Daddy Daycare

I was feeling so smug the other night.  But first let me rewind to the Queens Birthday Weekend. The Accountant and I decided to have a family trip to the seaside.  In the usual way of our unorganised chaos, we left about two hours later than we should have (everyone slept in - including Jonty!, could not find right warm clothes for boys, lunches and snacks to be packed, car in a mess, last minute CD finds, then of course the boys remembered the car DVD from a previous holiday and instantly preferred that to Lana del Ray or John Denver), and eventually hit the road at a ridiculous 11am.

As soon as we were around the corner I remembered that in my rush to get everything right for the boys, I had forgotten my own warm coat.  Marital disagreement over whether to go back and get it. But The Accountant assured me he had a spare cosy item of clothing I could borrow.  I spent the day wearing a very daggy black and grey jumper, 5 sizes too big for me and feeling very cumbersome.  Anyway apropos of the argument, as I was pulling out on to the motorway I made the fatal mistake of saying "Well it's just because I'm so cranky.  I'm used to dancing at least 20 hours I week and I don't like being a full time housewife.  I need to get out and do my thing." 

Well.  Can opened.  Worms everywhere.

Apart from that small incident we did have a lovely day exploring Anglesey, Ainsley's Inlet (and lighthouse) and Lorne.

Cut to Tuesday and Henry has a day off school.  So The Accountant, due to all his international work travels, kindly offers to look after baby and Henry whilst I take Rufus to kindergarten and then head to the dance studio with a colleague.  Had an industrious morning, followed by lunch - WITH AN ADULT!  Made a few phone calls about funding etc.

At home it looks as though we have been burgled.  But no that is just breakfast, snacks and games not being packed away. Beds unmade.  Washing still in machine.  Basically just your usual crap strewn everywhere.  I tidy up.  I start dinner.  Jonty sleeps, Henry plays, The Accountant sleeps.  He awakens, complains of bloody kids, headache, sick of dealing with them.  Me, but on a bad day.  I remind him that I do this every day and keep the house clean, make dinner and do all the pickings up and droppings off as well.  And no lying on the bed in between.

That evening I encourage The Accountant to go to karate - some time away from the house.  He comes back to sleeping children and clean house - all smiles and nice chit chat.  Then (and this is where I am really so smug) he turns and says "I can see why you need to get out of the house now.  I feel so much better".  And that my friends is what we call the moral of the story.

PS.  I know a few of you are thinking "John Denver?" from the first paragraph.  Jonty loves John Denver and claps and bounces whenever Country Roads Take Me Home is played.  Such a dag, but we love him anyway.