I have just returned from my 4.50pm race to the Post Office to send my work files in via an Express Post envelope. If I got there later than 5.05pm, I would be driving all the way there and back tomorrow. Far from ideal. I am beginning my fortnight of extra work while SoFrenchySoChic is away checking out the red centre. And for some reason I feel strangely untroubled.
Today has been a ‘Daddy Access Day’ which is my sarcastic description of M’s normal one day a week that he becomes primary carer and I work. This is because, on those days, Small Z is always taken to the pool, and usually to the park at least once – as well as having ongoing play sessions in the loungeroom (which, for lack of furniture, is actually the playroom) and/or the garden.
M’s focus is totally on Small Z, and while I cannot fault this, I do poke him to do a few things around the house at the same time. It’s that multi-tasking thing. I feel like I spend many days with Small Z trailing around behind me as I hang washing, bring it in, sort out dinner, wash up, tidy the skanky house, shop for groceries and attempt to locate the kitchen. Rarely do I spend the whole day devoting the whole time to her. It’s all about perceived priorities.
Probably to combat my evil thoughts, I bought him three stubbies of beer at Post Office/General Store, and when I got home (as if he suspected impending reward) he was washing the dishes. I feigned horror;
“Aren’t you supposed to be minding Small Z?? You haven’t left her playing by herself?”
He was about to respond with something cutting, but I clinked the bag I was carrying and watched him transform. Oh wondrous beer, a passport to a life of harmony and sunshine. I have since retreated to the computer to send off an email to Lola at work, which reads:
Have included a letter in files by mistake. It’s addressed to a guy I was going to buy a $61 piano from via eBay. Have reneged, and offered him $20 to NOT damage my eBay reputation. Are you able to open it, put in $20 from petty cash, and post it on its way? And dock my pay accordingly?
There is the sound of pesto being made in the kitchen. “Pethstoe,” pipes Small Z, “Pethstoe?” Then there is a yelp. “Mama! Mama!!!”
She is sitting up at the kitchen table dipping bread into a bowl of pesto that M has just made. She must be occasionally bumping one of her THREE teeth that are pushing their way through – and thus the occasional yelp. The kitchen smells divine from the stew I’ve had on for hours in the slow cooker, perfect for such a rainy day.
There’s Marlborough white in the (new-to-us) fridge. I did some computer stuff for Lola few weeks ago and requested payment in alcohol. A request perfectly realised. Now I just have to get gunning on making the caravan curtains, so we can slumber behind them in a Preston driveway on Saturday night. Thanks for that fabric, Rae! Cheers all!