11th November 2007 Back to work

I went back to work on Monday. I've been a housewife for almost 4 years. I am a shite housewife. My house is always a mess. My ironing is always piled high, my washing similar. Even the garden is a wilderness. It looks like one of those places left wild to try and attract butterflies. But it's not, it's just a midden.

So I've given up trying to be a housewife. The kids - who I'd fondly thought rather enjoyed having a stay at home Mum - are perfectly happy. Ellie has taken to full time nursery without a backward glance. She is now comparing me with her childminder on basic mummy skills and I'm coming up short."When Elsa's mummy brushes my hair it doesn't hurt", "Elsa's mummy's carrots are crunchier than yours", "Clean hands are happy hands, that's what Elsa's Mummy says". Does she. Does she indeed.

Mark is at after school club and loathe to leave it went I pitch up to get him. "Maybe you could do the shopping before you come and get me so I can stay a bit longer?" he suggested.

Don't get me wrong, I'm glad they are happy. I'm glad they are well adjusted and secure enough to be able to mix well. That is exactly what I wanted for them, exactly what I tried to instill in them. So, maybe I wasn't such a bad housewife.

And then there's Dad. I feel terrible for not seeing him too. I've not been to see him for a week. I'm going to go this afternoon. I'm dreading it. What state is he going to be in? Will he think I am dead, like he did when I was on holiday? Poor soul.