Mindfulness with Max

Another uber parent transport machine day. As a fair few of us know too well, it's relentless, unforgiving and unnecessary, a lot like Paul McCartnery singing the end of Hey Jude. It goes like this.......

You do a days work. Then you pick the kids up (your own and some others hitching a lift), you drop kids off in the right places (if they are lucky),  you grab the dog (hopefully your own), take said dog to vet (cajole, bribe, etc etc), and drop (very anxious) daughter at last Dancing exam practice. You then check back on son, head back to pick up daughter and take her to get her haircut with the best hairdresser in the western hemisphere, then take her to guides...unless we just surrender and head home instead of guides, which is what we did, going home and making an executive decision to have chocolate biscuits for tea. 

The next morning you head to work and it's an afternoon off (lucky me!) to pick daughter up at 12 for the exam (oh, I see). But first we head home via the shop to buy some terminally depressed coop sandwiches (because you are so very far removed from being an irritating domestic goddess who has prepped perky sandwiches at home). We have only 15 minutes to spare, we do an emergency tumble dry of the dancing gear, stuff food in our mouths and for a surreal five minutes I give her an emergency life lesson, a poignant mother daughter moment if you will, involving underarms and emergency razors. But then it's exam time so I grab the dog, jump in the car and drop Tess off. Time for a gloriously peaceful walk for a whole hour to spot otters from the bridge ...then back to pick up Tess (good vibes about the exam), drop them both home, pick up Sam, drop him home, pick up Max and take him to emergency vet appointment again, then just kind of steer my way home and flop home onto an armchair. Lightweight.