Thank Christ.

See my dear husband is off right now, at his end of Season Cricket function slash drinks slash getting so blotto he will more than likely be refused entry to the bedroom tonight. This also means I cannot be sure he’ll be up to bacon and eggs at the lovely cafe up the road in the morning for Fathers Day.

I’m totally cool with this end of year deal. I mean, he’s played 8 full Sundays under gruelling conditions, blistering heat, treacherous rain and oh who am I kidding? They just played cricket in winter and talked bloke stuff. Like how my husband got three golden ducks in a row. Fourth was a duck, but not a golden. Shit – they talk it.

We are one of the those modern fan dangled families that share parental and domestic duties. I’ve always worked and therefore, he’s been on afternoon pick up since we had kids. I do the mornings, which often leaves the house looking like we’ve set off a nail bomb and bolted. For that I have no excuses other than I am more worried about getting a late slip than I am of leaving vegemite toast wedged into the couch.

Priorities – I think I need to work on mine.

Friends say I’m lucky I have a husband that helps out and whilst I’ll admit that is true - they are his kids too. Just because I’ve given myself perpetual incontinence birthing 3 of the suckers, doesn’t mean all duties relating to them are mine.

Three nights a week, he cooks dinner as he’s home first. Most days of the week, he cleans up after the kids. At least once a week, he gets angry enough to discipline.

On top of all that, he’s a great dad. He’s the fun half. He’s the one they wrestle on the ground. He’s the one who chases the kids through the house pretending he’s Casper the Angry ghost. He’s also the one who doesn’t know when to stop and more often than not, these activities end in tears. That’s where I come in. Whinge whinge, nag nag, “you never know when to stop” nag some more.

At the end of the day, my husband is a simple man. He doesn’t ask or want for much. He likes a beer with his mates, loves his kids beyond belief and I’m pretty sure I’m still his favourite gal despite his on the side floozy, Bunnings. If you met him, you’d say he’s a good bloke.

So even though my computer illiterate husband will never read this, not even read it if I print it out, We loves you Honey. Happy Fathers Day Xxxx

P.S. I reserve the right to amend this should I require copious amounts of Spray and Wipe at 0200 hours.