Today I left the Northern Beaches and travelled over the Spit Bridge for two proper grown up appointments. Before I left I had to peel my Joshie off me, who decided at the last minute he didn't want to walk the long way to school with his big sister (longer by like, 40 metres), but preferred me to deliver him personally, like a little blue and grey package, to his assembly line.
And because today I am very busy and important and businesslike, I refused to soften, peeled him off one last time and waved him off with Sarah. Last seen he was sulking around the bend in the road (not a metaphor, an actual bend) with Sarah pulling on his bag to hurry him up, trying to get him off her hands as quickly as possible so he'd stop cramping her nearly nine year old style.
Am I too harsh? Pushing him too hard to be independent? I certainly felt guilty. Which is my default feeling mostly.
My first meeting I had stressed about all morning as I thought my client was going to go over some work I had submitted with a fine tooth comb. Instead they just gave me a pat on the back and some more work. Woot!
After getting lost driving from Chatswood to the city (note to self: get out more) I picked up Mike and we drove to our architect's fancypants office in an uber cool laneway in East Sydney. We got to see our renovation plans in 3D and had to make some tough decisions about costs and the extent of works.
The upshot is the Christensens may be moving out for a few months at the end of the year while the bulk of the reno is done. Anyone need a house sitter?
And after all this fun stuff, I drove back over the bridge to my (unrenovated) haven. Josh said he'd been a bit silly this morning and he wouldn't do it again.
So the score is:
One sleepless night due to anxiousness about client meeting...wasted.
One guilty day due to son not wishing to separate...wasted.
The reno will take its share of sleepless nights in the future but so far I am all serene on that front.
Anything on your mind? Just tell Dr Bec and I'll help you put it in perspective.
