At this time of year in Australia, all kids are back in school after Summer holidays, the mad dash of organising stationery lists, uniforms, classes and text books has faded to a frustration tinged memory, and routines are getting re- or newly established.
I’m rubbish with routines. Sure, my household has a definite dance number when it comes to our habits and daily to-do lists, which on any given day we sway to, boot scoot through or krump over, but my personal, well-rehearsed daily number is an interpretive dance called “Put the biggest fires out first, quick!” This spectacular requires stomping, scurrying, whirlwind styled pirouettes, frequent tongue biting or forehead slapping at remembering the bits I just forgot, and quite often the grand finale is me tripping over and slamming to a tangled, wince-inducing stop.
I need to learn a new dance. Some bluesy little number to shimmy around my kitchen to, a jazzy routine to bop along to at the traffic lights. New steps, exciting dips and maybe the odd Charleston thrown into the mix.