Excuses, excuses...

I went on a shopping spree today (sorry, Dan, to break it to you this way, but thanks for reading!).  It's always a bit of a frenzied affair when I shop at one of the local shopping centres - for one thing, I'm usually getting as much as I can done before my four-year-old daughter, Erin, loses it.  And she's a fairly patient girl in the scheme of things, I'm just terribly indecisive and try to pack everything into that one particular shopping trip. It would help, too, if I stuck to my agenda - even if I'm organised enough to take a list, invariably I will deviate shockingly.

The list usually reads something like: 

Kmart:    New school jumper and birthday present

Reject Shop:  Plastic tubs to replace broken ones

Coles:  Bread, milk, cheese, pullups

Sportsgirl:  Return faux fir hooded vest from last frantic shopping expedition

The actual trip usually reads something like:

Kmart:  Get distracted by homewares sale, can't find jumper and forget birthday present
Reject Shop:  Emerge half an hour later with packets of stickers and a new peg basket - can't find lid to match tub.
Food court:  Milkshake to keep Erin off my back
Coles:  Smoked salmon, dips and crackers, quince paste, scented body lotion, a double adaptor, soda water and limes for vodkas
Sportsgirl:  Forgot receipt so can't get a refund.
Food Court:  Hot chips to keep Erin off my back, coffee to give me more shopping energy
Myer:  Scan for sales, buy end of season coat for one of the kids that won't fit them next year.

JB HiFi:   Wander around looking at CDs and DVDs, knowing full well that will just download anyway

Liquorland:  Pick up some "bargain" reds

etc, etc......until Erin chucks a wobbly, and I'm forced to make my way out to the car, struggling with bags of useless items.

Unfortunately, the two major shopping centres in our area have a 3 hour free parking period, after which time you pay extortionate parking fees that double with each extra hour you spend (yes, spend $$$$ in their shopping centre - just don't get me started on how outlandish I find that set-up).  Even more unfortunate is my tendency to squeeze in so much shopping that I'm often sprinting for the car, dragging a traumatised Erin behind me, in the final minute of my free 3 hours.  It's always at that moment that Erry needs to go to the loo, and it absolutely can't wait, and I'm weighing up the most annoying outcome - urine-soaked clothing or paying five bucks for parking.

But no, that's when it's time to draw on my extensive collection of excuses for the person at the other end of the info button on the paying machine.  Today I was 15 minutes over and I declared to the young and nonchalent sounding parking-machine boy, in my most fraught and haggard voice, that I had "trouble finding the exit, as I'm not from around here".  I mean, come onnnnn.  He obviously didn't even think that corker warranted a response, as he simply opened the gate without questionning my very questionnable excuse.  I had to do a witch-cackle on my way through the raised boomgate after that one. 

Usually I don't endorse lying, but when it comes to worming your way out of dishonorable practices such as Westfield parking fees, I admit I feel no guilt whatsoever.  It's not the first time I've duped my way through the boomgates, either, with past excuses including "having no money left, no credit card and no keycard" (and no clue), and "getting caught in the elevator".  I'm sure if there is a camera involved in this whole scenario I'm invariably dismissed as a dumb blonde or a batty shopoholic who can't find her way out of a car park.

There was that far more astute guy at the Charlestown Square boomgate box, who seemed to be more clued onto serial parking fee skippers like me, and grilled me on my (admittedly less elaborate) excuse of having no money left - seeming disbelieving of my announcement that I have no credit card, and curtly declaring that he has now taken a photo of my number plate, and will keep it on file for any future attempts at absconding.  OK, mate, just let me through....and get a life.

The thing I love about excuses, is that the more elaborate the better - everyone knows you're telling a porky, so why not provide some entertainmnet at the same time?  I can just imagine the guys getting together at the end of a hard shift at the end of the boombox speaker and comparing notes on the pathetic excuses they've heard that day.  I suspect most of them (except maybe that one guy at Charlestown), don't really give a toss whether you pay or not, but the challenge is always there to spin an extravagant tale of poverty and woe. 

Hey, it's a fiver I'd rather have in my pocket.

Bliss

Yesterday I experienced one of those perfect mornings - two kids at school, one in preschool, and a perfect sunny day all to myself! What to do? When an opportunity like this arises, there is no better way to spend the day, in my mind, than a walk along the beach and a swim. So that I did, parking at Bar Beach and joining the predominantly female sporty types pounding that stretch of pavement winding up the hill towards The Hill. Beautiful. My favourite tunes pumping through my earphones, a spectacular view of our beloved blue playground the Pacific Ocean and a lively array of people to "watch" took me further than expected, as far as Nobby's. It was there I had my first twinge of guilt, as happy parents happily frolicked with their happy kids in the world pool and the rock pools near Nobby's. Or were they?

Interestingly and coincidently, following on from my initial guilt at seeing such displays of parental attention, I plopped myself down on the sand with a magazine after my refreshing post-walk swim at Bar Beach. I had deliberately found a spot away from the rock pools where good parents were playing with their kids rather than sending them to pre-school and enjoying their day alone. And there, I came across an article discussing recent findings comparing the happiness levels of parents and non-parents. I read, with surprise at first, of how a particular study placed the happiness levels of parents much lower than those of their non-parenting peers. I was surprised, given the extreme emotional feelings that having and raising children have inspired in myself and other parents I know. Then I burst through this bubble of bliss and recalled the endless, relentless saga of feeding, bathing, brushing teeth, nagging about homework, breaking up sibling fights, and their fussing, backchat, demands and downright obstinance. My mind wandered to just last night when I wailed out loud to anyone who would listen (er, no-one) "why oh why is every freakin' night the same ??!!", whilst wrestling a screaming, thrashing 3 year old with matted tufts in her waist length hair towards me and the loaded brush.

Was I happy at any of those moments? Er, I'd have to say no, not exactly. But 10 minutes later as the same wayward 3 year old squeezed her arms around my neck and said "goodnight", all feelings of frustration and anger (almost) floated away. Don't get me wrong, I adore my kids - they make me laugh and feel proud and inspire a she-wolf protectiveness in me that is inevitable with such intense love.

However, I'm not surprised a clinical study finds that happiness levels in parents is lower. If happiness is measured in terms of feelings of general contentment, serenity and well-being, then parenthood most definately puts the kibosh on that. But if, as the article suggests, happiness is defined by being involved, active and having a sense of accomplishment at the end of the day, then these are attributes any parent could attest to. There's no way parenthood has ever left me feeling like I have nothing to do, or my life has no meaning.

In saying that, I adore that awesome schlumping sound the lounge makes once the kids are in bed and it's time to simply switch off and zone out. I'm quite happy at those times to be mind-numbingly bored and cross-eyed with complacency.

So, I should just point out that my guilt was shortlived on my day of freedom. I told myself to snap myself out of it and enjoy the little life-raft of pleasure that drifted my way. Whatever it takes to stay afloat..

PS. Just as well too, as a sleepless night of vomiting child was just around the corner!