I Was Trying to Do Something Nice

My energy levels were low, but I wanted to do something nice with my kids over the weekend.

Nothing extravagant. Just a film, a few treats and a couple of hours together. The sort of family outing that seems simple in your mind.

But I actually know what it takes to go on a "simple trip to the the cinema". This isn't my first rodeo.

The planning, the checking, the packing and the mental list running in the background takes energy.

Have we got the drinks?

Have we got everything we need?

Has everyone used the toilet?

What time do we need to leave?

What am I forgetting?

On this occasion, I had forgotten the drinks at home.

So I shared mine. Which meant I missed out. Again.

But before our derrieres had even hit the seats, the requests had begun.

Can we have sweets?

Can we have a snack?

Can I have a drink?

Then came the fidgeting, the toilet breaks, the sulking and the negotiations.

Meanwhile, that patronising voice piped up inside my own head.

You should've made sure everything was together.

You should've packed the bags properly.

Just get up and buy what they want.

Stop making a fuss.

You were the one who planned this.

But I didn't want to get up again.

I didn't want to solve one more problem.

I wanted them to take some ownership.

I wanted my attempt to create a nice memory not to become another shift I had volunteered to work.

And beneath all of that was the truth I felt guilty admitting: I wanted to stay in bed.

There was already a list of things waiting for me at home.

I was tired before we left.

I was trying to push through the tiredness and be the mum who takes her little ones out, creates experiences and makes the most of the day.

Instead, I sat there watching The Pout-Pout Fish and realised that I felt like the fish.

Glum. Glum. Glum.

The outing wasn't a disaster. My kids were being kids. They enjoyed the movie and the cuddles. I was glad to be with them, but I was also overstimulated.

Gratitude doesn't cancel exhaustion.

A nice family day can still demand more from a parent than anybody else notices.

Sometimes the invisible load is not dramatic. It's the drink you give away. The multiple toilet trip you supervise. The snacks you remember or forget. The disappointment you swallow because you were trying to do something lovely and somehow still ended up feeling as though you had done it wrong.

I'm learning to stop turning every difficult moment into evidence against myself. I forgot the drinks. Nobody was harmed. I didn't leap up to satisfy every request. That doesn't make me selfish. It makes me a tired human being who was already giving what she had.

Maybe the memory doesn't need to be perfect to be worth having. Maybe I can love the outing, resent parts of it, laugh at myself and still admit that next time I might genuinely choose the bed.