At Work
Today at work I worried about not being at home with Cal, a lot. Like, every 15 minutes. I called Maria, the babysitter, and had a silly conversation with her about how much rice he'd eaten. She's Spanish and a new English speaker but I could tell she thought I was nuts.
I kept remembering how Simon and I were never far away from Mum when we were kids. She was a teacher at our primary school. We drove there together in the morning and hung around the empty school yard for an hour or so every afternoon while she finished packing up her stuff. And then we three drove home together again. If we wanted to see her at lunch we could, of course we didn't want to - nothing would destroy your playground cred like a convo with your mum in the middle of the yard. Everyday we were never home later than 5.30pm. When you're a kid, 4pm is late in the day. My aunt Marion used to work in the city as an accountant and used to arrive home every day after dark. I used to think this was so strange. Like she was on permanent detention, or something.
At 5.45 I received feedback on a piece I'd written about Total Piglet Performance. It needed to be more professional. Piglet performance is serious stuff. Another half hour. I texted David to say I'd be a bit later.
He texted back with this picture and when I made it home they were having a boy's party in the kitchen. The Beastie Boys were blaring and Cal was eating raspberry jam and peanut butter toast and mouthfuls of sausage as fast as David could hand it to him. All the while bopping his head to the music.
Nothing to worry about after all.
I kept remembering how Simon and I were never far away from Mum when we were kids. She was a teacher at our primary school. We drove there together in the morning and hung around the empty school yard for an hour or so every afternoon while she finished packing up her stuff. And then we three drove home together again. If we wanted to see her at lunch we could, of course we didn't want to - nothing would destroy your playground cred like a convo with your mum in the middle of the yard. Everyday we were never home later than 5.30pm. When you're a kid, 4pm is late in the day. My aunt Marion used to work in the city as an accountant and used to arrive home every day after dark. I used to think this was so strange. Like she was on permanent detention, or something.
At 5.45 I received feedback on a piece I'd written about Total Piglet Performance. It needed to be more professional. Piglet performance is serious stuff. Another half hour. I texted David to say I'd be a bit later.
He texted back with this picture and when I made it home they were having a boy's party in the kitchen. The Beastie Boys were blaring and Cal was eating raspberry jam and peanut butter toast and mouthfuls of sausage as fast as David could hand it to him. All the while bopping his head to the music.
Nothing to worry about after all.
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| Boy's Par-tay |
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