Ours is a pretty unprepossessing, some may say scruffy, front door. It does not, it has to be said, rank in the top ten front doors of history. These include (in a straw poll conducted in the queue at Tesco) the residence of master sleuth Sherlock Holmes at 22l b Baker Street, 10 Downing Street, the wardrobe entrance to Narnia (N.B. not supplied by IKEA) and the bridge doors on the Starship Enterprise in Star Trek. Then there are the doors to the Big Brother House (most likely IKEA) and, as voted for by Ieuan (aged 5), the doors at our local Pizza Express.
|Is it our front door – or a portal to a different space / time reality?|
Over the centuries, man has always had the urge to protect his home and property and though we have dispensed with a moat and portcullis, alarms, mortice locks, chains and CCTV systems are important weapons in our armoury against burglary and vandalism. Indeed these items are insisted upon by many insurance companies. Some Tory MPs even still have moats.
Our front doors stand sentinel 24 hours a day, being dressed up only for Halloween or Christmas – the latter being the only time when we actively encourage callers. I have, however, noticed a very strange phenomenon that takes place on a daily basis, whenever I enter through our front door.
From mild mannered and slightly harrassed wife and mother of two, I become ……SuperMum….. a creature forced to inhabit a different reality spanning numerous time zones all at once. My weapons are not, to quote Monty Python, “fear and surprise” (nobody ever expects the Spanish Inquisition), rather a collection of displeased facial expressions running the gamut from apoplectic to zen (the latter required a serious amount of vino to achieve).
When I step through the magical portal that is our front door, I acquire the ability to multi-task.This may often involve heating up a pizza whilst shouting but it’s still more than one activity at once, isn’t it? I am caterer, chauffeur, laundress and moneylender. I am seamstress, psychologist, tutor and nurse. I am regularly called upon to inspect malfunctioning body parts and required to mend toys with the speed of a ninja.
Working on my ‘Supermum’ look is very time consuming
It is a job whose description expands constantly and which tests my Supermum mettle to the full. And yet another, equally curious transformation occurs when I step back through that same front door on a Saturday night en route to our local hostelry. I become – incredible! – an adult (well, grown up) once again. The husband and I are able to talk about things occurring outside our four walls, knowing that our trusty front door will be keeping the kids and babysitter safe and warm.
I suppose given the protection our trusty front door gives us, an extra special Christmas wreath and possibly an extra Halloween pumpkin are in order. Now that’s a job for Superdad.
This is my entry into the Yale Door creative writing competition.
Midlife mum from Cardiff. Wine Imbiber. Likes glitter, fluff and olives. Approaching tweendom with Caitlin (11) and Ieuan (10). The husband is hiding in the loft.
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