The mother is out of action, stuck on the sofa with her sprained foot wrapped in a bandage. It happened while playing a game of netball with some of the other more agile mothers in the village. I leapt into the air to catch the ball and having not played for 20 years suddenly remembered the dreaded static footwork rules and promptly landed awkwardly, collapsing onto the tarmac. From there it was off to hospital with a suspected broken ankle.
Thankfully, when the news came that my bones had survived the fall, I flung my arms round the rather startled doctor in utter delight. I can cope with a Tubigrip any day and with a couple of Paracetemol, I would be dashing round the house at the normal pace by morning. How wrong I was. With one leg definitely out of action for the next few days, my hopping skills were not expert enough to get three children ready for school. My husband happily took the helm, much to the children’s delight. I lay in my bed listening to the commotion downstairs. Every so often, one of the children came bounding in to report on the chocolate mousses Daddy had given them for breakfast. A few moments later, my husband appeared and climbed into bed beside me. “What on earth are you doing?” I said glancing at the clock. “I just need to lie down for five minutes. You’ve no idea how exhausting it is.” 14 years of marriage have taught me to say nothing. However, once the five minutes were up, I ran through the checklist. “Have you got the Show and Tell? Have you remembered the children are wearing fancy dress for charity today? Have you got their swimming kit? Have you made the packed lunches taking into account the likes and dislikes? They have done their homework haven’t they?” He looked at me with a pained expression and headed back downstairs. I hollered after him, “Don’t forget their sun hats and remember to apply sun tan lotion.”
The commotion continued downstairs and I could not contain myself any longer. I began the mammoth hop downstairs. I felt the need to double check that everyone was in fact wearing something suitable and that hair and teeth had been brushed. However, by the time I reached the kitchen they had already left and I was presented with the aftermath. Most of the contents of the fridge had been spread across the table, the dishwasher lay open full of clean dishes from the night before, while the sink overflowed with pans. The puppy and the border terrorist were perched on chairs beside each other lapping up some leftover Cheerios. One leg or two, I set to work hopping round the kitchen clearing up.
