We moved, my wife and I, to a quaint little town in the English countryside. With our three children in tow, life seemed to be ticking along nicely. Our eldest, Oliver, was five, Thomas was three, and our youngest, little Henry, was just over a year old.
I felt compelled to put pen to paper today, thinking back on an incident that truly changed me. For the longest time, I believed nothing could be more gruelling than working down in the mines. After a shift, I would come home, collapse on the sofa, boots still on. One day, though, as I sprawled out, my wife handed me our nine-month-old and said,
James, please hold Henry. My arms are dropping offhes a heavy one! Cant you help?
How can you say that? Youve been at home all day and youre asking me to take the children? Ive just come back from the pits, I retorted, irritated.
She just walked off quietly into the kitchen.
Several months later, a relative passed away. The funeral was in London and all the arrangements fell to us. Julia, my wife, had been the only grandchildshed been brought up by her gran. There was no way she could avoid going. We agreed shed go, and Id take a few days off work to stay with the little ones.
So there I was, alone with the children. Oddly enough, a part of me was even excited about three clear daysno work, no early morning alarms. We stayed in bed until midday, then polished off some soup Julia had prepareda proper English brothleftover from the day before. After lunch, I fancied a quick kip.
Well, that was wishful thinking! Thomas nodded off, but Oliver and Henry were not having any of it. At least bedtime wasnt a battle; both were out like a light by nightfall. We didnt manage our walk, although Julia had hoped we would, but I told myself all was well.
My optimism didnt last until morning. I gave the older ones toast and jam, but Henry still needed his porridge with milk. I tried to make it by eyehopeless. I let it burn and naturally, Henry wouldnt touch it. In the end, I warmed some milk and handed him a bread roll. That had to do.
Getting ready for a walk was comedy. Oliver sorted himself out, I struggled mostly with Thomas, and Henry, well, he was a muddle. As I attempted Henrys socks, Thomas started prancing about, needing the loo.
Why didnt you go earlier?
I didnt want to.
So, every time I dressed one, the other needed something immediately.
Im roasting! Oliver shouted as if it was my fault.
At last, we made it outside. Do we really need to go for a walk every day? Surely, once a month would be enough! I secretly hoped this would be our one and only outing for a while.
Returning home, with what seemed like a mountain of coats, wellies, and hats, the very sight of it all exhausted me. I needed to cook for them, of course. The older boys werent fussy, but I balked at making porridge again. Mashed potatoes, I decided, would have to suffice. As I peeled spuds with the three of them circling, shouting, crying, I wondered what on earth Id feed them next.
I put a pot of chicken soup on and lay downonly to be jerked awake by the acrid stench of burnt dinner. The pot was ruined, soup all over the cooker.
After lunch I surveyed the chaos and tried to work out who was to blame for the mess. Eventually, I got them settled for bed. The smell of three sweaty boys forced my hand; I scooped them into the bathroom, scrubbed them, changed their clothes, and finally Oliver and Thomas drifted off to sleep.
Then, disaster. The dummy went missing. Anyone whos ever lost a dummy before bedtime knows what I meanit was panic. Henry screamed relentlessly. At that moment, I would have traded anything just to find it.
In a panic, and still in my pyjamas, I dashed to the neighbours, despite it being nearly midnight.
Whats wrong? she asked, alarmed.
I beg you, please! Do you have a spare dummy? Henry wont sleep without one.
Weve only got an old one lying about.
Ill take anythingplease.
I rushed back inside, only to find all three boys howling as if theyd lost me forever. Once Id scrubbed the dummy and handed it over, they all quietened, drifting off at last. I slumped on the sofa, took a look at the disaster that was my house, glanced up to the heavens and whispered,
Dear God, forgive me. I swear Ill help Julia more. And please, let her come home soon.
I should have tidied up, but I collapsed instead. Next morning, I half-heartedly started cleaning, not knowing where to begin.
As I stood there, the door opened and Julia appeared.
Well? How did you manage? she smiled gently.
I rushed over and hugged her tightly, not wanting to let go. Together, we tidied up, and she even mentioned shed found a potential buyer for the house. She told me all about her journey, which had, it seemed, gone remarkably well. I did ask her, half-joking, to buy thirty spare dummies for next timejust in case.
Darling, if youd stayed away even one more day, Id have ended up in the madhouse!
From that point on, I firmly believed that being a mum is the hardest job going. Even mining felt like a stroll in the park by comparison!
