Once in a while, this part-time work thing gets me down. I appreciate every day that I am able to be here, with the kids. It's what I do, and I'm grateful to be here for the moments, large and small, that move me.
But part-time work means part-time pay, and as a result, I've got the household accounts down to a not-totally-perfect-but-it-works science. Like anyone else, I manage, and no one's running around naked. (Not unless they want to--and you may not believe this, but I just looked over because something caught my eye, and there was Audrey, running around, without a stitch on her. Really.)
It's just that when something comes along, and throws things off, like say, the two semi-costly van repairs last month, or whatever that's due to break breaks, neccesitating replacement; and I have to get creative with my system, it sends me into a tailspin. Needs vs. wants. Wants vs. needs.
I want to have a stress-free month.
I need to have a rich relative....hmm, how do I put this delicately?... leave me an inheritance. <lol>
What I'm getting at is that I start to feel bad about only working part-time. I know that if I were working full-time, things would be easier. So I start to mope a bit, and plot all kinds of crazy ways that I could be in two places at once. And I sigh, and tell Mr W how I am dropping the ball.
He, of course, is fabulous, when he's not getting impatient about hearing me go on about this again, and exasperatedly tells me the the work I do around here, while it doesn't actually pay, is important nonetheless. That it's okay. That I need to knock this shit off, and get out of the way, because the commercial's almost over. <Hugs>; and move on, "it'll work out."
He's right, of course. (Oh, and look, I admitted it in print. Isn't that against some wifely code or something?)
I was kinda busy last week, and so I couldn't dwell too much on feeling low, even though it's been weighing on my mind as of late. Seasonal fiscal guilt, so to speak.
As usual, the kids put me in my place.
Perspective came to me on Friday, when Nolan came to the van, and he was laughing. Apparently, I was the topic of conversation among some of his friends. "Mom, D. thinks you make the best chocolate chip cookies in the whole world. I asked him, "so, if I held one over your head right now, you'd roll over like a dog for it?" and he said yes! Isn't that funny?"
<You know, I always knew I liked D.>
I looked around the van, at all the people that were so happy to see me, and I snapped out of it.
This is my job. They think I'm good at it. They're happy.
It'll work out.