Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS writer.
As I start the engine I catch the start of the ABC five pm news. I feel like I have been locked away from the outside world for the day while at work when they are discussing the major announcement by our Prime Minister that morning. According to the report, the Federal Government has decided to allow in an additional few thousand refugees from that latest humanitarian crises overseas. ‘About bloody time! Why in hell is it so difficult to make a decision that is the bleeding obvious right and decent thing to do for once!! ?’ I yell at the radio. This issue has really upset me over recent days. I even fought with Stu about it on our way to the movies on Sunday night. The night before he flew off. Bloody bureaucratic decision making. After sitting through a staff meeting where it took an hour to finalise a new pro-forma for incursions, I have a head ache. I have drunk too much coffee, haven’t drunk enough water and forgot to change that tampon before I rushed out of the office in my flurry to get Sam from day care in time and get the big boys to basketball. I realise, once again that I am getting angry about a whole lot of stuff lately. While some of it is valid and I know it is all well and good to care deeply about some of these big issues in life, I am tired. I’m tired of feeling angry about so many thigs going on around me that I feel I have no control over.
I sense something that jolts me out of that contemplative zone and pull up for the red light just in time. I haven’t hit the Subaru in front but it as close. I realise that I’m not concentrating and really need to focus on what I’m doing. With a good half hour of the trip left, I decide that I need to relax a little. I turn the radio of and switch to an old CD.
My shoulders relax and my breathing slows down as the smooth tone of The Waifs envelops me. Slowly but surely, it takes me back. Freo. Through the music I almost catch the scent of those sticky sweaty evenings that comes with the feeling of carelessness and freedom that only Western Australia seems to offer.
I truly love my job and could not think of any other work I’d run out the door for so eagerly each day. However, it drains me. Stu is away at the moment on one of his long term contracts out of Kalgoorlie and it just adds that bit of extra pressure that makes the start and the end of the day so much harder to manage. I’m pretty sure so many judge us for ‘doing it for the money’ and think the strain during these stints away is something we selfishly choose at the expense of our children. But why should I have to stay at home all day each day while he pursues the job he needs and enjoys? Why should one of us choose? Our kids are more independent and resilient than many others I know and they know and understand that both of their parents work hard because they each enjoy their jobs and contribute to the family. I feel the stares when I occasionally make it for school pick up or assembly. Maybe they are just in my head and an inaccurate perception but I’m pretty sure the ‘I just don’t know how you do it?’ comments do often carry a double meaning.
I eventually come around the corner past the kids’ school before I turn off to day care and see the road lined with cars. Shit. What are they all here for still at 5.45? My mind races back to that blur or school emails. Was there something about an information session or was it parent teacher evening today. Oh shit, shit, shit. I pull over and ring Stu in WA.
‘Honey, can you please check the old school emails and check to see if there was something about parent-teachers’. He’s on site in an office and reluctantly logs on to our home emails, while filling me in on the latest mix up with dozers and overestimated tonnage for the day. He tells me his mate Richard looks like he’ll be heading off to a site further north soon.
‘Honey’ I interject, ‘Please check your email’.
‘For fuck sake Julie. You want me to just drop everything to check my email? Why didn’t you look after work? What’s wrong anyway…?’Rolling my eyes and turning the music down, I decide to save my breath and just wait.
He breaks the silence and confirms my suspicions. ‘Yep, parent teachers are tonight. It says cut off for making appointments was last Thursday’.
Great. I’ve missed them. The teacher who doesn’t even make it to her own kids parent teacher interviews. I remember he’s on the line still and quickly say goodbye. I don’t have the energy and time for more at the moment. I drive off feeling and fear the wheels are starting to fall off. I can’t let myself contemplate how exactly and when that will happen and what the fallout would be. With two minutes to go until closing time I pull up at day care.
Sam sees me from behind the cubby house and comes running over with his usual enthusiasm. He grabs me around the legs and smells of sunscreen and day care food. Somehow it permeates through their pores. It was a smell that made me cringe ten years ago when Billy started there but now I find comforting. I feel my eyes well up and blink back the tears while asking Billy about the painting I see drying on the clothes horse beside us. I can almost make out what I’m told is a face next to the purple dinosaur. I quickly bid my thanks to the lovely Lisa and clasping that precious hand, lead my chattering and beaming little man over to the counter to sign out.
By Jemma Morris