Back to school

I am writing this post on Saturday night. It's late. It's been a gloriously sunny and Spring-like day - incongruous in the depths of Winter. We've done very little today: some chores; a tantrum-filled trot to the park across the road, and I have had my weekly, self-indulgent hour astride a horse, so the buttocks have been toned and the soul nourished. I love weekends; I also love the week.

Whilst the Christmas holiday was a glorious, sparkly, bauble-shaped full-stop in the chaos of real life, I was totally cool with Monday 6th January 2014 rocking up and marking a distinct end to festive frivolity. Don't get me wrong, I HATE getting up early; I LOVE being asleep. Always have, always will. My alarm goes off at a frankly inhumane 6am. I am Queen Reluctant of Inertia-Ville when it comes to physically getting out of bed, but once I'm up, and I've had a cup of tea, I'm okay.

It's bloomin' dark at the moment at 6am, and cold, but I think there's something bear-like and cosy about emerging from a collective slumber and gently stepping into the day via dressing gowns, caffeine and subdued lighting. Or maybe I've simply overdosed on the John Lewis Christmas advert 'bear and hare' advert in the last few weeks.

Like the bear, I'm a creature of habit and routine. I am incredibly fortunate that I really like my job. It was genuinely lovely to see my students again on Monday; by Friday, it was genuinely lovely to think we'd all have two days away from each other. But I think that is what I love about routine: that it's reassuring and comforting - it makes me feel safe. But also, any break from it in the form of weekends and holidays feels special and different, and full of possibility. If only for a short while...

And it also represents the turning off of the 6am alarm.

Below is Monday morning in really grainy, really poorly lit and edited and really unprepared phone pictures.

Usually in the week, I have to wake Dexter up; he's got the Wayne sleep gene. Post-Christmas, playing with his trains seems to be a new and unhelpfully distracting part of his morning routine.

We always try to chip away at the chores, even at such an early hour. Usually, the washing machine goes on or the dishwasher gets emptied.

I'm Northern; it's life blood.

It really helps if it's overly-priced, reet tasty tea. I put the oven timer on for a 3 minute brew. I am aware I may be mildly obsessive

I aspire to have a morning around the kitchen table that resembles the sunny optimism of a breakfast cereal advert. We're more chimps' tea party. Those tiny hands are shovelling satsumas into his tiny gob. We have to limit the citrus to no more than three per day; the nappies are, well...

I love Radio 2 in the morning. I love listening to Chris Evans. He has the unique ability to be relentlessly, overtly positive without making me want to punch him in the face.

Yep, this is what Mr Wayne wakes up to every morning. Lucky man.

I HATE GETTING OUT OF IT! Did I mention that?

Nursery car park. Radio on, marking some essays and generally ignoring child. Working mummy skillz.

Nursery car park: child wondering why he is being ignored. Working mummy skillz.

Disclaimer: by mid-January, I will be blogging about how exhausted I am, how I hate my job and how the daily grind is really getting me down. Probably.