It’s week five. I’ve checked my blood pressure, pulse, and eyelids (yes, eyelids) to make sure I’m still functioning and can finish strong(ish) as we officially begin the countdown back to school.
Now, before you celebrate with me, this countdown isn’t all calm candles and hopeful Pinterest boards. No. It’s socks. It’s the great shoe hunt of 2025. It’s peeling off last year’s name labels and realising someone now wears a size up in everything!
But I’ll be honest, I caught a spontaneous end-of-holiday flu as we left London, and weirdly… it was a blessing in disguise. After an absolutely crazy 2.5 weeks of fun, family, and socialising, my immune system clocked out. It forced me into a much-needed slow pace.
Saying goodbye to loved ones was tough, but wrestling four suitcases, hand luggage, and three fully charged children through London Heathrow made me oddly excited to get back to the calm chaos of Scotland.
I got us to the airport early to allow for the classic pre-flight routine: multiple toilet trips, emergency lace-tying, and a sit-down meal at Giraffe. The kids were cooperative. I bribed them with ice cream. No regrets.
As we ate, I did my classic check-in: “So, what did you guys think of our holiday?” And in between mouthfuls and sticky fingers, their answers were so heartfelt I nearly forgot I was fighting through a fever and congested sinuses.
By the time we hit Terminal 5, my internal system was flashing Battery: Critically Low. So I did what every loving, half-delirious mother does: I sat near the indoor play area and drifted in and out of a flu nap while making sure I could still see their little heads bobbing around.
They knew. They got it! Mummy was done. You know how? I gave them their iPads.
The iPads only come out on long-haul flights or when Mummy has zero bandwidth left and cannot physically perform her usual entertainment package. There were no sticker books. There were also no mystery bags. Just: “Here’s your screen. May the Wi-Fi be ever in your favour.” If you’re judging me…it’s ok. I survived, and that trumped it all!
Mercifully, I bumped into a dear friend at the airport, and she, being the angel that she is, helped me with the children. When she asked what the plan was for the week ahead, I answered from the depths of my soul:
“To recover. Full stop.”
And parents… that is exactly what I tried to do.
Well, what I mean by recover is do 57 loads of laundry, feed the children (again?!), invent activities through more sinus congestion, and oh!…let’s not forget that Deliveroo and Disney+ are this week’s unsung heroes!
And the kids? Not a single complaint. It was like they collectively agreed, “Yeah… Mummy needs a lie-down. Let’s not push our luck.”
We had movie nights. Pyjama days. Breakfast for dinner two nights in a row (don’t judge me, I tried to theme it!). And amidst the mess and tissues and mismatched socks, I looked at them and thought they’ve grown.
Taller. Chattier. Wiser.
My daughter had this little shimmer of maturity I hadn’t noticed before, and my twins—well, they’re still wild, but maybe… slightly taller wild.
And me? I found myself genuinely grateful for this time back home with them. Slower. Closer. Softer.
… As I ironed and prepped to send all three off to camp next week with absolutely zero shame. Because Mummy also needs a holiday from the holiday, okay?
So onwards, fellow summer soldiers. Let’s push through these final weeks with snacks in our pockets and eyes on the prize: that glorious September silence.
We’ve got this. (Mostly.)
x
