Escaping the Mum Mundane

There are days when I feel restless and don't want to spend all day cooped up at home.
The walls feel suffocating, pressing in on me like a mouldy tomb. My body aches for fresh strangers and an opportunity to observe and earwig into the lives of others momentarily.

At home, I can become trapped in a never-ending cycle of housekeeping tasks filled with possibilities, expectations, and coulds, shoulds and woulds of what I think I should be doing.

Don’t get me wrong, there are also days when I really do not even have the energy to muster the kids (and myself) together. It can feel like clambering into the car requires a Herculean effort, and dealing with one more ‘I’m thirsty’ or ‘I need the toilet’ when driving makes me cringe at the thought of going anywhere.

Today, however, we are out. And it’s even raining.

We’ve already made three stops too.

Once, for a Facebook marketplace grab. Two carpet runners for the echoey hallway. The enthusiastic seller was lovely enough to flash two brightly rainbowed lollipops before the little ones' eyes at 9 am. I quickly hid the treats in my pocket, unsure if I should give them to my kids or not. Was it worth indulging their sweet tooth so soon after breakfast? Did I really want to deal with the inevitable surge of energy and loss of control that comes with a sugar high?

Once, for the library to return some insanely overdue books found in the recent reshuffle of bedrooms. Library books I’ve searched for for numerous hours I swear. Library books which now can’t be returned because they’ve been paid for and now technically belong to us.

And the other stop, the necessary evil, is called the supermarket (not my favourite place, by the way). Because, unusually so, there isn’t much food prepped for this car ride, actually. For hungry tummies using up energy jumping in puddles and playing a coloured eye spy.

Finally, the museum—my go-to for rainy days. It's upgraded but still similar to my childhood days. It still has the same Tassie Tiger display and the same creaking and croaking walls.

Now, though, it includes a wicked children's section, equipped with a super-fast slide, sea creatures, wave sounds, reading nooks, and birds hanging in a frozen flying stance from the ceiling.

So, even though it’s far from my favourite quiet place when writing. It’s okay!

Me and my random orange pen found obscurely in the car are okay.

Click click. Lid on, lid off. Lid on, lid off.

In the pocket, out of the pocket.

…cue interruption.

(from hereon-in the words you will read are written after the fact)

A poo.

A big fat, close to leaking out the sides one.

Sticky, sloppy and disgusting.

Run back to the car following gumboot feet.

Jumping quickly in a few puddles along the way.

On days like these, I’m actually grateful for the mum van.

It's big enough to give me the option to half-stand in its centre to change a bum lying across the seat.

Much drier than laying her down and changing her with my body hanging awkwardly outside the car like usual.

Right, nappy changed. The dirty deposit dropped in the museum bin under the old birch tree. A reprieve and relief as the odour lingers only for a little longer inside the rainy, fogged-up windows of the car.

I think we’re done.

Let’s head home, I say.

Nothing but silence in return from the back seats.

And home we go.