March on

Here’s the new standard; it’s a good day if the porridge pot is washed before lunch. Today our eldest is back to school and I don’t think Napoleon had as much organization on the morning he had to send his armies to war. So as I packed one lunch, fed one baby and placated one toddler, I took comfort in the fact that many parents were implementing similar plans of action to get their children back to school this morning.

Today, at the school gates, there were mommies on the way to work, a mother who had a two week old baby who really needed a cup of tea made for her, parents sending their first born to school, a mother who is mourning the loss of her own parent. All doing their best for their beautiful children. But they feel guilt. Guilt that they shouted too loudly last Sunday during the match. Guilt that they are going to work. Guilt that they can’t afford that pencil case for their boy because they are not working. And what’s worse, we’re judging each other. She’s working too much. She should be at work. Enough said.

Here’s the thing though. We’re all marching in the same direction. Forward. And we should, in the vein of the Napoleonic army, be marching with pride. We did it. Okay, your toddler broke a cup and you screamed. You were rushed and you flushed your iphone down the toilet but in the grand scheme of things, you know who you are; you’re doing your best. A pat on the back. I’m off for the third attempt at drinking my coffee this morning, watching Mr. Tumble with my toddler. The porridge pot is still in the sink. That’s it, march on.

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