Not A Day For Wimps

This morning my list of things to do included checking 16 year old Son online onto his flight. checking 19 year old Daughter and me online onto our flight. Getting 12 year old boy up and off to school with his cricket gear, going for a run (oh the pain and how I dragged my feet but I did it, knowing that I would go to Heaven when I died because I know how to suffer). And, shopping for goodies for 6'2" Son on the plane to Detroit to eat (Make it fat free, healthy and vegetarian and don't stint on the chocolate Mother). And sending presents to my cousins who are all having a go of him in USA. And then, 12 year old son says he has a school outing tomorrow, packed lunch needed and a ten pound note and could I say he is sick, he doesn't want to go.

I sail above it all. I do it all. I ignore 12 year olds efforts at sickness and give permission for him to go by email. I save all my grumbling and astonishment that I am not only an Artist, but a Mother, a Taxi, a Banker, a Social Worker and now a Travel Agent, for when I meet a friend later who foolishly asks me How Are You? Then I will tell it like it is.

And Art? Pah! Art. Next week, next week I am an Artist again. This week I am as Actors are, resting. This week I am not required to be creative, thoughtful and colourful. This week I am not reqired to delve into my soul and be spectacularly arty. This week I am frantically trying to get my children out of the country and the one that is left to friends and his Grandmothers. I am required to run my household and teenagers on a par, I feel, with managing United Nations.

This week too, I started my Do Your Own PR course with Paula Gardner, over the phone and email. In between everything else, (I forgot the dentist. First time in 2 years the boys and I went to the dentist. Both boys cheering each other up by saying the other may well die under the anasthetic that very day and what's more, it would be a very painful way to go. We only went for a check up, but by the time the 12 year old had his turn -last - he was pale and limp and almost passed out when asked to open his mouth.) in between everything else, I must write up an excel spreadsheet with all my new journalistic contacts. Easy! I cry. I am a Mother, a Travel Agent, a Taxi, a Social Worker, an Artist. What is it to me that I now become a PR Guru?

16 year old son has gone to Brighton now. It was essential he went, no one would forgive him if he didn't. He can pack later he says. Well, we leave at 4.30am tomorrow I say, ready or not. And just to prove how tough and unconcerned I am, I am going to check all his clothes, and find him some suitcases, and make a folder of all his travel documents.