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It’s the most beautiful Sunday. The not-at-all wintery kind of winter Sunday where the sun is warm and it’s quiet and the air feels like Sunday (what is that about Sunday? How is it possible that even by its name it feels like a completely different place?). There’s nothing to do on the schedule. Actually schedule and Sunday do not happen together. Ever.

My youngest daughters just went out with their Dad. I might have 2 completely child free hours. I’m not sure of the time frame because it’s undefined. He likes undefined. I’m not really an undefined kind-of person, but because of that and because I believe in growing and changing and evolving, I’m working on it. It has certainly improved the dynamic between him and I when it comes to parenting.

So just before, I waved them off in the soaking sunshine. He said “enjoy your free time” and I smiled and in my mind all the jobs I could do lined up – finish cleaning the house, start de-cluttering the Shed, hang out that washing I’m re-doing from Friday, write a blog because it’s been way too long, finish the au pair document before she starts, do my invoice, finish the Kindy application for Miss 3 for next year – and then I walked inside, made myself some lunch. Sat down. And cried.

I have not been not responsible for my children for weeks. There have been many moments in that time where one or the other have been in the care of other people, but I have still been responsible for coordinating my head to manage how that all works. The only other person it seems who can have them and be in charge of them without me feeling some sense of gratitude (or even obligation) for their help or guilt for my need of their help is their Dad. And he’s not really having them that often, or it’s undefined when and how long that is. Which is OK. Except when they go and I realise how much I needed him to take them away for just two hours so I can breathe.

And I want to write more than anything because I haven’t been writing, but the possibilities of what I could do rolls out in front of me like the most OVERWHELMING to hours of my life. I almost want to go have a nap. It’s so quiet. It reminds me of when you have a new-born and they have a sleep that goes for four hours and for the first two it’s amazing, and then after that you can’t make the most of the time because you’re expecting they’ll be awake any moment. It makes me realise how tightly I’ve been holding on to them. Like newborns. And then resenting how responsible and exhausting that was making me feel.


On Tuesday I lose my driver’s licence for three months (I feel the need to say accumulated points here and clarify I am not a hoon or a drunk driver, but it seems like I am making excuses. I want to say I may have possibly taken 4 points for someone we don’t talk about anymore last year and it bit me in the ass, but it seems like I am making excuses. I just wasn’t paying enough attention, a few times. And it bit me in the ass) and we have an au pair starting with us on Wednesday. Even if I wanted to do it, it means for 3 months I CAN NOT be the taxi for any of my children, except Miss 3 when she rides tandem. So I’ve got to let this whole thing go, and allow myself room to breathe (and them, allow them room to breathe too) so we can get on with what we need to, with other people taking some of the responsibility for how it rolls.

There, better already. Until I wrote it I didn’t even know that was what the problem was. Bit more breathing. Way less clinging.


Author Fleur

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