I never see them

My lip trembled slightly when I got the news that my computer was fried, but I didn’t wake feeling too desolate yesterday.

I put my Gen X big girl pants on and got cracking.

I was relieved to hear that my new mortgage had settled, my boss bought everyone Chargrill Charlie’s for lunch to celebrate my colleague’s significant birthday; and I finally had the cash to get my grey roots fixed.


But … I also noted as I was waiting for my colour to set … in between talking the heads off all the staff in the salon … that I’ve passed a parenting milestone: my kids becoming independent.

When your children are little and in the “Go the f*#k to sleep” years you can’t imagine it will one day become empty and quiet in your house.

But it’s become very solitary at my place in recent weeks.

On Tuesday I arrived home at 5pm so the bloke from Geeks2U could tell me my computer was farked. My first child didn’t walk through the door until 8pm, after catching the train to Gosford (just for something to do).

He left his run a bit late, so only had time to grab some Maccas near the station before heading back to Sydney again.

Meanwhile the youngest decided to go to the movies and arrived home about 8.30pm.

I’d made fried rice for them both, which I ate alone while looking – for the 50th time – at the five properties in my price range still left on domain.com.au the week before Christmas.

Both kids barely said hello – a very polite and friendly hello I should say – before disappearing into their bedrooms.

Their bedrooms were looking a bit sparse because the sheets were in the washing machine when it exploded mid-spin. They’re now over at my sister’s place being fluffed and folded.

Last night the youngest had a sleepover and the eldest watched 500 episodes of SpongeBob Squarepants on his phone in bed.

Despite how quiet it is around the place and the lesson it should teach me about being careful what you wish for, I continue making parenting decisions that I am sure I will regret in the future.

Case in point: the youngest wanting to hug me for extended periods of time, ie longer than 30 seconds. As I am new to the hugging thing, I can still only manage around 29 seconds before I turn into Pepe Le Pew’s cat girlfriend and struggle to escape.

I can’t help myself, I am very bad at hugging. I know I should stay entwined with my child and cherish her still wanting to hug me, but my body betrays me.

The youngest is exasperated by my antipathy to hugging and doesn’t understand it at all. I think she’d quite happily cuddle for hours.

I expect the rest of the school holidays will involve me seeing very little of my children, as they make their own ways in the world with their friends.

Though the youngest said she may be available for a swim over the weekend to beat the heat.

Fingers crossed.

Song of the day: Ed Sheeran “In my life”

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