Nothing is ever straight forward in our house. It’s always been like this and is compounded by the arrival of child. Take this week, my husband needed to go to Ireland for work. Before his flight first thing yesterday morning, we took a day trip out around his running the half marathon.
The night before we prepared all bags, loaded the car and went to sleep with two alarms set. This is unheard of for us; we normally wake up 10 minutes before we are meant to leave, rush around shouting at each other and finally get out of the house half an hour late, if we are lucky, forgetting pretty much everything.
This time the morning went smoothly. We got up and showered in calm, I packed the cooked breakfast butties for the car, dressed and loaded up the boy, set the sat nav and off we went. No arguments, no panic, no forgetten nappies.
Monday morning, however, I text my husband to remind him that his parking permit runs out while he is away and if he tells me where he put the spare key then I can go get temporary passes and the pram out of the boot.
From Ireland he replies that the car keys are with him, the spares are at the garage and he is sorry the pram is in the boot. After debating whether or not I can negiotate the bus and walk with a back carrier alone, I decide against it and start wondering how we will avoid the parking fine for the out of date permit.
My best friend came to the rescue, living down the street with spare visitor permits as she does, came over this morning before the car parking zone kicked in and we sellotaped the permit to the window. I am starting to get a little cabin fever from two days indoors (barring a nervous walk to the post box and shop with the back carrier).
Roll on tomorrow, where the keys will return, the pram will be freed and I can get further than the end of the street. Although I am quite pleased that not once did I turn to TV-babysitter.