After a 16-hour flight, including a stop over and two taxi rides, we pulled into our village in Dorset a little shell shocked but thrilled to be home after our trip to Cambodia. The children scampered around the house in excitement and instantly threw themselves back into toys they had not set their eyes on for a few weeks. My husband and I began the mammoth task of unpacking wondering how we were going to get through the long day ahead with the jet lag looming.
After two weeks of spicy food, including countless stir fries and bowls of rice, the children opted for cereal, baked beans, toast and endless glasses of milk throughout the day. As my husband and I began to fade, becoming increasingly spaced out, the children’s hyperactivity levels gradually rose as did the noise levels.
I was in the midst of loading yet more washing into the machine when I was aware of a sudden stillness in the house. The noise of machine guns and shrieking was replaced by silence. I discovered The Toddler asleep with his head on the kitchen table, almost mid-mouthful, my son lying sprawled across the playroom floor mid-Power Rangers and our daughter curled up on her bed asleep mid-Secret Seven book. It was as if someone had cast a magic sleep spell on the house. The problem was that it was 4pm.
A couple of hours later, my husband and I were also defeated by tiredness. We collapsed into bed and I drifted into a dream-like state expecting to be offered a drink by a Singapore Air Hostess at any moment. Instead I was woken by shrieks of, “Can we have breakfast?” Still excited by the novelty of bowls of Cornflakes and fresh milk, I dragged myself downstairs leaving the children to dress into their school uniform. I let the dogs outside and glanced at the kitchen clock. 4am! I knew there was no hope of getting the children or dogs back to bed. There was nothing more for it than a couple of DVDs to take us all through the next five hours until school. As I sipped my tea at the kitchen table waiting for BBC Breakfast to begin, I heard barking outside. Aware of the neighbours, I dashed out to discover the dogs dashing down the lane after a keen jogger. There was no alternative but to run after them. The jogger glanced back stunned as he was faced with a large pregnant lady, dressed in nothing but an inappropriate nightie chasing after him in the early hours. Unbeknown to him, she was beset by jet lag.
