I planned my return to work carefully. I would work from home of course, my laptop on the kitchen table; it made sense - low overheads, an ability to keep abreast of the household chores.
In my mind I would be happily typing a presentation that advised a multi-national company on what strategic direction it should be taking whilst rustling up nutritionally-balanced meals that Annabel Karmel would be proud of.
It worked perfectly for two months; OK, fish fingers and baked beans featured on the menu more than usual (and even ended up splattered on my reports more than once) but we were muddling through.
But then I started finding it more and more difficult to concentrate on my VAT return with piles of ironing encroaching on my work station and more difficult to concentrate on the kids after school with the insistent ring of my work phone. So I bowed to what seemed like the inevitable and rented a work station in a friend’s office.
Actually, if I’m totally honest, the final straw was when my then four-year-old son answered my work phone and from the smallest room in the house I could hear his crystal-clear, cheerful voice informing my biggest client that "Mummy doesn’t want to talk to you because she is having a poo" ...
This post was written by Kirsten, mum of two primary school aged children.
Photo credit: friendly