Got home shattered, having not slept much for the last few nights and having spent 7 hours with 45 5-year-olds, hoping to flop onto the sofa with a cup of tea or half an hour. No. Such. Luck.
Ethan, who had been looking after Oliver all day (whom, I since discovered, through him still being awake at 9pm tonight, had a 1.5 hour sleep today!) was engrossed in photo-shopping pictures of the kids, printing them out, framing them and hanging them on the wall.A perfectly worthy pursuit. But not when all the kids were home and wanting attention, tea needed making, I'd been working hard all day and he'd been taking it easy.
To be fair, it's a job we've been meaning to do for months and Ethan obviously took the opportunity of a day at home to get cracking with it. The problem is that, once Ethan starts a project, it takes over every fibre of his being until it's done.
So no matter that I'd been shepherding hoards of kids around all day, sorting out squabbles and cleaning up sick and had barely eaten or drank: once I got in it was straight into handwriting with Sam, clarinet practise with Ava (and being shouted and moaned at in the process) and requests to put his batman outfit on Oliver. All while Ethan shut himself in the office and absorbed himself in tweaking a particularly revealing photo of Sam to make it suitable for public view on the wall (it needed to stay full body, apparently, to get the proper effect!)
Once he's focussed on something he wants to achieve, nothing or no-one gets a look-in before he's achieved his purpose. I swear, if the house started burning down, he'd just 'finish off this bit...' before helping us all get out the house. When I was in pretty advanced labour with Sam he left me and, then, 3-year-old Ava at home while he rushed up to the allotment to plant his carrots ('cos it might be the last chance he got!)
Can you guess that his single-mindedness causes a little bit of tension in our relationship?! Unable to restrain myself I stomped into the office and had a rant at him. In earshot of the kids. It's not good practise and I know I need to stop doing it. But when I'm wound up I just can't hold it in. So, after a quick blast at him, I went upstairs and wrote this blog instead (so sorry you, dear readers, have copped the rant instead of Ethan!) But, lo and behold, whilst I scribbled furiously upstairs, I heard him clattering about downstairs making dinner. So maybe we are both moving forward after all?!
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