Being Wifekins, Motherhood


Seventeen days.

That’s all the time between us and sweet, sweet freedom.

Actually, to be more precise: it’s sixteen days and eighteen minutes until we escape the wonky old cottage and the chaos contained within its walls.

And yes, you bet your butt I’m counting down.

Every year my mother and father take the brave – nay, heroic – journey of a weekend with all of my children. And not just a one-night weekend either. Oh no, it’s go hard or go home, baby. These warrior grandparents have the monsters from Friday to Sunday, the whole shebang.

Please, send them high praise and/or your condolences. Don’t mention what suckers for punishment they are.

So every year without fail, Benji and I hit the high way to Melbourne for some crazy times. Crazy, I say. Basically, we sleep for as long as humanly possible, and then wander between various food and coffee venues. All day. It. Is. Glorious. And as a parent, it feels barely legal. Did you know you can have dinner after seven in the evening? SORCERY.

But oh, how I’m craving this sacred weekend getaway. I almost cry at the thought.
Can you imagine?! Just think, right: two nights without children. No resettling. No bed wetting. No refilling of water cups or fixing the blankets. No toddler feet in your ribs. No six a.m. alarm of “JAM TOAST! MAKE MY BREAKFAST! WHERE IS EVERYONE?! CAN I WATCH TV?!  JAM TOAST! JAM TOAST!”
Ooooooooh my word, it is almost too good to be true.

And the day! Don’t get me started on the day! Being able to leave without a nappy bag full of kids junk. And just being able to leave in itself! Without hunting for shoes! Or keys! Or anything! Just slap on some clothes and a little make up and you’re off to brunch!
And then when you’re out, you don’t even have to stop to take everyone to the toilet every hour on the hour! There’s no tying shoe laces or fetching drink bottles out of the bottom of backpacks! There’s no boredom or tired dragging of feet!

And best of all – you can go where ever you like, for as long as you like. Bars, restaurants, stores with towers of fragile crap that your Hulk-children would destroy in seconds. Or not even going any where at all; no purpose, no schedule, no nothing.

Oh, sweet seventeen days, do hurry!

Okay I may be sounding a little desperate here. I adore my monsters, they are wonderful – and for their age, rather cultured. We take them to the museum and galleries and cafes and all that. However, it’s been well over a year since we had a night without any kids. I’m content with my ability to drool over the idea of a little couple time.


So if you need me, I’ll be busy day dreaming and reading articles of all the wonderful things to do in Melbourne for the entirety of the next fortnight.



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