January’s reality check is just a warm-up

Ah, January and its friend February.

The festive season has been neatly packed away, the tree’s gone bald and everyone’s left with the scent of sunscreen lingering on their lives.

Just as you thought you had things under control, reality swoops in with its first major demand: cover those schoolbooks.

The act of covering books is one of life’s great mysteries. A fresh start to the year, they say. Neatly wrapped books inspire pride and organisation, they claim. Regardless of your effort, they don’t say what those books will look like they’ve been dragged through a war zone by April.

The process is a universal ordeal, a rite of passage for parents.

First, you convince yourself you’ll get it right this time. You’ll avoid the bubbles, the crooked spine and the moment when you cut the plastic just a little too short.

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You’re armed with scissors, tape, a ruler and nerves of steel, only to find yourself wrestling with sticky wrap as though it were possessed. By the end of the evening, you’re covered in tape, the books are barely covered and your patience is the only thing wrapped perfectly.

Then there’s the back-to-normal aspect of January. It hits harder than a New Year’s resolution gone wrong.

You’re still trying to shake off the holiday fog and then it’s back to alarm clocks, lunch boxes and school runs.

The kids are equally shellshocked. After weeks of freedom, they’re dragged back into routine.

You can hear their battle cries: “Do I have to wake up so early?” and “Why is my lunch boring already?”

And just as you find your feet, sports season rolls in. From cricket fields to swimming pools, the schools hit the ground running, and so do you – literally.

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Weekend lie-ins are replaced by sideline marathons, cheers and silent debates over whether sunscreen counts as a tax-deductible expense.

As life kicks back into full swing, it’s easy to feel overwhelmed. But there’s a strange comfort in it, too. The holidays are magical, sure, but they’re also chaotic.

However imperfect, returning to some sense of order feels like a small victory.

And if the books aren’t wrapped perfectly, the routine is still a bit wobbly, or you forgot to pack the post-match oranges, remember this: no one’s judging you as harshly as you’re judging yourself.

January is the warm-up lap of the year, not the race.