We had takeaway again last night. BBQ chook and chips.
The house is a disaster. I haven’t cleaned it since the move. The dog keeps escaping the barrier I’ve erected in the kitchen and weeing on the carpet. And I feel so guilty because he spends endless hours locked up while I’m at work.
I never used to be this disorganised, even when I was juggling motherhood with editing Woman’s Day.
But Thursdays are such a scramble. I dash from work to the bus, grab the car, pick up the youngest from skipping, the eldest from art. By the time I drop the youngest’s best friend home it’s long past 6pm.
There’s nothing in the fridge. I’m out of the habit of cooking. I don’t have the kids on Sunday and Monday, we go to swimming lessons and out to dinner on Tuesday, then they’re gone again Wednesday.
I can’t remember the last time I got the youngest to practise her reading with me. The same goes for her saxophone.
I plonked her on the loungeroom floor to do all her homework – in one mad flourish – last night while I took the dog for a quick powerwalk around the block.
Home again, I realised the kids had no clean school clothes for this morning and thrust a load in the wash, then unpacked and repacked the dishwasher.
By 8.15pm, I was finally hustling them to bed, mentally compiling a long to-do list for the next day – school drop-off, getting the eldest’s paintings ready to hang in the local art prize, grocery shopping (oh gawd, what the HELL am I going to cook for dinner tonight?) a trip to the bottle shop for West Coast Coolers etc etc etc for the party, attempting to reconnect the internet so I can burn last-minute party CDs …
Weary just thinking about it all.
And I only work three days a week. How do single mums who work full time manage it?