Who Put Lego In My Soup?

When your family gets turned upside down and everyone else gets things right when you're going wrong how does a mum-of-three cope?

Chapter 1

I’m laying on the red and white picnic blanket propped up by the wicker picnic basket, idly flicking through a magazine. Not really reading it but looking passed to where my husband, Chris, is playing Frisbee with the kids.

Poppy is squealing and leaping for it, her caramel pigtails whirling as she giggles and runs around. Jake is poking around in the undergrowth by a nearby tree, no doubt finding some bugs to torture mercilessly and put in the ‘safe house’ which is just a filthy washing up bowl I had meant to throw out.

Then there is Isaac, cooing softly next to me crawling and shuffling about, grabbing things with his chubby little fists. Chris runs and scoops Jake up, spinning him round playing ‘helicopter’.

I hide my smile behind the magazine and pretend to have an interest in getting the ‘perfect beach body’ as they both whoop excitedly.

Chris hugs Jake tightly to his chest and closes his eyes. They stay like that, a perfect image of Father and son, for a good thirty seconds before Poppy pulls on his sleeve.

He chuckles and pulls Poppy into the hug too despite her squeals of protesting laughter.

The kids quickly lose interest and struggle free to go and play. He lets them go but stays on one knee and looks over at me.

I smile at him and he quickly gets to his feet to return to the epic game of Frisbee, much to Poppy's delight.

I tilt my face up to the sun. Everything is complete perfect, like we’re in one of those commercials with the impossibly happy family. But this is real life, and I am impossibly happy. So happy my heart could burst.

This was the last family fun day out we had.

It was that very evening.

The kids were all in bed. I was wrapped in my snuggie on the sofa, a glass of red wine in hand, my legs trailing across Chris’s lap. Watching the news. I flip round to rest my head on his shoulder and sigh contentedly. He stiffens and I instantly realise something is wrong. I suppose I’ve known something’s been wrong for a long time but trusted that Chris would tell me if it was important.

Or I didn’t want to know. That’s more likely. I don’t want to raise my head and ask if everything’s alright when obviously it isn’t. I didn’t want him to open his mouth and shatter my perfect world. But I can’t help it, it was inevitable really.

I sit up slowly and look at Chris blinking away the moisture from my eyes, “Is-is something wrong?” I ask thickly wondering why my throat feels so strange.

His face has gone an alarming purply-red. I grip the edge of my snuggie too afraid to speak. “Evelyn, I’m so sorry.”

I watch his mouth, dumbstruck. He never calls me Evelyn. I was always ‘Eve‘, or ‘Evey’. So I know something is very wrong.

His face has gone very pale now and I see myself reflected in his eyes. My blue eyes are huge and watery and my curly hair looking a little bit ‘mad-professor’ and my lip trembling. I bite down on it hard to make it stop, Unable to speak I wait for him to explain.

He gulps and I watch his adams apple bob in his throat. “Evey, I’m so sorry. But,” he pauses as though it pains him, “there’s someone else.”

There’s a dull roaring in my ears and I swipe across my eyes with the back of my hand. I can’t hear him. I can’t hear the pathetic explanation. Can’t hear the excuses pouring out of him.

Then there’s a voice from the doorway, “Mummy, I need to pee.”

I turn to see Jake in the doorway. His big brown eyes and thick lashes are so like his father’s. “Can’t you go by yourself Jakey? We’re having a grown up talk here.” Chris says impatiently.

Suddenly I need to get away. “I’ll take him.” I say, but my voice sounds strangely far away and when I stand my legs are all wobbly.

I pull up the snuggie sleeves and march from the room with all the dignity I can muster. I spend much longer than I probably needed tucking Jake in, kissing him. Offering to read him a story to help him off to sleep. He yawns but says ok. I pick up The Very Hungry Caterpillar and read the whole things despite the fact he fell asleep on the first page.

When I go back down I feel steadier but it is obvious Chris has drowned his fears in another few glasses of wine. I sit down on the armchair opposite him and the distance between us feels like a huge chasm. I pick up my glass of red wine from the mantle just for something to hold as he begins his explanation.

It’s horribly cliché. I learn that her name is Olivia. His secretary is off on maternity leave and the woman covering for her is a blond bombshell, all legs and simpering smiles. I only saw her once when I brought his lunch he’d forgotten. Isaac was balanced on my hip and Jake was chatting with some of the co-workers.

She had seemed lovely, saying that she had a little girl herself. I thought she was a perfectly nice woman. But it turns out this affair has been going on for five months behind my back. At least three of those months she knew he was married and had kids.

I open my mouth to say something but all I manage is an awful gulping noise. Chris stares at me. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am Evey.” he says hanging his head with the air of a kicked puppy.

“Do you…love her?” I ask, hating myself for needing to know.

“I don’t know. I just know I can’t be with you anymore.” he shrugs and runs a hand through his hair.

I imagine her running her fingers through his hair and immediately feel sick. I swallow hard gripping the wine glass tighter and tighter. My palms are sweaty as he continues the explanation. Then the glass slips through my fingers red wine cascades down my snuggie, “Then go. Leave. Get out of here.” I snap, despite the hot tears now rolling down my cheeks and leaving a salty taste on my lips.

He opens his mouth gesturing at the stain but another sob escapes me and with his tail between his legs he jumps up and runs from the room. I hear the sound of him grabbing things then the door opening. I hear it close and moments later the car starts. It stays in the drive for a minute as though he’s pulling himself together. Then he drives of and I’m left in the silence. It’s only then it hits me. I close my eyes and open them as though that will bring him back.

But I told him to get out. What the hell am I going to do now? What am I going to do without him? Pull yourself together, my mind snaps in disgust at my moment of weakness. I rest my head in my hands and sob my heart out.

Chapter 2

It’s a year since Chris left and I’m about to hit the big three oh. That’s right, next month I’m going to be thirty. Sorting through my stuff I find a list composed by my overly optimistic twenty year old self:

Things to do before I turn 30:

 Get married to gorgeous rich guy

 Have at least two kids

 Get my ears pierced

 Get a tattoo

 Own a second hand book shop

 Have a nice house

 Get a pet

Well I kind of managed most of them, sort of.

Things to do before I turn 30 - The truth:

 Get married to gorgeous rich guy - And divorced after eight years of apparently happy marriage

 Have at least two kids - Had three, ha beat that.

 Get my ears pierced - I did but they got infected and so I’ve never worn earrings.

 Get a tattoo - Developed a phobia of needles after the earrings incident.

 Own a second hand book shop - I work in one part time now.

 Have a nice house - Did have until evil aforementioned husband sold it for a divorce settlement, now live in scummy three bedroom house that, as the estate agent so delicately put it, ‘needs some modernising’.

 Get a pet - We do have a tank of sea monkeys though many of them have been dying recently. I suspect as case of overfeeding on my youngest son’s part.

Yes that’s a little more accurate. Of course I never saw myself as a single struggling mum of three at thirty. Doing babysitting and childcare as well as working in my local second hand book shop ten till two every week day. “Muuuuuum!” comes the howl from downstairs.

I sigh and put the list back in a box with all my diaries and tuck it back under the bed grabbing the comfy boots I’d actually come up here for. “Muuuuuuum!” comes the shriek again.

I step out of my room quickly before they all come up here and hurry down the stairs. “What’s wrong poppet?” I ask Poppy who is standing at the bottom of the stairs with a solemn expression.

“Isaac’s got a rice crispy stuck up his nose.” she tell me in offended tones, obviously unimpressed about the length of time I took to get to her.

I stare at her for a moment before discarding the boots and charging into the kitchen. Four year Isaac is sitting giggling away on his chair while Jake is using the torch from his junior detective kit to look up his nose for the offending piece of cereal.

I pull him back and kneel down, laddering my tights in the process by catching them on the table leg. Then I begin to look for myself. “It’s up the other nose hole mum.” Jake says helpfully, offering me the torch. I take it and look in a mixture of horror and despair.

“Poppy, fetch my tweezers from my make up bag.” I call out trying to think of the easiest way to get it out before I have to drop Poppy and Jake at school in, I glance at my watch, half an hour.

“Here you go mum. Does he need an operation?” Eight year old Poppy asks peering round me with morbid fascination.

“That was quick.” I say suspiciously looking at her.

“They were on top of the TV from when you had to get all the dirt out of Jake’s knee last week.” she said shrugging.

Realising I should probably disinfect them or something I order Isaac to sit very still and go to the sink running them under the tap which only runs cold because the washing machine is already running and the whole house is conspiring against me.

I dry them on the tea towel and go back to Isaac kneeling and hearing that awful sound of the ladder in my tights getting bigger. “Sit still sweetheart. Mummy’s just going to pull it out with the tweezers.” I reassure him.

Deciding he doesn’t want to do as I ask, he lets out a wail, “No ‘weezers mummy. No ‘weezers.” and begins struggling, complete with flailing fists and feet.

His foot hits my chests, hard, and I fall backwards temporarily winded.

Poppy lets out a shriek, “You’ve killed Mummy!” she screams melodramatically.

My girl has definitely got an acting career ahead of her. “I’m alright poppet.” I say weakly sitting myself up, thinking I deserve an Oscar for the performance I have to give almost every day to the school gate mafia.

Isaac is looking at me with wide frightened eyes, tear stained cheeks and a load of snot hanging unattractively out of his nose. Then I see it. The rice crispy hanging there, taunting me. I see Isaac prepare to sniff it all back and lunge at him with a tissue, “Nooooooo!”

But it’s too late. The crispy vanishes back into his nasal cavities and as I glance at my watch again I’m forced to admit defeat...for now.

I order them all to put their shoes on, thanking the heavens that I remembered to do their packed lunches last night. Then I bundle Isaac into the push along bike, strapping him in and the scrambling for my hand bag.

A look in the mirror confirms my fears. My tights are torn, my skirt creased to blazes, my hair already escaping the professional up do and my cashmere sweater has something resembling yogurt encrusted on the sleeve. There’s not much I can do about it all.

I yank off the torn tights and wince at the stubbly hair on my legs where I haven‘t had a proper bath and pamper treatment in ages. Running up the stairs I yank on another pair of tights then back in the hall find the boots and pull them on.

“Right come on team.” I say in a mock soldier voice.

They giggle and follow me out grabbing their book bags and lunches on the way. I lock up quickly and then we begin the dash down the street. So this is why they call it the school run!

My neighbours are curtain twitching again. They love watching me, a harassed and stressed single mum, struggle along with the most mundane things. Thankfully the school is only ten minutes away and we arrive as the other parents are leaving.

I squeeze past them, using Isaac’s push bike to charge along and part the crowds ahead of us. At the door the head teacher looks me up and down disapprovingly. Ok, yummy Mummy doesn’t apply, and yes that is an ‘I-bumped-my-head’ sticker in my hair but really.

Jake runs in without a backwards glance but Poppy wraps her arms around me and hugs me tightly, “I love you mummy.” she says sweetly. I kneel down saying “I love you too poppet.” while throwing the stuck up head teacher a look that says ‘well I must be doing something right miss grumpy gills’.

“Don’t forget about the rice crispy.” Poppy adds with a smile before running in.

I don’t dare look at the teacher. I don’t want to see her strange look. I take hold of the garish orange handle and wheel Isaac towards the gates, resolutely ignoring her.

At the gate I see my best friend, Lissa. Her lips are curved into that knowing smile that says she knows it’s been one of those days for me. “I guess there’s no point asking what sort of morning you’ve had.” she laughs leaning in and pulling the sticker from my riot of curly hair.

I just sigh and roll my eyes, mumbling a ‘thanks’ as I stick it to the handle. “Mummy try to stick ‘weezers up my nosey.” Isaac announced proudly.

Lissa’s eyebrows shot up, nearly vanishing under her straightened black fringe as I hastened to explain. “He’s got a rice crispy stuck up there and I was trying to get it out.”

“That could be dangerous. Do you want me to give you a lift to A&E?” she asked her face lit with concern.

I looked at my watch. I had exactly an hour and a half until I needed to be at work, the house was a mess (what a surprise!), I currently looked a mess and after work was supposed to be meeting with a potential new client who wanted me to look after their kid after school.

I looked at Isaac and sighed, “You had to do it today, didn’t you?!”