I always have grand ideas about the amount of “stuff” I will achieve during a half term break. I imagine that, in the absence of the usual itinerary, I will make the most of the time at home, and sort everything out.
I am a ridiculous optimist.
Because the reality is very different. Why don’t I ever remember this?
So far this week, the Four Little Seymours have used almost every item of their clothing, and left what they have not used on the floor. They have made masterpieces with acrylic paints – the evidence of which is now emblazoned on several cardigans and a couple of pairs of trousers. They’ve taken numerous random items out of their bedrooms to set up a “Family Cafe” down the garden. They’ve churned up the embryonic grass seedlings on the expanse of mud that’s supposed to be our lawn. The remnants of their Halloween craft are everywhere, with little felt Draculas poking their heads out from behind the sofa, and for a while, we had pumpkin seeds all over the floor. Plus, they’ve managed to fit a sick bug in along the way.
All of the above is perfectly normal, I suppose. And, in a conventional, easy-to-wipe-down house, I might feel a little less twitchy about the whole business. But I must confess that, this half term, I have found it very tricky to see my way out of a mess, once it is made.
Take the pumpkin carving, for example.
I was aware that the Four Little Seymours needed pumpkins. And after I had taken them to a grocer in The Village and sent them in with a pound to purchase a beast of a bulbous orange specimen, they came out looking dejected because the 75p price sign was actually per kilo.
Stupid Mummy.
Poor, dejected, Little Seymour urchins. But nothing was going to make me part with £5.78 for something that will be rotting outside the door in ten days time. So we left empty-handed.
But, undeterred, Little Seymour Number Two went on a shopping trip to The Big City with Grandma E, and returned with two for a pound. Result!
Yesterday, chaos ensued when, orchestrated by Little Seymour Number One, they all sat down at the table to create art with their vegetables. And despite putting newspaper down, and trying to collect the mush in various receptacles, it still looked like the poor pumpkins had vomited on the floor as they were being disemboweled.
And, when I was on my hands and knees collecting seeds and squelchy stuff afterwards, I must admit to feeling a little depressed that, even if I left the kitchen in that state, nobody would really care. Sometimes, my optimism fails me and my patience with craft, building sites, brick dust and holes in the house starts to ebb away…
Today, thankfully, my optimism is back, along with some humour. We have a sign outside the door, warning of flesh-eating zombies. Two nearly annihilated pumpkins are decorating the now-concreted trench, and I have rearranged all the various ghoulish bits and pieces that the Little Seymours have excitedly prepared. I must resist the urge to chuck them in the bin until Tuesday, at the earliest.
Big Seymour is currently removing the obsolete door at the back of the kitchen – the one we don’t use (but will surely miss when it’s gone). There is yet another enormous hole in the house, and plenty of brick dust to go with it.
It’s nearly Halloween, and the Four Little Seymours couldn’t be more excited about it – although I’m not entirely sure why. They’re not even going to a party. But it might have something to do with the confectionery free-for-all, providing the little squirrels with the means to restock their stashes to see them through the winter (- trick or treating is incredibly productive these days). I know they do this, because I have just moved all of the furniture round in The Dormitory, and hoovered up many secreted sweet wrappers, shiny foils and Nerds behind the beds. This is not good. I shall be keeping a closer eye on what comes in on the 31st, for the sake of their poor teeth.
Big Seymour and I, on the other hand, are going to a Halloween party. He is going to be Frank Krueger, Freddie’s cousin, owing to the fact that his jumper is the wrong colour. I am The Devil.
But I just hope there aren’t too many flesh-eating zombies kicking about on All Hallow’s Eve, because the security breach in the kitchen is the biggest one yet. And if they come in and make a mess on my now pumpkin-free floor, they’ll see The Devil in me alright. Because my optimism may have returned but my patience is still lacking.
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