KEY POINTS:
'We're really busy at the moment,' said the youngest daughter. "And I don't like it."
It was Monday night and instead of lying around the fire reading books we were all having a moment. A very busy moment.
The adults sat down with a glass of wine to
work out how we were going to get through the next few months without expiring. Our normally serene working-from-home routine had been punctuated by our inability to say no to work, which had consequences for our youngest daughter.
We might not be home for her after school some days. We might not be able to go to every netball game. We might not be home some nights until after dinner.
"I'll miss you," she mumbled, climbing on her father's lap doing a very good impression of her chubby 2-year-old self instead of the tall 10-year-old she is.
Which is when I found myself launching into the 2008 equivalent of the starving children in Africa parental lecture we got in the 70s.
I pointed out that "many" children had parents who didn't get home until dinner time and those children went to after-school care. That "some" children have business moguls for parents, who don't see them before school. That "plenty of" children have only one parent instead of two. The eyes were glazed as she stared back at me with a "so what?" look and wandered off to read Creme magazine.
We did feel a little bad. For four years we have both worked from home, often leaving only to get food. We have been around for the emergency pick-up from the sick bay, the friends after school, the shopping trips to the mall. At one stage I even blocked out days of the week when we would do "fun" and "bonding" activities together, like baking and gardening.
It lasted two weeks because, if we're honest, our daughter gets home to two people hunched over computers who pause long enough to give a hug, find something for her to eat and then get back to it.
It is a lifestyle I am familiar with because my father, also a journalist, worked from home. I arrived home to a quick chat before he got back to typing and phone calls. Once, I arrived to find him ministering to our dog who was labouring in his office. We sat and watched the puppies emerge.
Our daughter hasn't had that experience but she has become adept at being our personal assistant. From a very early age she would answer the phone and take detailed messages.
I became increasingly fascinated with her reasons for my absence from "she's at the gym" to "she's talking to the compost bin". Never once did she tell any of my clients that I was on the loo, having a bath or a lie down.
My husband pointed out I was asking my child to lie, and started up with a Dickensian child labour lecture. We both gave him the "so what" look. She also managed our stationery informing us when the printing paper was running low and the stapler needed replenishing.
The big kids enjoyed having us around also, popping in for hours on end and lately, during our busy phase, we've arrived home to one of them pacing the house with a worried expression. "Where have you been? I tried to call. You're never not here. I thought something had happened!"
I'm looking forward to when things return to normal, with two middle-aged writers making cups of tea and chatting to their children.
I'm working on a lecture series for my husband and me.
The one about saying "no".
