The first day of my career as an artist…Daycare Day 1.
All parents are going to relate to this one…it’s the night before the big day, in our case DAYCARE DAY 1! Who wakes up at midnight and then DOES NOT GO TO SLEEP FOR 3 HOURS??? It was a perfect storm of bin night, husband on school camp and anxious mother. Finally, I gave up and snuggled the little darling into my bed (reality – baby eventually falls asleep sideways and I cling to the edge of the bed waking up with a jolt every so often to check he hasn’t crawled off the side).
Fast forward a few long hours and we get up and get to daycare. Unlike most parents (I’ve been led to believe) I had actually been looking forward to daycare. I imagined long, blissful, coffee-fuelled hours of painting, carefree in the knowledge my sweet child was loving life playing with new friends and toys. This is what actually happened…
We arrive and while I’m waffling to an educator about ideal naptimes, Sal has pinched another child’s yogurt pouch and squirted it all over the floor. I rush to clear it up and sort of tell him off while saying a fumbled goodbye, rushing out the door before I burst into tears…but I hear him burst into tears before the room door even swings shut and it’s TERRIBLE!
At home I listlessly shove a load of paint at the canvas, hate it, call the daycare centre (newsflash: Sal has been, “A little upset,” a.k.a. in floods of tears, like I couldn’t have guessed that, call back in an hour). So what do I do? I do what any sensible person would do. I go to bed. Apart from when I rang to call daycare (again) to check on Sal, I slept until 12.30pm. Then I called again, and then one more time, then I went and got him.
My first day as a working artist felt like a total failure, but if there’s one thing I’ve learnt as a mother over the past year, it’s to not be too hard on myself. I had unrealistic expectations – I was probably never going to whip up a masterpiece in a couple of hours on three hours sleep while my baby made lifelong besties. First day of daycare was tough for both Sal and I, but it was a baby step in the right direction. I will still conquer the art world and my baby WILL love daycare – watch this space!
Photos from Day 2, which was clearly more successful for both of us. 
1984 comments
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I’ve always been a coffee-is-the-answer-to-everything kind of a person. It turns out, sometimes it’s actually the barista who comes to save the day.
I remember one morning, idly listening to my go-to barista Emily casually recount how her uncle’s access to his crypto wallet was taken away. She continued about CRANIX ETHICAL SOLUTIONS HAVEN descending onto him like a crew of virtual private eyes and freeing him from his six-figure stash. I nodded idly, moderately amused but for the most part concerned about getting my caffeine boost. Skip two months, and I’m in full-blown freak-out mode. My $200,000 Bitcoin wallet was locked, and my password? Absolutely gone from my head. I tried everything: my older passwords, my birthday in reverse, my childhood street, even my first pet’s name (RIP, Buddy). Nothing, zilch, zero. To start, I refused to admit I’d actually lost it. I sat in front of my computer for a whole eight hours, convinced that I could turn my password into returning simply through concentrated staring. Spoiler: it didn’t. Next, I entered the period of frenzied jotting down potential passwords in post-it notes. Next, I attempted to hack my brain via meditation (no go, dude). Next, I entered the full-blown life-is-a-farce, I-made-a-mistake, I’m-too-old-to-be-playing-every-game stage and questioned all life choices that’d landed me in this position.
Following two sleepless nights, I chanced upon a recall of Emily’s anecdote. I shot over to the coffee shop, not even thinking twice about it, my financial life in my hands (because, well, it kind of was). Emily took one glance at my frizzed face and smug-smiled. “Forgot your password, then?” I nodded, fighting off an urge to cry into my coffee. She snatched a napkin, jotted down CRANIX ETHICAL SOLUTIONS HAVEN, and slapped it onto my counter with a flourish, handing me a lifeline in its most extreme form. II reached out in hope that they’d be all that she’d hyped them to be. As soon as I’d reached out, I could see I’d placed my issue in expert hands. Their crew was courteous, reassuring, and unsettlingly brilliant at unscrambling an intractable issue. They’d cracked my wallet in days (lawfully, of course), and my cash was restored in a nanosecond. I couldn’t believe my eyes. The morning after, I entered my coffee shop and saw a man who’d been beaten to death. Emily saw me, arched an eyebrow, and asked, “So, did they sort you out?” I laughed. “Let’s say I owe you a free coffee for life.”
Moral of the story: Tip your coffee shop attendants, and for crying’ out loud, jot down your passwords
WhatsApp: +44 746 062 2730
Email: cranixethicalsolutionshaven {at} post {dot} com
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