As many of you are probably aware, I have officially packed up my life and moved to the red (almost) centre of Australia with my lady love and our spotty pooch on a search for bulk coins, adventure and a future filled with travel and excitement.
After packing all the boxes, the complete Tetris game that was the moving truck, a quick stop over in a motel from the 1920’s and a bajillion hours in the car with a very needy dog, we arrived.
I’m not entirely sure that the desert was ready for 2 queer dog mums who enjoy obscene amounts of leather and the occasional flogging but we’re here and ready to shake shit up – bondage and all.
Mornings now consist of dropping Bae at work, walks out into the red abyss (trying not to get killed by #australianwildlife), cleaning, baking, feeding our pet fish (who we aptly named fingers), tending to the plants and loving the absolute fuck out of that Dalmatian I keep posting all over social media.
Doesn’t that sound like utter bliss? Don’t you wish your life was hot like mine?
The endless feed of desert sunrises (you’re welcome), the breathtaking landscapes and impromptu dog photo shoots, all the while being able to go to sleep next to my partner instead of my phone each night…
While it is absolutely incredible, I’m so grateful for having all of the things, and it is so rewarding to know this move will truly set us up for the future we so desperately desire – one this is missing.
In the interest of public safety and my sanity – I need a fucking job.
Of course I want to contribute financially to our little family, pay my bills like a grown up and buy cute things online (not too many cute things though so, Bae don’t get mad…) but I also need to do something other than housework – shocker.
Conversation would be fantastic too!
I seriously don’t speak to another adult human person for 12 hours unless someone calls, or I go to the supermarket and yes I’m counting the self-serve check out robot voice too.
Secretly I’ve been wishing my whole life to not have to interact with people and living in the city makes you so thankful when you don’t have to catch public transport or deal with shitty city people or traffic on daily basis.
I have to tell you though; as wonderful as that was for the first few days of solid me time… I’m really ready for a job now!!! Someone please hire meeeeeeee!!!
Obviously this post is all in good fun and something will of course come up and I’ll be back wishing for the weekend again in no time – I just know it!
Which brings me to my actual point, I do have one.
I don’t know how you people do it.
You, that super human force of absolute nature who stays at home – day in and day out – living the same routine and caring for whoever or whatever it is that depends on you to survive.
You never seem to (read: hardly ever) complain or wish you were anywhere other than nurturing your cherished little spew and poop machines.
I don’t know wether to offer you a standing ovation on behalf of the rest of society or to take your kids for a few hours so you can get a solid 5 hour nap, a pedicure or just find some time to be with other adults – doing adult things.
Before you start filling my comment section with statements about my inability to understand what being a stay at home parent is actually like – because I don’t have children – you’re right.
I don’t and I may never actually understand what that is truly like.
I can say this though, after years of watching my favourite people rocking parent life at home wishing for human interaction – I finally get it.
I am in utter disbelief as to just how you keep it so fucking together while caring for humans at the same time.
People need connection. Actual human connection – in any capacity – to thrive and to feel like they are a part of a larger community.
That’s the real take away here, aside from of course, me needing a job – obviously.
So, call your friend who stays at home.
Send them a text, ask them if you can help, if you can meet them at their place for coffee, if you can bring them something or if you can shift their kids off for a few hours while they take a damn bath and brush their hair for the first time since 2013.
They might tell you to get lost and that they are too busy to play into your need to be some sort of saviour, or they might just allow you in.
If they do, thank them repeatedly for doing an often thankless job.
Not just any job though, the most underpaid, undervalued and important job on the planet aside from teachers.
To house wives, husbands and non-binary humans everywhere – I salute you.
You’re doing a fucking phenomenal job.
Now excuse me, I have jam drops in the oven that need rescuing.