The Parent Trap

With two little boys I’m constantly scouring the recesses of my limited grey matter  for fun, educating activities, family friendly days out, weekend jaunts, games, field trips, playdates and striking the right balance between mental and physical stimulation. It’s been my life over this interminable Easter holiday. Thankfully, in London there is no shortage of culture, history and fun, exciting things to do. (To all those curmudgeons who bemoan raising children in London– I say pah!) Museums, plays, drama camp, sport camp and a cheeky pilgrimage to the Norfolk coast– few days went unaccounted. For sure the four week holiday (FOUR WEEKS!?!) is enough to put the fear of god into any parent. Risk of cabin fever, mental atrophy and the dreaded “B” word, boredom, is incentive enough to get all mums (or dads, lest anyone accuse me of being a sexist dinosaur) into full-on diary-filling mode. We feel trapped into realising the full potential of every single day. Not a bad compulsion, per se, but certainly exhausting.

I know, I know. I sound like some achingly boorish, bourgeois, Boden-wearing (not that there’s anything wrong with owning a bit of Johnnie B–I do), Bugaboo-pushing (team Maclaren, darling) helicopter-parenting, middle-class toff, don’t’ I? I mean really folks, heaven forbid our children become BORED?! But before you write me off, I’m actually of the view a little boredom is no bad thing. To be fair, my children are expert boredom-bashers– happy to entertain themselves as pirates, super heroes, dinosaurs, artists, doctors, LEGO experts or hide-and-seek masters. Boredom is liberating. Being agenda-free unlocks the mind to discover new things, new areas of interest– forcing us to fill the void.   My dear mother-in-law, well-intentioned as she is, is always so worried we’ll be bored on our visits to them in Sheringham and the lovely North Norfolk coast. What she doesn’t understand is 1) not only do I love our holidays there, but 2) that I actually crave boredom.  (Don’t all parents at some time or another?!) It’s when I can relax, brainstorm and then poof! come up with a witty blog entry. (Yes? No? Maybe? Ok, maybe.)

Anyway, during my writing sabbatical it’s occurred to me my blog is kinda like a child– requiring care, attention, engaging content and constant maintenance. Judging by my monthly (ish) entries, you’re probably ready to call social services. But let’s not, dear reader(s), take such pithy analogies too literally– I jest. Ha ha! See? But perhaps I do need to be a bit more proactive on the old writing front, seeing as I’ve been woefully complacent of late. Then perhaps someone, pray SOMEONE, some day may take notice and realise they can’t wait another minute to represent me and my book. (Still no takers).

So now with the little ones back at school (well one of them, at least– AT LAST!) I’m off to seek my own little slice of boredom. Ta!

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