Well, we survived Easter but only just. Our family desperately needs routine and the whole lot of us just kind of spiralled into a pit of despair without it.
Apart from those first few weeks when they were completely confused by it, nursery (pre-school, whatever) has been the single best thing that has ever happened to W&P. Once they got over their fury with us that they weren't going every single day they settled into the 2.5 days a week and we did too. Then there was half-term but we had visitors so that passed without much notice, but Easter. Jesus (literally). Eighteen days with no nursery and some crazy notion that maybe Nye and I would take the time off working too, enjoy some 'family time' together. It was not good for us. Don't get me wrong, a few days was nice, but after two weeks of
'is it nursery day?''no, it's still the holidays''What are we going to do?''have breakfast''What else?''get dressed''What else?''do some baking''what else?'
'carry bricks''what else?''ARGHHHHHHH.'
Nye and I were both desperate and the girls were.... trying.
One day I had to go into town for something and as I sat on the bus past St Pancras I kicked myself for not bringing my passport. When Nye went out mountain biking it crossed my mind that he might never come back, he had not one but two modes of transport, energy drinks and some body armour. He could go for days.
Ammie's What Else's blurred seamlessly into The Whys whereas Ella's fizzled out into depression. Have you ever seen a three year old who is wearing her jacket, lying under her duvet and who needs to be coaxed out of bed to come and have breakfast? Me neither, until last week.
Easter Sunday arrived and I realised too late that actually, yes, I might like to do this thing and spent the day in a depressive, egg-free funk. I went for a long walk in the pissing rain until I found a tesco express, where I bought a bag of mini eggs and a bottle of wine. I passed a funeral home with an Easter display in the window, I felt like they were offering more than they could possibly deliver.
The next day, the last of the holidays, we managed to rouse ourselves to do our favourite thing, the one thing that unites us unfailingly - barbecue. Nye made kofta, I made bread and vegetable kebabs and he and the girls cooked them over flames in the back garden. Charred meat and bread drenched in olive oil made everything feel right with the world again. Even Ella, who subsists on a litre of porridge once a day, ate it.
'is it nursery day tomorrow?'
she asked half heartedly as we got ready for bed.
'Yes! Yes it is!'
Her grin was even bigger than it had been for dinner but not as big as mine. The next morning she didn't need to be coaxed out of bed, she leapt up like a jack-in-the-box.
'Did you have a good holiday?' we were asked as we arrived with all of the other kids. I replied with a strained smile. They didn't need to know.