Autumn Break Point

I have actually ground to a halt. My best intentions to write 500 words per day for my thesis are foundering in slack-jawed apathy. The dissertation is growing - in fact, it's probably growing too much. My latest chapter (so nearly completed!) is now over 52,000 words, and it's going to need some heavy pruning before submission. But it's nearly one-thirty on Friday afternoon, and here I am blogging - not doing academic stuff, carelessly frittering the remains of the day away.
My elderly parents came round this morning and regaled me with tales of their holiday in the Italian Lakes and I started to feel restless and very twitchy. I need a break, preferably abroad for a few days, but I have a feeling that just ain't going to happen this autumn. It's the financial climate, I guess. That, plus the rowing club fees are due for all for of us (and NO direct debit facility - ridiculous!), Daughter #3 wants to go on a residential school trip, the car needed taxing, new school uniforms, birthdays...the whole routine. Nor did we manage to get away this spring either as Daughter #2's second baby was due near the half-term holidays and I was on standby for minding the delightful Bouncing Babba #1.
It really aggravates me how hotel prices shoot up in half-term holidays (cynical or what?) but we are practically threatened with excommunication if we take the kids out of school in term-time. I did think about going to Rome for the weekend, taking them out of school for the Friday and claiming it was a pilgrimage. Well, it would have been - to the Tazza d'Oro coffee shop near the Piazza Navona as much as to go to St Peter's!
The weekend looms with all its usual activities. I just can't imagine what 'normal' (i.e. non-rowing) families do. Just lately, Saturdays consist of the rowing-convert Husband cycling off to the rowing club for 8am, hopeful of calm conditions, and me walking into town later to meet him for a much-needed latte and listen to his exploits.
Sundays usually start early again with me accompanying him to rowing and helping him out with the boat, boating up etc., or with me arriving an hour later (9am) with Daughter #3 and the Bright-Eyed Boy for the junior rowing training session, where I'll either coach singles from the riverbank (trying not to slip on the goose-shit and fall into the water) or cox a quad (getting noticeably chillier by the day).
Last Sunday the river was high, so the Husband and his cronies opted to stay in the gym (ffs!). The juniors put them to shame by blithely boating up and paddling off, although it was a bit 'exciting' on occasion, judging where to land etc. This again is followed by a welcome hot drink, coffee and rowing chat at the local Costa, which I surely must have shares in by now (that's probably where all the money's gone!).
Both Saturday and Sunday afternoons see us two adults (and occasionally children, too) down at the recreational gym near our house (much nicer than the boathouse gym), trying to fit in the weights sessions that we have failed to do during the week (more correctly the guilt-wracked Husband has failed to do - I'm a goody two-shoes and get there most days before I start my work). Into this we must fit the usual colossal school/work clothes wash and iron, prepare and cook food, homework (for the Husband too, sadly), and shop for the forthcoming week's packed lunches etc. Housework and gardening doesn't get a look in, not that I'm really that sorry, but I'm increasingly aware of disapproving glances at the fluff-wads and overgrown grass and weeds. Sunday night and we're knackered -slumped with a pile of food and glass of wine having a marathon sport-watching session of stuff we've recorded whilst out.
So yeah - I could do with a break, a complete break from the routine. We're going to tot up the air miles again and scan RyanAir and EasyJet. I seriously doubt it'll be on the cards...and if it is the only cards it'll be on is the Mastercard. I might have to live with that. Seize the day etc. Autumn on the banks of the Tiber....lovely!

Thank Goodness It's Monday!

Although I am generally a fairly upbeat person, the sheer grind of day to day living occasionally gets to me, and it generally gets to me over the weekend. When it gets to Friday evening, I feel a tangible sense of relief that Saturday and Sunday lie ahead - we open a bottle of wine, dine late, watch a film and relax. Saturday morning, croissants and black coffee over the paper and a general sense of well-being: I read the recipes in the magazine and vaguely make plans to cook something tasty or go into town and browse the bookshops.....but soon thereafter the good mood begins to slip a bit. I think the problem is that there is so much routine maintenance to do: the Bright-Eyed Boy needs transporting to and from his football practice, Daughter #3 tends to go rowing and returns home boyfriend in tow to take root on the front-room sofa for the rest of the day, so no-one can really access the house-computer because they are watching some teen-drama reruns on iPlayer. Daughter #2 often texts to try and lure me into town with her so she has some company, and sometimes I capitulate.
There are generally a couple of massive washes to do - all the school uniform, sports kit and the Husband's work clothes find their way into the laundry basket overnight and require immediate attention if they are to be returned clean to their owners for the following week. A deal of time is taken in putting it in, and extracting it from, the machine, hanging it up, then taking it to the tumble dryer later on, and finally folding it to avoid creasing. Not to mention the redistribution and putting away.
The Dog requires walking too.
Saturday lunchtime, and if I haven't managed to get out, my good mood has curdled somewhat and I don't feel inclined to cook anymore..
The B-E-B returns home hungry and generally a bit cranky ('hangry' = hungry + angry) if he hasn't been picked to play in the team match the following day, turns on the telly and stations himself in front of either sport or endless repeats of the bloody Simpsons.
The Husband either goes to the gym or opens up his laptop to tackle the workload that threatens to swamp him or turn him mad. The day slides into evening and I get uneasy that I haven't done anything worthwhile. I can't really do any of my academic work without isolating myself at the bedroom workstation that I set up last year - and who wants to sit up in their bedroom on a Saturday afternoon? I can't read anywhere - I need silence to prevent getting distracted during the tricky bits and the constant hum of the telly, and music of different genres coming from the front room, plus the constant trotting up and down stairs that goes on is not conducive to study in the least!
Tea usually consists of pizza, and after a couple of accompanying glasses of wine, I am slumped, fretting at where the day has gone.
Sunday morning: generally up early for either football, rowing or Mass - if I can persuade anyone to go (an increasingly difficult task nowadays, I'm afraid). If the weather is good I will make the effort to walk into town for a coffee when the shops open at eleven, returning home shortly after lunchtime.
Thereafter, there is a noticable decline in the household mood: the Husband and I set about the tasks that need performing before Monday morning; shopping for packed lunch ingredients, ironing (taken in turns), preparing dinner for as many people as are present, persuading the children to do their homework....and before long evening has fallen and we're sitting down to Sunday dinner, usually consisting of a large home-made pasta bake or a roast dinner if it's winter time. I do manage to stir myself to do that. The puddings are a major and much-treasured feature - the Husband actually enjoys trying out pudding recipes and has had a number of triumphs in this department (especially in the bread-and-butter pudding department - his chocolate and rum version is awesome!). I encourage this. It's frankly one of the best bits of the week.
After dinner, a pause while we find out what homework is still outstanding, hard-boil eggs for pack-ups, transport Daughter #3's boyfriend home, lay out school uniforms and pack schoolbags for the following day. By nine o'clock it's all done, but so is the weekend! All done and gone!

And then comes Monday, the work and school week lies before us and we look longingly towards Friday night and its promise of scant rest and respite.
But secretly, I love it when peace and quiet returns to the house. The Dog gets an early walk, then I go over to the shop and buy a single pain au raisin, put on a pot of espresso and turn on Radio 4. I review my emails, a couple of blogs and the news headlines then exchanging the radio for a CD of subdued classical music, I settle down to read or write for the rest of the day, keeping an eye on the clock until its time for the wanderers to return.
I am put in mind the scrap of a poem by the poet Sappho, written about 600BC where she addresses the evening star ('Hesperus') who brings home all the things that dawn has scattered 'the sheep, the goat, the child to its mother'. Thank God it does!

Friday Nights, Saturday Mornings....

This is my favourite part of the week. Work is finished and the weekend stretches before us. The husband and I generally have our evening meal after the children have gone up to bed: it's the one thing we insist on, and something that none of the children have had a problem with, even when in their late teens/twenties. Mum and Dad need an evening to themselves! It's going to be steak, chips and salad tonight with wine. The children eat early and are in their rooms by nine - they can watch any suitable telly (Have I got News for You is popular) - whilst we chill downstairs. Saturday breakfast is leisurely: croissants and jam, a big cafetiere of coffee and the papers before we go off to do our various things. The evening meal is usually home-made pizza so that we can accommodate whoever wants to join us to eat. Last week we had seven at table. Sunday may start early, with either Mass or a junior football fixture, with something quick for lunch like hotdogs or pittas and dips. If there's any motorsport on, we'll sit and watch that together in the afternoon or we'll go to the gym. In winter we have a roast dinner for which the husband makes some form of dessert. In the summer, it may be a barbeque if the weather's good, or a home prepared curry which has been slowly cooking all day, with bhajis, naans and pickles. sunday evening is prep night: shoe-polishing, pack-ups, ironing (if it's not been done before that), packing schoolbags for Monday. No-one ever goes to bed late in our house. Eleven pm is exceptional and usually means we've watched some sort of match on telly. And then it's Monday again. I know a lot of people would find this sort of predictability stultifying, but for me it encapsulates the harmonious rhythm of our home. Our freedom lies in knowing what's what - there's a liberation and contentment to be found in it. Other folk argue for spontenaity, but I know a lot of spontaneous people who live reactively rather than proactively and don't seem to be either happy or comfortable with taking life on an ad hoc basis, although they claim they do.
Rhythm, routine, ebb and flow....it's a heartbeat from nature itself.