Scary on the outside

I’ve realised there’s something to be said for not waiting until you’re older to become a mum.

It seemed to make perfect sense when I was in my 20s and 30s to hold off on starting a family so I could travel the world, buy lots of nice clothes, edit magazines and all those fabulous things.

All too soon, I was staring down the barrel of 35 and worried my eggs would pass their use-by date. So I popped out two kiddos between the ages of 35 and 39.

And life got really hard … much as I adore my children and wouldn’t trade them in for the world.

The pregnancies were tough on my ageing body. Holding down a big job at 40 with two small children was harrowing. Trying to juggle life – and bills and working full time – as a single mum at 46 is arduous.

Many of my friends and local school mums also left starting a family until they were well into their 30s.

It means there’s a whole cohort of us juggling puberty, peri-menopause and ailing parents.

Those three things don’t belong in the same sentence, let alone the same life.

They are the triumvirate of tough.

Puberty and peri-menopause trying to coexist in the same household is pretty scary.

A suburb full of puberty meets peri-menopause meets ailing parents is a ticking time bomb.

Dealing with the triumvirate makes you feel a bit like Leonardo Di Caprio when he’s handcuffed to that metal pipe on the Titanic. You’re struggling to keep your head above water as the water rises and the ship goes down.

I hate to think what it’s like for the local school teachers when helicopter/lawnmower parenting is thrown into the mix.

They all deserve big pay rises.

Last week was particularly challenging.

Normally, I have the reward of DD and the sea at the end of challenging weeks. But DD is overseas, so I spent way too much time inside my own head on Saturday.

To try and distract myself, I gave my bathroom a mini makeover courtesy of Kmart.

Clearing out cupboards and assembling over-the-door towel rails helped distract me a little, though there’s not much to be done to improve the student flop-house condition of my bathroom and its flaking tub.

I was a bit big sigh by bedtime.

So I spent Sunday shaking it off – going to the gym and doing my favourite form of therapy: walking and walking and walking.

I was so knackered by Sunday night that shuffled around Woolies doing the weekly shop, using the trolley as a makeshift walker.

I felt very 51.

Afterwards, I wearily drove to Newtown to meet the eldest for dinner in our continued search for Sydney’s best burger.

Our latest destination: Mary’s.

As I drove along King Street, one of my favourite songs in the world started playing – Bizarre Love Triangle. And everything immediately seemed brighter.

Music is my other favourite form of therapy. Bizarre Love Triangle is a freaking amazing song that never fails to fill my heart with joy and yearning to be on that flashing dancefloor at the Gunfighter’s Rest again.

(Far out! I just Googled the song and it was released 33 years ago. Blardy hell!)

While I was parking, the eldest texted to say: “I’m there and it looks scary … can we go to Big Daddy’s instead?”

Wuss.

Picture the below facade … at night … with two enormous bouncers out the front … and no sign saying “Mary’s” …

I was undeterred. I’d read reviews about the scary exterior and fun interior, so I said pffffft and dragged the eldest inside, where there were lots of lovely staff, eclectic customers, loud music and great burgers.