The taxi pulled away and we all stood waving, huddled together in the pouring rain. My daughter sobbed, “We’re going to miss him so much.” My husband was off on business although admittedly only for one week. Nothing like my sister-in-law who recently waved off her husband ahead of a six-month posting to Afghanistan. We all went back inside and I cheerily called for a round of hot chocolate and a plate of Hobnobs to put the smiles back on our faces. I mean, how hard could it be to survive for six days or 144 hours alone with three small children and two active dogs.
As we mopped up our tears and drained our hot chocolate, my son said, “What are we going to do for the rest of the weekend without Daddy? It’s going to be so boring.” Good point, I thought. However, this could be my opportunity to shine as a mother. I could give them my undivided attention and prove that life without Daddy was not that horrendous.
On day one, we played endless games of Snakes and Ladders and Snap which involved an awful lot of cheating and masses of arguments. We baked cookies and cakes and licked out bowls until we felt sick. We glittered, glued and coloured a whole heap of loo rolls and built a whole city of Lego towers. They enjoyed a whole heap of home-cooked meals for which even Nigella would have been proud. I even managed an attempt at a game of rugby in the garden that abruptly ended when the border terrorist scampered off across the fields with the ball. At bedtime, I let them frolic in the bath and turned a blind eye to the amount of water pouring all over the carpet. I then spent an hour reading them a whole pile of books. After all, my solitary baked potato and Strictly Come Dancing was not that enticing.
On day two, I took them to church for some much needed quiet time and revelled in the opportunity to see other adults. We spent the afternoon role-playing Mummies and Daddies, Doctors and Teachers. I was impressed by my newfound motherhood. Perhaps I had even edged closer towards the dizzy heights of Super Mum. Even the children decided I was not quite as boring as they thought.
It is now day five and I am beginning to feel the strain. Motherhood is flagging. The television has crept back on, the fish fingers have re-emerged from the freezer and the wine beckons. In fact, in two days time I will lie in wait for the taxi and when it appears round the corner I will leap up and down, wave a banner and shriek, “WELCOME HOME.”
