I will still be working part time as before, just more hours spread out over the whole working week rather than just over two or three days. I always wanted to work, but not to the detriment of my children (NB : I’m feeling emotional – on a more rational level I am well aware that my children will not be disadvantaged because I am working). It has always been important to me to work so that we can eat, have swimming lessons, not have to use public transport and not wear half mast trousers … the latter hasn’t always worked out, children grow at an amazing rate. Equally important is that I spend plenty of time with my children before they are propelled into full time education.
I am of course living in the ‘year of shit’ as I affectionately call 2008, so it wasn’t a surprise when just as I was accepting my new position my wonderful childminder gave me notice – she is moving on to pastures new and will be unable to child mind. This is the way things go; good news followed by bad. My unlucky streak has been going strong now for 8 months and I am hoping it will move onto to some other poor unsuspecting soul soon, I’ve had enough.
So, I have been searching for a new childminder. The last time I looked for a childminder I had my pick of nearly eight and several months to think my decision over. Now I have a week and a half, ‘choice’ is not a friend of mine. At times in the school playground I could have been mistaken for a crazy stalker as I pushed small children out of the way and hurdled over pushchairs to question one of several childminders in the school playground that I have been eyeballing. None of the childminders have any spaces (even the scary ones) … apart from one married couple who have been childminding for 24 years and I suspect have a combined age of 130. I worry they may not be up to the challenges I face daily with my bold ‘one speed’ adventurer. Fast is his only speed. On the other hand they may have a calming influence on him; like diazepam on a schizophrenic.
The week before I start work is half term – a whole week of quality time with both children. I’m sure by the end of that week I’ll be ready to let go – if only to release myself from the sound of two whining children.
I just hope that the 2 year old doesn’t finish off his new childminders, giving them a combined age of 130 at death and not letting them get to their silver anniversary of childminding.