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By Julie Grenness

Let’s call her Georgia, mother of three school-age children and a rug rat. It is lockdown living. Georgia has to work from home, on her laptop, as well as home school her children. All of them!

Right. Georgia has a new routine now. No more commuting in nice couture, doing lunch with air kissies for the girls at work. No more flicky-flicky pout pout hair do’s and make up. No more wine o’clock after work.

No more, all gone due to a virus. Georgia has to set her alarm for 4 a.m. to do her work from home for a few hours. Then she has a speedy shower, before it is feeding time for breakfast. Georgia is still the home chef and janitor; it is a whole new world.

by 9 a.m. Georgia has abandoned her usual polished clothes. She is braless under her T-shirt and wearing a stained track suit fleece. She may never wear a bra again; it seems such a waste of energy. Already, everything is sagging, as one of the kids tips cornflakes on the Labrador, while the two eldest are squabbling.

Homeschooling begins. Georgia is not a teacher, but how hard is this? Right! Spelling. Cravings have appeared. She teaches her children to spell: R-I-E-S-L-I-N-G and C-H-A-R-D-O-N-N-A-Y. The kids fetch her a bottle of wine. Georgia takes a wine glass. Yes, math time. It took a village to rear her kids. It is going to take a vineyard to home school them.

Georgia’s glass has zero wine. So, Georgia pours half a glass of wine. “This is a half.” Kids look on in fascination. Now Georgia fills her glass of wine to the brim. “This is one whole=1!” Georgia continues, “Mummy is drinking ½ a glass of wine. Mummy is drinking one whole glass of wine. Now there is zero wine!”

Math done, and it is only 10 o’clock. “Aha. It is time for physical exercise in the aquatic centre.” (This is the pool in the back yard).  It’s a lovely sunny morning for this excursion. Georgia sends the kids and the rug rat to the pool, waving with a rictus grin to the lady next door. There, the kids are already playing on the swings and slide in her yard.

Georgia sits; everything is still sagging. So she grabs another bottle of wine and cowers in the shower, sipping. There is a load of washing and a pile of dishes, waiting, waiting, just for Georgia and all the other yummy mummies.

Georgia’s husband finally emerges from his slumbers, ready to commence his work-at-home day, always in his pajamas. His business suits and white collars are now obsolete, like her pantyhose and high-heel shoes. “What’s for tea?’ he asks. Georgia mutters, “Your proctologist!” She pours more wine. The all new yummy mummy at home…

— Julie Grenness

Julie Grenness is a poet and writer in Australia. She’s a former teacher who now tutors and mentors young people.