Why do mums imagine disasters when we’re not there?
PUBLISHED: 13:23 20 February 2019
The gorgeous man is looking at me as if I’m mad.
He does that quite a bit, mostly because what goes on in my head seems to be very, very different to what’s going on in his.
I’m trying to check the girls are okay and it’s not going well.
He and I had grabbed a ski trip to La Plagne with Ski Beat. There was a beautiful chalet with hosts who cook you breakfast, whip up amazing cakes for afternoon tea and then a three course dinner. We look at the piste map, oooh, masses of runs to explore, and check out the weather, more oooh with masses of snow and more on the way.
It’s term time though so the girls are at school and big sister Sunny is at uni. We organise a rota of super helpful friends - and Sunny flying home - to look after Keola and Thalia. It’s our belated honeymoon – we married nearly nine years ago and besides a very fun two night stay in Blackpool have barely been away.
The first 24 hours of the rota were a little complicated, involving afterschool clubs and a taxi to tap dancing, an overnight stay at our wonderful neighbour’s who would then have to co-ordinate dropping Keola at gymnastics with a school run before handing over to the weekend babysitter.
It should work, but we’re on the early morning coach in France from Lyon airport to our chalet and I haven’t heard from home since last night.
I write a message to lovely neighbour, just saying hope all well and leave it for a bit. Nothing. It is early so I leave it for a while longer. I write another, and a Facebook message and wait. Nothing. I message the babysitter asking if she has Thalia. Nothing. I text, WhatsApp and Facebook another gym mummy asking if she saw Keola at gym. Nothing. I resend everything to everyone and watch my phone.
Rob says they’re fine. But Keola and Thalia took sleeping bags to the neighbour’s and Thalia hasn’t slept in one before. Why didn’t I suggest a practise? What if she’s turned 180 degrees in her sleep, got stuck, suffocated and right now our neighbour is talking to the police and ambulance and discussing how to tell us.
Or maybe lovely weekend babysitter Megan and our neighbour have somehow collided, or the gymnasts have been hijacked, or an out of control lorry crashed into the house as Megan arrived and no-one yet knows how to tell us anything.
I make Rob send messages to everyone and think about asking the Ski Beat rep to get us back to the airport. He looks at my phone, says some phone-techy thing about roaming, presses something and messages from our neighbour and babysitter appear, clearly written before I started checking. All is well. My heart rate slows. Phew. We’re on our honeymoon.
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