Back to the Workforce

The honeymoon is over – it’s time to return to the work force after eight years of being a stay-at-home-mum.

I guess it’s easy enough to glorify things in hindsight and call it a ‘honeymoon’ when, in the early days, it was actually nothing of the sort.

Functioning on two and a half hours broken sleep whilst dealing with endless cycles of washing and being at the beck and call of three under three is hardly my idea of a honeymoon.

But then, as we emerged out the other side of the baby stage, it got easier and, apart from the fighting – inevitable amongst siblings – life was great.

They could dress themselves, take themselves toilet, belt themselves in the car, make their own breakfast and even entertain themselves and then, hello, next minute they were all off to school and I was suddenly a surplus to requirements.

At first it was bliss. I’d come back to my empty, quiet house, do the morning chores and give it a good tidy, go for a run, turn out a story or two and have their afternoon tea waiting for them when they got home.

But this wasn’t achieving a lot for the length of time I had to myself and I was beginning to feel guilty. It was time to get realistic and get a life.

This week, and with a shock to the system, I returned to the workforce.

I have never been so disorganised in my life. If I thought mornings were a mad rush before I had no idea how manic it is to get out the door with kids when you’ve got a job to go to.

Each day I vow to set the alarm an hour earlier for, despite having lunches and togs packed the night before and school uniforms ready, we still leave the house with beds unmade and washing whizzing round in the machine, where it remains all day instead of drying in the sun. And my least favourite job of all that I always procrastinate until the last minute – pinning the kids down and sun screening them – is still yet to be achieved.

I’m lucky that my mum teaches at the kid’s school and she has received a few calls from me this week with such requests after I’ve dropped the kids at the gate.

Likewise with the other grandparents. Having a sick child on day two of your new job is not what you want.

“Are you sure you’re sick?” I asked Master Five for the umpteenth time that morning.

“Yes,” he moaned, rolling around on the coach and looking admittedly pale.

I concluded that, with me being the worst nurse in the world and therefore there being nothing in it for him, there was no reason to fake it. He really did have a sore tummy so a contingency plan that I hadn’t even had time to dream up, unfolded.

Their other nana and poppa were awakened with a call for help.

Master Five’s siblings got dropped at the school gates with the increasingly customary call to their nana to sunscreen them up before we headed across town to meet the other grandparents in the car park to hand over the sick child. It was a close call but I just made it to work on time.

At the other end of the day I’m now cramming in all the things I used to do at my leisure, on top of afternoon tea, dinner, homework, baths, stories and “talking about our day”.

And still the wet washing sits in the machine.

It can only get easier as we adjust and I drop some of the habitual high house-keeping standards, although, at this point, it is hard to imagine.

Looks like I’ll be setting the alarm for 4am next week.