Picture
by
Peter
Nixon
GOODNIGHT
PonyClubmothersfeelthetrialsandtribulationsofcampjustas
muchastheirchildren,saysTessaWaugh, asshejugglesfamily,
ponies and housework to get through the summer break
‘Are the holidays
always this mad?’
T
HREEponiesandthreechildren
togetreadyforPonyClubcamp—
STRESS.Drivingthecattlelorry
withoutcrashingit —STRESS.
A lameponyonthefirstday—
STRESS.A housefulloffamilyfromVietnam
staying—STRESS.
OnthesurfaceI mimictheproverbial
swan,paddlingawaycalmly;underneathI am
thescreamemojishriekinginsilenthorror
ateverythingthatneedstobedone.Arethe
summerholidaysalwaysthismad?
Nowcampis overforanotheryearandI’m
slightlywonderingwhyI wasinsucha panic.
Thechildrenhaveallcomehomeridingbetter.
Theponiesdidn’tdisgracethemselves.Adam’s
cattletruckis alsohomeunscathed.
Afterwards,hulkingjumpsontotrailers
andhandballingequipmentintovehicles,I
shouldn’tthinktherewasa womanamong
uswhowasn’tfeelingsomesatisfaction.Each
childhadmarkedoffanothertriumph,beit
jumping their first metre, spending the whole
‘I mimictheproverbial
swan,butunderneath
I amthescreamemoji
shrieking in horror’
weekoffthelead-rein,masteringcanterorthe
knowledgetheyhavegraduatedfromjunior
campandwillnextyearjointheseniors.
Y
EARSago,I wasconfusedwhena
friendcomplainedthatshefelttired
aftertakingherchildrentocamp.
Sittingaroundwatchingchildrenride?
Toa non-motherstuckinanofficeallyear,
thatsoundedlikeaneasywaytospenda
summer’sday.I wasa fool.UntilI startedthis
capermyself,I hadnoconceptwhatsoever
of the physical and emotional impact of the
pony/childcomboonthepooroldmum.
Yougothroughit allwiththechildren,
willinglyornot;theupsthedowns,andat
campthereareseveraldaysofit.Wemaysiton
thesidelinesbutwerideeveryfence,reciting
commandsastheyapproach.Thechildcan’t
hearus,butwechantawaylikemadwomen:
“Situp,shortenyourreins,KICK!”
Mothersfeeleverydisappointment.Weall
sowantthemtoenjoythemselvesandsucceed.
It’sexhausting.Nowonderweareslightly
punch-drunkbytheendoftheweek.
CampendedyesterdayandI’mnowdealing
withthefall-out—knackeredchildren,filthy
house,nofoodinthefridge,enoughdirty
washingtofilla skip—soI havebarricaded
myselfinthespareroomwithmylaptop.
OccasionallythedooropensandI’m
informedofsomething:“I’veleftoneofmy
shoesinSam’scaravan”or“What’sforlunch?”,
orsimplya plaintivecallfor“Mummy”
repeatedoverandoveragain.It’stheholidays
again. Happy summer to youall.H&H