I would complain about the heat once again, but what would the point of that be? We have interstate guests in transit, returning from the mook homeland. They're electing to sleep outside or in the shed. Despite the fact that I'm mortified that the couch of shame in the loungeroom is not good enough, and that the foldout in the study would be unbearably hot and stuffy (and noisy with the calls of neighbourhood hoons and heat amplified traffic sounds), I can't say I blame them. We've offered every sleeping possibility inside but no takers. I've been thinking of sleeping in the backyard too, but it's getting crowded out there and I need to be close enough to hear Grace. We ate inside, but sat out under the vine as darkness fell. Drinking beer and explaining the difference between left and right to a bemused nineteen year old.
In my lefty utopia, it's all family friendly workplaces, a 36 hour week, part time hours for those who need them, shared parenting, excellent affordable childcare for those that choose it, good conditions and balancing work and home. All very well on paper. What I really need is more hours in the day. La la land. My part time contract is up for discussion again. I'm torn between wanting to work more hours and being paid more in a job I consider useful but infuriating at best, and wanting to be a home with Grace more. I'll probably feel better once the discussion has been had.
It was a long day today. The heat is not making it better. Sleep might.