flat on the floor thinking I had vertigo.”
…She didn’t get it. I left her to get ready.

Last: Zak. He’d crept into my bed at 4am, so I gave him kisses and whispered, “Time for big school!” He shot up like a firework: “Yay! My like big school!”

I had to dress him downstairs or else he’d be running into his siblings’ rooms announcing every item of clothing. “Zaara, look! My sock! Izaac, look at my big boy pants!” Relentless. So I used the invisible timer trick: “Quick, Zak, you have to get dressed before Zaara comes down!”

Spoiler: I did end up shouting her down the stairs anyway.

We left the house by 7:30am. Ten minutes late. But we made it.

The False Bliss

The drop-off was smooth. Three kids handed over, done. Bliss. Silence. I skipped home and even started decluttering Zaara’s bedroom (aka her landfill site).

Then, 11:40am. My phone rings.
“Hi Aypril, nothing to worry about, but just a reminder that this week nursery students are on a part-time timetable.”

Excuse me, what? Remind me? When did I get this message?

Zak finishes at 11:45. 11:45?!

My stomach dropped. Panic set in. Tomorrow I’m supposed to be back at work. How could I have missed this? I asked for it in writing so I could show work, but I was fuming. I know I never saw that message.
ᵐᵉˢˢᵃᵍᵉ ʳᵉᶜᵉⁱᵛᵉᵈ ²¹:⁰³

The Punch in the Gut

I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. Mostly, I wanted my job back. After a summer of zero adult conversation, I was desperate for me-time, and work gives me that.

But here I was, with a half-day nursery timetable. Finishing at 11:45 doesn’t even give me time to start work.

And there it was again: the reminder that no matter how much I plan, label, pack, or pep talk myself, at the end of the day… I’m Mom. And Mom duty trumps everything else.

Even if it means another week of chaos.