Wellies by the door
As we hit November so begins Christmas lists, oh and don’t forget Christmas events and we’ve thrown in house renovations too. Carpet needs picking out, paint needs buying.
Life has been moving at a million miles a minute at the moment, I mean how is nearly November already?!
This time of year is usually chaotic for me. Work is busy, everyone needs things done yesterday and every week at school there’s a new event or raffle or ‘day’, which inevitably leads to me desperately searching all coat pockets for the last pound to send with my son, to raise money for who knows what.
Then as we hit November so begins Christmas lists, oh and don’t forget Christmas events and we’ve thrown in house renovations too. Carpet needs picking out, paint needs buying.
And don’t even get me started on nativity costumes.
Amongst this I’ve got to try and find time for a social life and keeping on top of the housework. Oh and car insurance needs doing, the dog has to be booked in for a health check at the vets, passports need finalising.
I also need to run, the half-marathon is just 5-months away, so I need to be training at least three times a week. Each run is around 1 and half hours, so I need to make that working time back too.
And it’s my husband’s busiest time at work, so I need to find things to do with the kids on the weekends, which means no working for me on the weekend.
Does anyone else feel like it’s impossible to fit everything in?
It's times like these I forget to metaphorically breathe.
As soon as one thing is checked off another one is added to the list.
My internal monologue just keeps on chatting away, desperately trying to compartmentalise everything into neat little to-do piles.
I’ve tried multiple time management techniques, but I’ve found during busy periods like this there’s always something that has to be dropped.
Whether it be running out of clean school jumpers, or the dust building up on the windowsill, or not having chance to put any make-up on for the best part of two weeks.
My neurodivergent brain can thrive under pressure and my ability to multi-task would win gold medals. But like everyone, I have my limits. When the feelings of overwhelm start to creep in. When I question if I can really juggle everything being thrown my way. When I doubt my ability as a parent, when my boys have only done their home reading twice in a week, because there has simply not been enough time in the day to do it all.
It's times like these I forget to metaphorically breathe.
And there’s no magic cure for a good work-life balance.
I have my work in a place which is busy, but manageable. I’ve learned to prioritise and say no.
But when it comes to life and children, sometimes saying no just isn’t an option.
So I’ve come to accept that these cycles of chaos will always happen. But something stopped me in my tracks the other day.
With a rainy Autumn in full swing, I began to notice all the wellies and umbrellas left on the front porches of my neighbours’ houses. From the tiny polka dot boots of a toddler to the big muddy Hunter wellies of a seasoned dog walker. Families of all types and sizes.
As I looked up at their house, I could see the warm glow of lights, bright against the drizzly Autumn day.
This took me back to being a child. Maybe around the age of 9 or 10. As this time of year would hit, I’d remember sitting in the back of my parent’s car as they picked me up from whichever friend’s house I’d been at. It was usually around dusk, and as we’d drive down a main road lined with terraced houses, I’d always notice the glow of the hallway lights through the frosted porch glass. The umbrellas propped against the door. I’d see the bulge of coats through the window. Evidence that life existed within the house. I’d find the glow of the lights so comforting as they broke up the darkening blue sky.
Each terraced house had a different story. But each one representative of normal people living normal lives.
I’d imagine to myself what the occupants were doing, had they just got home from work? We’re they relaxing on the sofa with a cuppa? Perhaps children were doing homework and retelling details of their day to their parents.
Each terraced house had a different story. But each one representative of normal people living normal lives. Families, all warm ond cosy in the security of their houses.
As that 10-year-old kid, I remember thinking to myself, I wonder what my house will look like when I’m older? How many pairs of wellies will be outside my front door? Whose coats will be piled on the coat rack?
Out of all the career aspirations and all of the things I wanted to achieve when I grew up, one thing always remained constant. I wanted the wellies by the door.
I wanted the chaos of a busy family home. I wanted to be greeted by warmth and love as I came through the door. I wanted to feel the relief of stepping out of the rain and into my safe place. Whilst at 10 I didn’t have an idea as to what a family would look like for me yet, I couldn’t help but think how lucky those people were.
Now I didn’t know the individual struggles those people in the terraced houses may have been facing and as an adult I can appreciate that my childish rose-tinted view of happy families behind each closed door, was probably not entirely accurate. But I did know that on those drizzly, cold, Autumn days they had a roof over their head and the love of others to enjoy, and that felt like something 10-year-old me wanted to aspire to.
So, as I walked back up my driveaway with my two children in tow, after being caught in yet another torrential downpour (always conveniently timed for the school run might I add), I fumbled for the keys and asked my boys to kick off their shoes.
We flicked on the hallway lights, and I hung coats on the already overcrowded coat rack. One that just a few days before I had moaned about, due to there being no space left.
Our labrador sleepily got off the couch and greeted us with her toy pasty. Standing on my foot in the process.
The boys shot off to grab snacks, both nattering away, talking over each other as usual and picking up whichever sweet thing they could get their hands on. I could hear the drone of ‘mummy can I have this’ radiating from the kitchen.
I removed my wet coat, adding it to the coat pile and breathed a sigh of relief knowing we didn’t have to go back out again. I felt tense, the internal monologue still chattering away with all the things left to do in the day.
But I took a moment to stop. The house was warm. During the day it had been still, except for me tapping away on my laptop. Now it was alive. Filled with happy voices.
It was with that I realised that 11 years on I have my wellies by the door. I have the chaos, I have the busy-ness, I have the love.
And I am so so lucky.
In a nutshell, things aren’t always going to be happy, fun, jolly 24/7. But what I find in these periods of utter chaos is that I forget what’s actually important.
Does it take away the feelings of overwhelm, or the struggles to balance childcare, or the endless life admin? Of course not. Those feelings are valid and the struggle to keep everyone and everything a float is real. I often see posts on LinkedIn quoting some self-help coach saying something like “your kids won’t remember that the house was a mess, but they will remember you playing with them.” Or mentioning how working late is going to make your kids feel like you value your job over them. Which okay, I get the underlying messaging, we all should be working smarter and trying to be more present. Agreed.
But let’s be real for a second. Life isn’t that black and white. Sometimes we have to work late. Sometimes I have to say no to playing with my kids, because if I don’t then there will be no plates to eat dinner off of. Sometimes I ask for time alone, simply because I’m overstimulated and exhausted. Jury’s out on how much that will mess my kids up,
In a nutshell, things aren’t always going to be happy, fun, jolly 24/7. But what I find in these periods of utter chaos is that I forget what’s actually important.
This moment, stood sopping wet in my hallway made me realise that it’s okay for things to drop every now and again.
So what the kids are having fridge leftovers for tea for the second day in a row, oh well!
We have no plans for the half-term, big deal! We’ll decide what to do on the day.
My husband and I haven’t had a night without the kids in months. That’s tough, but we’ll still grab a movie and some popcorn on the sofa in the evening.
Can I miss a run one-day to prioritise something else? Absolutely.
Because underneath the fizzy, bubbling chaos I realised I have the fundamentals of what I always wanted. Sometimes it just takes a couple of wet coats and soggy umbrellas to cut through the noise of what’s left to accomplish and find the gratitude for what we already have. The rest will work itself out.
And I am so grateful for those wellies by the door.
