My social life has had a wee lift in the past couple of days with a lovely get together with Greedy for Colour last night (a few child free hours) and a play date with another friend this morning. It feels great to have other women around and share stories, have a laugh etc. However, having a father around too kind of takes the whole "girlie" element away.
On both occasions my father felt it necessary to regale each woman with stories many years old, amusing to him and, while very interesting, I still felt a little put out as he was encroaching on my time. Unfortunately he just doesn't seem to understand why I hide away in the mud room every night. A man's ears obviously don't hear the billion times your name is called, they don't hear children squabbling, asking for a drink, something to eat, help going to the toilet, the need to tell you every detail of their day as it occurs. That said, it stands to reason that a man also doesn't hear the sweet bliss of three children breathing deeply in sleep, of the whir of a dishwasher full and washing dishes with no effort from yourself, of a bench magically sparkling and empty of dishes, toys, crumbs, smears and dribbles.
Therefore, it stands to reason that women must be happier than men because we can appreciate the very small and satisfying parts of life because we've been through the daily sand paper rub of children. Bless their little cotton socks . . . we may be frustrated, tired, grumpy, pre-menstrual, strung out . . . but we can still appreciate the solitude and silence they also bring once they're slumbering.