My Not-so-Posh Life

Today is Melbourne Cup.  A national holiday for the major horserace that happens at Flemington Racecourse which is literally a 5 minute walk from our house.  There is a constant hum of helicoptor noise over us and there's been a build up in the city for days.  Everywhere you turn there are men in suits and women in beautiful fitted cocktail dresses with open-toed high heeled shoes and hats of every shape and size.  They are gorgeous and glamarous and off to the races.

I write about this as I sit at the kitchen table that is covered in leftover lunch. There are dishes piled on the counter despite it being nice and tidy the night before.  There is a small surprise in the front entrance  where I took off Emily's shoes to find all the stowaway sand.  There are clothes all over the bathroom. Evidence that I cannot take a shower without one or both of my children feeling they need to supervise my water consumption usually by playing Ring around the Rosie or the Hokie Pokie around my ankles.  Finally after being up since 6am we have braved the attempt at a mid-day nap.  Keith is lying down with Cian to convince him of the benefits of napping and to hopefully using his narcoleptic superpowers.

The juxtaposition of me looking out at people walking by my kitchen window in glamarous outfits as they look in at my pile of dishes, frazzled hair and bottomless coffee cup is humbling.  There are moments when I long to have endless alone time to get dolled up and go out without the havoc and chaos of my endlessly hyper children.   To not have to worry who is touching something or someone they shouldn't.  To not hear constant screaming and running.  To not have to try to squeeze a little life in between nap time and bath time everyday.  Then I remember the grass always seems greener on the other side.  It's easy to forget that those messy faces run up to greet me and kiss my knees when I come home from work.  That their faces remind me of the joys of seeing things for the first time.  Their laughter reminds me not to take the little things so seriously.  That I don't need to do all the amazing things I wish I could be doing because they are excited when I sing silly songs in the bath.  Parenting is hard...so is a horserace I suspect...mine is just more of a marathon than a sprint.