5 to 9

I’ve been quiet, not for the lack of words but honestly, there aren’t enough hours in a day to work in blogging. I get back from work and the last thing I want to face is yet another computer. My eyes are too old to keep up with staring at a screen -- no matter how flat or big it is, they are all the same. The crow’s feet around my eyes are begging for a rest, “enough squinting!” they say. Hope will never erase them. Maybe one day, I’ll have it all figured out how to best juggle work, family and play but during this period of adjustment, I’m going to be lazy and do a timeline version of my average day for those who are curious.


4.50 am: My alarm beeps; first melodious and then it degenerates into obnoxious buzzing.

Turn it off and wish the world would swallow my tiredness then spit me out fully clothed without my feet ever having to touch the stone cold bedroom floor.

4.55 am: Nothing. My wish never comes true. I’m still nestled under the thick doona, hearing the hubs gentle snores and feeling his occasional leg spasms from dreaming.

5.00 am: Resigned to dragging feet off to bathroom; I throw on the grey gym tee and yoga long pants too thin on a darn cold winter morning. I prepare for the gym on Mondays to Fridays, except on Tuesdays.

5.00-5.20 am: Check emails. Then, I get the kids’ lunches semi-ready/ put rice in the rice cooker on timer for dinner/ and -- depending on the leftovers we have or haven’t -- prepare dinner and leave it in the greatest invention ever -- the slow cooker. Seriously, without one, we might be eating crackers and cheese. Next, throw in the rest of the washing; then more kitchen tidying.

5.30 am : Hop into my freezing car, drive out of the garage in complete darkness and head downhill past startled deers, crossing skunks and squirrels.

5.40 am: Bounce into gym; spread the biggest smile for Ms Nancy at the front desk and have a small chit-chat; smile at fellow gym addicts pumping iron or climbing stationary hills. Place towel over stationary bike, and thank the two fit ladies already sweaty from working out -- the same ones who never fail to reserve my favourite bike and corner spot in the room.

to 6 am: Lazy workout on step-machine while watching 6 different channels on 6 flat-screen TVs at one time showing pretty much the same soundless rubbish.

6 to 6.45 am: Mad, sweaty cycling under the commanding voice of the instructor yelling, “Push yourself!” or “Come on fatso!” (kidding) while ignoring the groans in my legs and butts or the way my heart is loudly pounding. On Thursday, the same yells happen but we ditch the bikes for floor mats and put our stomach muscles to work.

6.50 am: Wave a cheerful goodbye to Ms Nancy. Hop back into the car and drive home in the semi-lit sky behind the train of cars heading -- like worker ants -- for work.

7 to 7.15 am: Shower.

7.20 to 7.45 am: The madness builds. Prepare breakfast for kids and myself; get lunches and snacks packed.

7.40am: Wake kids. Prepare for the usual crying from Sophia over wearing summer dresses in 26 degrees Fahrenheit or less (about minus 6 degrees Celsius). Sigh. I choose my battles and let her have the dress. These days, I haven’t the time nor energy to cajole nor reason with her.

8 to 8.30 am: “Stop talking Sean (or Monique)! Finish your breakfast now!” “Go brush your teeth!” “Did you comb your hair? It looks like a mop!” “Have you packed your bag?” “Did you pack your homework?” “Go brush your teeth!” “Why are you still here? Go brush your teeth!” “Did you hear what I just said? Go brush you teeth!”

8.40 am: Wash dishes; kiss kids goodbye; throw them out the door; drag Sophia upstairs to brush her teeth and mine; get dressed for work.

8.45 am: Yellow bus arrives; kids board bus. 3 gone; 1 to go.

8.50 am: Bundle Sophia into car; listen to her whimper about wanting to see “Mrs Carr and Mrs Foley” (sigh); drive to childcare. More hugs and kisses later; tear away from Sophia and head to work.

9.15 am to 5.30 pm: At work -- brains tested to the limits about the process of various scientific inventions. Brain fizzles; eyes protest; coffee is my new found friend.

5.45 pm: Rush to pick up Sophia; her brightest beam and wide open arms never grows old. I get my overdue Sophia-fix – it is addictive.

6 pm: The other 3 get picked up by the hubs (either from school or from ice-hockey), I arrive home and tread gingerly over bags, winter jackets, snow boots, mittens, files strewn at the entrance. Listen to competing voices eager to spill stories about their days. I have missed this.

6 to 7 pm: Get kids to complete homework. Cook; serve out dinner. Listen to kids endless nattering at the dinner table but my brain is in shutdown mode.

8.30 pm: Clean up dishes. The hubs get the kids ready for bed.

8.45 pm: “Mummy! Can you come upstairs to give us a hug and kiss?” the same holler every single night.

8.45 pm: Kiss the little-lies goodnight; kiss all four of Sophia’s favourite bedtime toys goodnight; listen to her cry “I want my Mummy” when I leave her room. Sigh. She’s only started doing this since my return to work. There has been a lot of crying from her.

9.00 pm: Quiet in the house. Time with the hubs, or of late, I’ve been crashing and heading to bed by 10 pm. Gone are my night owl days.

Set my alarm on repeat for the next day.