After a massive hit of "working mum guilt" last week (compounded by that lovely UK study reported in the media about children of working mothers being less healthy than those of stay at home mothers - obviously fathers have zero role in the raising of children again, but anyway...what was I saying?). Oh yeah, guilt. It happens every now and then, last week was a bad week for it, but this week I am having a dose of the best medicine of all - a week off work at home with the kids.
I had grand plans for this week. We were going to do stuff, and visit people and call in tradepeople to fix stuff around the place. And none of it has happened. And it is good. I capped off a crap working week last Friday by coming down with a head cold. Topped that off nicely by waking up with a stye on my eye on Tuesday morning. Awesome. Feel like crap, look like a hideous swamp creature. But, it's the best thing that could have happened. It's slowed me down. I cancelled all my plans and threw out all my lists. And I have pottered about, and I have played with my children. My breathtaking, loving, clever and outrageously funny children.
We have ventured out for a piece of cake and a milkshake at a coffee shop, explored the back shelves in my favourite Italian deli, done crafty things, danced silly dances, sung loudly and badly and built Lego. Tomorrow we might play in the vegie garden.
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