Liam, who has clambered into the front seat because he’s finally tall enough, is next, little pet, and once his older sister is out of the car he talks excitedly about his day. He and Lexi aren’t getting on as well anymore and it upsets me, although Maura explains that it’s normal for children of different ages to get irritated with each other at times.
‘We did it,’ she says.
‘Did we?’ I say. And then I remember Con and how we used to fight with him, tease him and put dresses on his Action Man, and I have to agree with her. Scarlett was our baby and we dressed her up like a doll. I think Con may have been dolled up and lipsticked too, and grin at the thought.
The power of older sisters is amazing.
I’m allowed to surreptitiously hug Liam goodbye before he gets out of the car in the school car park. This is the first year I haven’t walked him into class – ‘only little kids have their mums come in!’ – so I sit there in the car waiting until he’s walked along the path and in the school door. Then I wave again even though he doesn’t turn round, and when I can no longer see his departing back, I settle myself into the car to deliver Teddy to her little school.
‘Music,’ shrieks Teddy, ‘music.’
She can shriek very loudly, definitely in thebad-for-your-hearing-long-term range. So I put on some of her favourite tunes, at the moment the soundtrack ofFrozen, which is not as nice when you have heard it eight hundred andfifty-nine times.
Sometimes I feel that IamAnna and Elsa.
As we pull up outside Little Darlings crèche and Montessori, Teddy’s mood changes drastically.
‘No go, no go,’ she says tearfully, reverting to the almost baby language she occasionally uses when she’s in a particular mood. Small children grow up in atwo-steps-forward,one-step-back sort of way, I have found.
‘Teddy,’ I said, undoing the car seat straps which will cut off a finger if done too quickly. ‘You love it here. Don’t you want to see all your friends? Ella and Marcus and the hamsters?’
‘No,’ she says, kicking her heels against the seat.
There is a certain amount of wriggling, fighting and struggling but eventually Teddy and I make it into Little Darlings, whereupon she totally abandons me, rips her hand away from mine and races off squealing with delight at seeing her friends.
Koala baby to teenager outside a disco in one fell swoop.
‘Tough morning?’ says Babs, the crèche owner, seeing me sighing at Teddy’s departing form.
‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘ we’ve just moved into the new house and it felt a bit chaotic this morning, not our usual routine,’ I say. ‘And then Teddy was doing herI don’t want to go inthing.’
‘But now look at her,’ Babs finishes, as we gaze at where Teddy is delightedly holding court with her closest friends over at the little plastic kitchen.
‘I know, you just always feel bad, don’t you?’
‘Mothers’ guilt,’ says Babs cheerfully. ‘Tougher than titanium. Isn’t that the toughest substance on the planet?’
I nod. Sounds about right. Or else that stuff that totally banjaxed Superman.
Outside, I see a gaggle of the women who make me feel totally inferior: Mums Who Exercise. They do not have saggy bits, worry about fat knees or having trouble closing the button on their jeans.
Why don’t you do any exercise?Mildred wants to know.You could. Because look at them with their skinny legs and perfect butts in their Lululemon leggings?
‘Gimme a break, Mildred,’ I mutter.
I get back into the car, take a deep breath and start socialmedia-ing while I’m still parked.
Testing recipes for fabulous RTÉ Guide today.
I then try to think of hashtags.
#Delicious. #YouWillDrool.
Is that too weird, I wonder? Drooling makes me think of those lovely dogs who drool a lot.
#Happy. #Cooking.
Ugh, I think. How vanilla.
