Things that I have learned about going back to work

It's the terrible guilt you see, that's the first thing.

But then there is this other feeling that is even worse, well, I can't express it as anything other than grief.

It really isn't nice way to feel at all.

Comments

Julie said…

Tenderly expressed ...

6 August 2008 at 17:26

Debbie Courson Smith said…

Hi Kris. I know the feeling. I felt I was probably missing something precious. It inspired me to find a way to work from home - which has turned out to be more lucrative on every front.

6 August 2008 at 23:30

blackie said…

That morning bus ride must be a glum one. I felt guilty even applying for a job the other day! I wonder how many broken-hearted baby-at-home men there are heading off to work each morning. Definately a case for some paid parental leave of at least a few weeks for both parents that can be taken at the same time.

7 August 2008 at 08:05

Kris McCracken said…

The way we ‘do’ the work family balance is so out of whack here in Australia. Given the nature of birth, workplaces, workplace policy and government incentives/disincentives, it is a loaded dice that women stay home and men go to work. That’s no good for either, in my opinion.

7 August 2008 at 15:19

If you want to be loved, be lovable.

Henry admires the view.

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral

Zeal, n. A certain nervous disorder afflicting the young and inexperienced. A passion that goeth before a sprawl.

Here I have tried my hand at the homemade sepia-toned photo. I wasn’t happy with the way that the sun had washed out some of the colours in the original, so had a bit of a fiddle because I like the look on Henry’s face, and didn’t want to pass on posting it. I have a tip for those of you burdened with the great, unceasing weight of parenthood. I have a new recipe, in the vein of the quick microwaved chocolate cake . Get this, microwaved potato chips . I gave them a run on Sunday, Henry liked the so much I did it again last night. Tonight, I shall be experimenting with sweet potato. I think that the ground is open for me to exploit opportunities in the swede, turnip, carrot and maybe even explore in the area of pumpkins. Radical, I know. I’m a boundary-pusher by nature. It's pretty simple, take the potato. Slice it thinly (it doesn't have to be too thin, but thin enough). Lay the slices on the microwave plate, whack a bit of salt over the top and nuke the buggers for five minut

This will hurt me...

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