Part of the problem, which isn't really a problem at all, is that I now have a real job. Like, one I have to go to regularly.
It's at Chatswood, and it's only from 10-2, two days a week. Easy yes?
'Fraid not. While quite skilled in the area of getting three children out of the house by 9am, I am completely hopeless at also getting myself out, decently dressed, with make up on and sensible shoes (i.e. no Havianas).
I raced off at 8:50, leaving the house like a tip and deposited everyone at tennis camp/laser tag. While dropping the girls off at tennis, a very kind mum who I'd just been introduced to told me quietly that my dress was inside out. I thought Sarah would disown me. I kissed my girls, whipped home and turned myself back the right way and zoomed off to Chatto.
|Aah Chatswood. Mini CBD and parking nightmare.|
The result? Add 15 minutes to my commute spent finding a park and walking to the office. That's 1.5 hours of driving for 4 hours of work.
The working part is fine. Totally fine. The people are nice, there's air conditioning, the work is interesting and challenging.
Then at 2:10 (because I never ever get there at 10 so I have to make up my time) I rushed to my car and battle through the traffic to home. I never seem to have more than 15 minutes there before I have to go and collect everyone from wherever they are.
The house still looked dreadful, just the way I left it. This surprised me. No idea why. I guess somewhere deep down I'd still like to believe in fairies.
I also know the only way the house would be any different on my return was if I worked on a Tuesday and left out $100. THEN, I would return to find it vastly cleaner, with a $5 note left behind, and a neat pile of unrelated plastic objects (a trash pack, hair clip, bracelet) on the ottoman, which I honestly wish they'd just vacuum up and save me the trouble of binning.
After 5 minutes at home frantically chopping vegetables and making toasted cheese sangers I sped off to collect Sarah and Issy from tennis. Sarah was very excited, she had holiday gym practice at 3:30 so we couldn't dawdle. She has really missed going to gym, I am always surprised at how much she loves it and I'm really proud of how committed she is.
Drove back. Found sobbing child. She sobbed and sobbed almost all the way home. Said she had been frightened when she didn't see anyone she knew. Said she was worried I wouldn't come back. Sobbed some more.
Drowning in remorse and guilt I promised gym tomorrow, and said brightly that she could now come with us to swimming lessons which have restarted (in fact it's the second week, that's how crazy our swimming school is). More sobbing, verging on hysterical. I toyed with not going but the thought of wasting another $60 was too much for my frugal heart. I held firm. And she came around.
Emotionally exhausted, we went to swimming. Emotionally and physically exhausted, we came home. This first day was not a gentle entre into being back home, it was a full blown disaster zone.
Tomorrow we are taking a big step back. Sort of. Just hair cuts and school shoes. Oh, and gym, for real this time. Ok, maybe step back is the wrong word.
|It's all a dream now. Those long ago carefree days.|