My parents were, if nothing else, organised at all times. I don’t recall at any point realising that they had no idea what was going on, or that they weren’t absolutely in charge of what we did. In contrast, Eric and I muddle through day-to-day, just about keeping it together – sometimes we forget to brush Joseph’s teeth, or can’t be bothered to wash up, or leave the laundry sitting in the washing machine for a bit too long.
Which is why the fact that Joseph is starting pre-school next week is all the more scary. We’re used to a life where, assuming it’s not a work day, what we do just doesn’t matter. If Joseph doesn’t wake up until 9am, no problem! If we can’t be bothered to get dressed before lunchtime, nobody cares!
But as of next week, Joseph has to be places. Regularly, on time, washed and breakfasted and bussed across town by the same time, three days a week. And picked up at a certain time, no matter what else might be happening. It’s a wee bit scary.
I wonder if having a school-age child will suddenly grant us powers of organisation – but I doubt it. I once hoped that having a child at all would do that, and clearly it hasn’t.
Hopefully being a disorganised parent is okay, because I don’t seem likely to turn into my parents anytime soon.