It’s 6:30am on this very Wednesday morning, the sun is slowly rising over my bed (the bed with BBQ sauce on it now thanks to ‘Little Flea’ and I know any minute one now of those 3 darling spawns of satan will wake up and come in here and assault me in a vicious attacks of “I’m hungry” or “I wanna watch TV” usually followed by some fighting between them and somehow I’ll end up hurt. In the distance I will hear Wheels getting ready for school in a huff because he struggled to butter his sammich for school because he just can’t quite get the hang of that butter knife then there will also be an array of Ohhhhhmyyyyygodssss” from him because he’s still learning about Glad wrap…..  In place of my Batman is a dog that’s giving me insane sneezies. I could move her, but her face is so fucking sad when I try to move her that I just can not move her…That and the fact she’s as heavy as my eldest child and I have morning hands. Doing anything with morning hands is hard, have you ever tried to make a stern fist first thing in the morning?
But this picture is wrong. I am supposed to wake up next to my husband each morning, not alone with a dogs ass in my face. It was dark still when my Batman kissed me on the lips this morning and caught the train to his new temporary job, Anaconda, the adventure outback store (the store that even if you don’t like adventure you will want to buy everything there). It’s an hour from our home so each day for the last week and a half and then a week and a half more, two hours of his day is spent travelling. We won’t talk to him again till 6:30pm tonight. His kids won’t see him until they are almost getting ready for that oh so glorious bed time. This lifestyle is alien to me.

Working and baby wearing
Working and baby wearing

Batman’s regular job is in our home, he is self employed and he works in our garage or as I call it ‘the studio’ (he won’t call it that because he says it’s not right to call a garage a studio because people will think it’s a fancy studio when it’s a garage, when essentially it’s a studio). He wakes up next to me each day and a few hours later heads into the studio to make music, he does voice overs and singing for people literally all around the world, it’s a full time job, without the long hours and time spent away from us. He also is a cover musician, and works most nights on weekends in pubs taking drunk ladies ‘Let it go’ Frozen requests and watching old happy men dance to Brown Eyed Girl while trying to lure in the young ladies for a dance with a little clever display and flutter of hand movements.

The garage (studio) where the magic happens
The garage (studio) where the magic happens

When he works at home, he helps with breakfasts, he dresses the kids/spawns, he helps tidy up, makes beds, wrangles kid fights about who sits where on the mother effing couch, then we get to sit together drink our coffee together and talk about our life. Then at lunch we eat, chat some more, he sees his kids and then its finish time and at 5pm each day he takes a few strides, he’s there with us helping at the mad dinner/bath/bed demonic time of the night time, a time I am most grateful to have him for. This last week working a 45 hour week plus cover gigs there is none of that, no seeing us, no talking to us, no helping, no connecting with us. At the end of each day I spend from 7am to almost 7pm alone with 3 children, my face looks something like the mask from scream and my insides feel like a graphic fight scene from Sons Of Anarchy.

People live like this every week, every day people spend longer away from their families than they should or want to, and for what?

Money and the success society has set for us? A nicer house that maybe in your 60’s you’ll own for 20 more years in which we made those debilitatingly high repayments for, then we might spend the last 5 in a retirement home because we are shitting our pants all over the place, a nicer car that we won’t be able to drive anymore because our kids say “You’re too old and it’s scary as Fuck Mum”,  some nicer clothes that only get old with us then they get the mothball scent? One day we will die and we won’t have that money to take with us, we won’t take the car or the house or the clothes or that really good TV with the curved edges, unless we were buried in the curve of the TV in the ground. Unlikely? Yes.
I am so incredibly proud that my Batman is able to make a living for us doing something he loves, he has made this cosy little life for us in which he is almost always present in, and I will never ask for anything more than that.

I realise that my opinion on this might be naive but that’s ok because it means I will always and forever be content to live a modest life in modest houses with modest cars in my modest clothes with modest mice…

 Because I will forever be rich in family and Love.


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