Author: toughmotheruk

So with the kids now as work colleagues, the workday stress-o-meter might have gone up a bit.

While on a whole, we have adapted ok to the exponential increase in “family time”, there are some definite pinch points…

The other day it took 45 minutes for my husband to get my daughter out of the house for their daily exercise. This also involved taking away the devices and tv for 36 hours (not sure whether that was a punishment for them or for us) and my son putting a hand written sign up against my window which ended with “p.s. please help”.

Talking to my daughter about this later (after a very successful outing), she explained to me “Sometimes the adults don’t listen to the kids and then the adults start shouting at the kids and the kids start shouting back and it all goes haywire…”

Hmm, she forgot step one where the kids don’t listen to the parents….

However, all was forgiven and as she exited the room she announced, “You’re the best mum in Africa, oh no we’re not in Africa, but we are in England and that’s in the galaxy, or is it the Milky Way?”

Me: the Milky Way is our galaxy.

“Mum, you got this.“

Phew.

End of week one of Home Primary (if you’re my son) or Home Academy (if you’re my daughter). They couldn’t agree so they got their own school naming rights.

What have we learnt?

My mother-in-law’s sewing machines are way too complicated for me. Reading the instructions is an activity I’m saving for week 7.

My son has confirmed his preference for routine – we’ve had the PE uniform on five mornings a week for Joe Wicks.

My daughter has confirmed her aversion to routine, or at least to Joe.

Why spray paint the fence, when using a paint brush takes ten times longer.

Strawberries and raspberries are not berries. Bananas and avocados are. (I knew about tomatoes but the teacher became the student for that fun fact!).

What will week 2 hold?!

Any moment now, I’m expecting someone to jump out from behind the nearest object and shout “cut”.

We’d joked about zombie apocalypse preparedness (I’d only just discovered it was an actual thing) when I was last in San Francisco. Now it feels oddly prophetic…

Obviously there’s been lots of questions from the kids over the past few weeks:

• what happens?
• are we going to go back to New Zealand?
• do I have to go to rugby? (Not any more…)
• do we have to go to school?
• when will school start again?
• will [insert name here] die?
• can we have a pajama day?

Some questions are easier to answer than others – although with things changing so fast, it’s tricky to predict what’s next on the cards.

Kids do have a way of grounding things in the here and now, particularly as it’s apparently my job as a parent to steer us through safely (and calmly?!). Although as we enter the realm of home schooling, the next post might be about resilience…

So one of the benefits of a last minute change in entry for the Coast to Coast was that I had a neutral bib. It could have been a proper one with my name and flag on it. 

Landing in NZ is coming home. It is the U.K. on steroids – mountains are higher, the rivers are colder and flow faster. It is raw, majestic, real.

I honestly can’t remember whether I chose New Zealand or the UK. But in hindsight, it seemed pretty appropriate.

Dipping my hand in the Tasman Sea at dawn seemed as spiritual as being in St Peters in Rome.

That said, coming back to the U.K. is also home. I practiced finding the eddies in Waterloo so that I didn’t get swept up in the flow of the morning commute.

But I still marvel when I see Tower Bridge, St Paul’s Cathedral, even the London Eye. Outside the city, you can still sense the presence of people. It‘s intertwined with the land. The influence of those who have come before.

Home.

After months of training, and the kids matter of factly observing that I was off for a run/kayak/cycle, we finally headed to NZ for the Kathmandu Coast to Coast- 240km from the wild West Coast of the South Island to Christchurch. 

Crossing the finish line at New Brighton in Christchurch was one of those unforgettable moments. It‘s hard to describe the experience of completing the event even now a few weeks on. Lots of superlatives come to mind, but how to capture the impact? The series of events that made it such a special experience.

First and foremost, it was the people who were part of it.

We have some amazing friends and family who were prepared to open their homes to our kids for almost two weeks. And great kids who were happy to do so. Which meant I could share the experience with my husband.

They’d already put up with the many hours of training – although my daughter was happy to leave the kayaking to me after our second experience (that’s a story for another time!).

The response to supporting Cancer Research was immense. So many people have been impacted in different ways but the donations – including all the messages – blew my target out of the water.

Then from the point of touch down, and the almost constant presence of family and friends, I was surrounded by people excited for me and the challenge (well, mum might have been a wee bit nervous about the kayak….).

Sharing a six bed bunk room with said husband, a couple of brothers, sister, and in-law at the top of a ski field mid race is definitely a once in a lifetime event!

Added to that were the messages from family, friends and colleagues back in the U.K., Oz, and the U.S. The ones coming through on my fancy watch at the top of the 16 degree Otira Viaduct slog particularly helpful at getting my legs working again!

I didn’t expect people to be interested in following the little name on the map as I made my way from one side of the country to the other.

It was uplifting, humbling, magic.

Thanks for sharing it with me!

I’m on the countdown to the Coast to Coast – 240km from one side of NZ to the other. The kids have been very patient with my training (when they notice), but I was taken in hand by my seven year old daughter the other day on our way to school. 

She was cycling. I was running. 

Not well enough apparently. 

“Mum, kick your heels up. So they almost touch your bum.”

“Now drive your arms back. That’s how I get my speed.”

I was already rather bemused, when she made me stop and said very seriously, “Now I have two rules:

1. Try your hardest.
2. Never give up.

And, always have fun…”

Is that three rules?

“Nope, that goes without saying.”

My husband’s goal last summer was to encourage the kids to be more grateful. 

I was just recovering from the news that my son’s year’s performance of MacBeth was going to be 75 minutes (not the 25 I had factored into my day), when my husband asked me to step outside for a sec.

That sounded serious.

Concerned, I headed out the door to see my Dad and sister!

Fresh off the plane from NZ.

They even had reserved seats in the front row (my plan to sneak out part way obviously foiled).

They’d managed to see my daughter as they arrived and my son’s jaw dropped as he entered the hall. He couldn’t stop waving, but he still managed to smash his soliloquy.

It turns out this had been in the pipeline for months and that my husband just about broke under the pressure of organising it and keeping it all a secret. I did think it odd that I hadn’t spoken to mum much (she wasn’t so confident about keeping it quiet) and that dad might have been losing it, but I had no idea. Turns out quite a number were in on it.

After dad’s second brush (well, full on dunking) with cancer, I didn’t think we’d see him on this side of the world again. Let alone my sister, who has four kids and a hectic life at home.

Amazing, wicked, epic…. there are not enough words for how much it means to me.

Thanks.

And, of course, there was the support crew, that is the husbands and kids who stayed at home while we had our weekend away. 

Running for something else and someone else meant I pushed myself harder than if I had been going it alone.  The challenge, a mix of Queen, laughs and, yes, some wine was energising in a way that I hadn’t realised I needed.