Don't put your daughter on the stage Mrs Worthington

I’m not sure whether it is the result of being off the parental treadmill for four weekends in a row, or whether it is because at the ages of four and six both girls now have their own social lives which we have to adapt our lives around but this weekend was utter hell.  It started out all about me.  One of my best friends was up from London and we had plans for cocktails in Harvey Nichols and a girls night in but I had reckoned without my own girls lives being so demanding. 

My friend (an extremely fashionable, single, girl about town) watched in horror as I screamed like a banshee and ran round the house collecting dance kit, swimming kit, wrapping presents, locating party invitations and passing children from one activity to another with barely time to draw breath.  We normally meet in London where I am childless and relatively stress free with plenty of time to do hair, apply make up and generally give the veneer of a woman who is control of her life.  This weekend she saw the truth and I think came to the conclusion that my life is not to be envied.  She returned, exhausted just from witnessing it all, to her beautiful house and new dog, breathing a sigh of relief.

Until now I have ignored friends who moan about the problems of juggling their children’s various activities.  I have always felt that I manage to juggle a job and our social lives quite adequately so what are they moaning about, but I have to accept that when your children are dictating what the family does at the weekend, that it does become more stressful.

My oldest daughter was in her first Stagecoach show on Monday night, which, had I been the devoted stage mother, would have involved rehearsals morning and afternoon on both Saturday and Sunday.  I didn’t want to deprive her of a party and sleepover so skipped two sessions but was appalled that the Sunday rehearsal, which started at 4pm, didn’t finish until nearly 9pm.  At 7pm one of the other mothers called me for supplies and I made a mercy dash to the theatre with sandwiches for the starving 6 year olds.  My daughter collapsed into bed exhausted and I could barely rouse her for school after which she had a swimming lesson (clad in pyjamas, pretty much the only time she wore them all weekend!) before heading back to the theatre at 5.30pm.  The show was a triumph but made me realised that I would quite like my daughters to aspire to mediocrity, I’m not sure that the selflessly shepherding my children around ever more demanding activities is the way that this particular exhausted mother is going to go.