Five o’clock has changed over the years. Back before husband and children, five o’clock was knock-off time. The packing up of the desk, the washing of the coffee mug, the last-minute wrapping up of a day’s work before heading out into the city streets with the hundreds of other commuters. Striding past the decorative shop windows of David Jones and Grace Brothers. Down the steps to the train station. Cramming in with all the other office-workers. Hoping for a seat so I didn’t have to cling on to the handrail, unsteady in my heels.

In the stay-at-home mum years five o’clock was the start of the witching hours. Hungry and tired toddlers grizzled at my feet while I tried to get dinner on the table. Husband and I learnt to like eating at five o’clock because it was one step closer to getting the kiddies off to bed so we could enjoy an hour of quiet at the end of the day, that peaceful time so prized by the parents of young children.

Now five o’clock often finds me on taxi-driver duties for the teenagers who always have to be somewhere. Although sometimes, I get a day where nobody has to be anywhere else, I get to enjoy a cold drink and check my blog comments before I have to start thinking about what to feed these people for dinner. Eventually I delegate the task to the child who used to be known to turn completely feral if not fed on time. Tonight she slowly makes a delicious egg and bacon pie, we eat late.  In a sign of the changing times, I go bed early leaving her to lock-up and turn the lights out when she finishes up watching television.

I wonder how five o’clock will find me in the future?