A lesson in relaxation. All you have to do is shift the goalposts

Have you been to an indoor playground?  You know the ones; plastic ball pools, inflatable slides, no windows, someone dressed up as a furry mascot who scares the shit out of all the children eating mechanically reclaimed chicken nuggets and spongy sausages at the $7.90 per head birthday parties.  I'm about to become well acquainted with the weekly rotas of the staff at our local as autumn gets wetter by the day.  This afternoon I took lad, lad's chum, twin1 and twin2 as they started to trash the house immediately after lunch with their surfeit of toddler energy.
Reading magazines and drinking tea has always been high on my list of enjoyable ways to relax.  As we all know, environment plays a key part in relaxation and it is a mark of this period in my life that I felt warmly fuggy and calm whilst propped up in a stiff plastic chair in an airless hanger ringing with preschooler shrieking and the rat-a-tat-tat of mock Gatling guns propelling balls into a metal cage.  I put my back into Grazia and a pot of Earl Grey while my charges hyperventilated their way through tunnels, bungee cords, padded ladders and scrummed down with hundreds of other fetid children.  Whilst it wasn't quite the same as the soft bilge of a sofa and silence save the crackling of an open hearthed fire, I realise that beggars can't be choosers so feel content and refreshed in a manic, spaced out kind of way.

photo with my ma and pa by Quinn O'Connell