At the school gates my girls run to me and hug me tight. It’s hard to tell whether it’s just a question of need to run or a real escape necessity from that hell-hole – indeed I am taking them away, at least until tomorrow – but the point is they won’t do it in the years to come; in high school they won’t be there waiting for me at the school gates, most probably at the chemists’ shop around the corner, which is at least a kilometer away. They will no longer be happy to tell people they have a mum and will keep me at a distance from all those who could notice they do. – So ungrateful! But then I start thinking too… years before when I used to look at them lying on the ground throwing tantrums, and me just wanting people to think they were not my daughters, so in the end, all in all, we’ve evened off and are back to square one. But let’s go back to the school gates. After having freed them of their rucksacks, that look too big and tall for them, I take their hands in mine and can no longer leave them – in any and every way. What’s the sticky stuff you’ve got on your hands??? I am glued to them! Reply: holding of microbes, bugs, louses and dirty brown stains – that I really hope arefelt-tip pen marks. After this swift assessment, my evil look stops their weak attempts to stick their fingers into their mouths and my thundering voice goes like: Go wash your hands with loads of soap! With their – almost – clean hands we get on the car to proceed with the decontamination phase. Amuchina hand sanitizing gel – placed in the glass holder beside the back seat in the car – #asifitwassomethingtodrink – the easiest way to kill bacteria, you don’t get rid of them, but you kill them and as long as I can choose: better having hands loaded with dead bacteria than of live ones. An acceptable standard of cleanliness – if I can call it this – allows us to go onto the snack phase: when my daughters usually hassle me with their not knowing what to eat. – For folk’s sake it’s only a snack, not a wedding meal menu! After years of these physiological troubles, I have solved the problem with a surprise snack, back in control of what they eat. – To make my plan work, though, I’d better add that my choice was a question of force majeure. – Tell your children something dramatic it will be the only time you’ll have their complete attention and sympathy. I let them on the car and I take the driver’s seat, but before starting the car I stick a finger in my eye to make it shed real fake tears, then I begin with the story: girls, the house was on fire and mum’s wallet burnt along, it didn’t make it, but everything else did. All I can give you as snack today is what was saved from the fire. – Into two separate bags. Maybe that was a little too dramatic, but they seem to understand the situation and eat without complaints, they are even happy with their still warm bread. – Of course love, it was the fire! After school there’s always something to do: tennis, singing lessons, guitar lessons, English lessons, swimming and horse-riding. And there’s always something going wrong: the racket was left at home along with the guitar and singing and English stuff the bathing cap tore apart, horse poo all over their clothes…. Finally, after having stepped into the house, the decontamination phase left unfinished needs completion: with a shower. The water bearing layers are exhausting and it’s my daughter’s fault- #didyouknow. But after exiting the bathroom I can recognize them again, see the color of their skin and that’s something. Dinner time? – Wait a sec, I have to switch into the trench mood. Dinner time was never easy, but after Masterchef everything has definitely gotten worse. Emma and Carola have learnt how to judge a dish from its appearance, cooking, salt lack or excess, from its balanced grade of sourness and my dishes cannot make it: every time one of my dishes passes with merit I break into tears. After dinner we can enjoy easy entertaining activities such as playing with Barbie dolls, watch TV on the sofa, clear the table, tidy around – each one her own task – which comes right before the check-out phase in the toilet where they pee, brush their teeth and go to bed. A fairy tale is the only way – along with vile threats – with which I can put them into bed without coursing loudly. And what when they will no longer want a fairy tale? – They will hear enough tales while growing up – in a few years they won’t let me near their room, imagine with a book in my hand! Now they are sleeping, silence around – well not really: my husband is snoring but I think I can handle it – I can finally do some work: write the post you’ll read tomorrow. Good night.
Sweater: MANOUSH
Denim skirt: DSQUARED
Sandals: CHRISTIAN LOUBOUTIN
Charm: SECONDA BASE
Bag: THE VOGUE WARDROBE
Eyewear: RETROSUPERFUTURE