OK, it’s only 17 minutes... but those are MY 17 minutes and I’m keeping ‘em
WORK was grinding to its natural conclusion a little earlier than usual and there was a full 17 minutes before official going home time.
If I stayed, I’d only have been Googling inexpensive things to do with toddlers on a weekend, so I decided to head off a little earlier than usual.
Confidence is the key to leaving work at a surprising time. Simply pick up your bag, walk swiftly and loudly announce, ‘I’d better be off, see you tomorrow’.
People will usually assume you have some kind of medical appointment or prearranged
obligation.
This early departure meant I now had a full 17 minutes of un-allocated time in my personal calendar.
The twins were safely in nursery until 5pm. Theoretically, they weren’t actually locked inside nursery until 5pm. It wasn’t a court-enforced day release situation, but you can’t argue with the status quo.
So, what I decided to do was head for the coffee shop near the nursery, order a cappuccino, eat an apple I’d found in the car and look at whatever newspaper I could find.
You might say I was ‘living the dream’.
Interestingly, this was not how I’d envisioned my life as a father.
Shouldn’t I be rushing to the nursery to collect my adorable children and spending precious moments with them?
Of course not. It was 4.45pm on a wet and dark Wednesday night and I’d been in work all day.
This was daddy downtime and I wasn’t about to let my own children spoil my happiness.
I had this time to restore the batteries ready for the evening shift.
The working day is no longer a 9-5 but more of a 6.30am to 8pm situation so I needed all the rest I could get.
Victoria does the same. I know it doesn’t take her an hour to have a shower but that was how long it took when I was in charge of the twins on a weekend morning.
In fact, her personal record time spent getting ready stands at 85 minutes.
All’s fair in love and war, so I like to return the favour by taking an unusually long time to pop to the shop.
Anyway, I actually had to drive past the nursery to go to the coffee shop and a small amount of guilt surfaced.
Then, as I loitered by the counter, I recognised the man eating fruit toast alone and the woman in the window cradling a cappuccino.
Of course, this is the holding pen for parents before they’re forced to collect children, I realised.
So, if you’re ever thinking of opening any kind of coffee shop, remember to pick somewhere close to a nursery and you’ll have guaranteed custom.