Revising with Chaos: A Perimenopausal Tale of Law, Laundry, and Loud Kids

 

As I’ve previously mentioned (probably more than once), I’m very busy. Like, laugh-while-sobbing-into-your-coffee kind of busy. I’ve got so much on at any one time that finding a moment to revise feels like just another chore—right between feeding the cats and maintaining my family’s emotional stability.

Yet somehow, I still find myself wanting to sit and read through my notes, to relive those magical days of lectures—where I got to absorb wisdom from inspirational lecturers, brilliant students, and my equally overloaded learner friends.

Even though it was only a few months ago, it now feels like a lifetime—and everything I thought I remembered has dissolved into the foggy mist of my perimenopausal brain.

The first week of the Easter holidays was so jam-packed with activities that it effectively deleted all memory of my noble (if occasionally feeble) attempts at a law degree. But today, I decided to silence the fear, squash the imposter syndrome, and declare: THIS is the day I would revise. Efficiently. Like a grown-up.

Of course, this wasn’t my first attempt. Over the past few months, I’ve plastered colourful revision posters all over my kitchen like some kind of educational Banksy. The idea was to absorb the info while making pasta, feeding the animals, doing the dishes, or opening the fridge for a forbidden snack (which I pretended was stress-induced and totally not just greed).

Then came the real test: my now four-year-old, who, after a week of nonstop activities, has transformed into a small tornado of questions and sound effects. His current favourite game is “Why?”—a classic, but best played in short bursts. So I prepared a list of self-entertainment options: cartoons, toys, snacks... anything short of handing him the house keys. Naturally, as I type this, he’s standing beside me, belting out a YouTube hit at full volume like a one-child boy band. But with a bit of Netflix magic, I managed to squeeze in some revision.

Now I know the internet loves to shame mums for letting screens babysit their kids, and I’d usually be in the judging queue myself. But honestly? The cost of childcare is no joke, and after a week of enriching excursions, a few days with Mario and Pikachu won’t rot his brain. (Mine, perhaps—but not his.)

Then, of course, there are the never-ending house chores. To survive, I’ve adopted a system: start the morning with a clean house, do ten-minute tidy-ups through the day, and try not to cry at bedtime when I realise I forgot to fold the laundry (again). Piling it on the bed is an excellent incentive to actually put it away before collapsing onto it.

And let’s not forget the random distractions: the dog who must chase that suspicious leaf outside, the teenage daughter with critical updates on her best friend’s cousin’s girlfriend’s romantic saga, the husband’s work drama that requires a full courtroom-style debriefing, and the cats who oscillate between starving and snuggly at any given moment.

So, if—after all that—I can squeeze in some learning (or at least remember which textbook I last opened), I’m counting it as a win.

Because being a mum who returns to study isn’t easy. It’s a balancing act of epic proportions, often done in slippers with a cold cup of tea. But I knew I needed to do this—for me. It's now or never.

I’ll do my best. I’ll try not to envy those students whose only responsibility is themselves. But would I trade my beautiful, noisy, unpredictable life for theirs?

Not a chance.