One of, oh, about 45 things, needs to happen quickly. Not the least of which is my need to register for classes this semester. I cannot put this off anymore. I still have two years of school left and at this point it is virtually impossible for me to get my degree before I turn 30.
Once I’m over 30, I become the mom of the class; the non-threatening “older” woman that all of my classmates are rooting for, “really hoping she sticks it out this time”. I remember being baffled by these women in my first year of college at 19. I would see them with their scrupulous notes and highlighters. Their graying hair and extra thirty pounds. And I would think “What have you been doing all this time?”. Well, now I know.
I want to have a well laid plan when S. starts school. I don’t want to be the mom that slowly folds laundry in front of the television waiting for school to let out. I want to transition right into my career.
Which brings me to the next subject: these blood sucking gift baskets.
You people have no idea how many robes I have folded just so, how many perfect bows I have tied (hold straight up and down, loop bottom ribbon first, then bring top ribbon around - Wheeee! And again!), how many hours I have spent in my garage shrink wrapping. About a fourty hundred thousand, as S. would say.
Burned out does not even begin to describe how I felt when we lost our biggest client almost two years ago. At the time, I was going to school full time, I was running my business full time, I was working out with a trainer at 5:30 a.m. three mornings a week, I had my 2 year old with me 24/7, my husband was working 12 hour days, and yet I made it all work. Everything was scheduled to the minute. Then several of the balls I was juggling fell out, leaving me with just a ball or two and no real demand as to how I kept them going. “A body in motion tends to stay in motion and a body at rest tends to…blah blah blah” and all that.
So here we are some time later. Chris works from home, S. is in preschool, I am not presently in school, I am certainly not training unless crying jags are considered a workout, and I am down to one client. My husband works his ass off taking all the clients he can while I sit here stroking my laptop and arranging my closet. The man has worked this hard for 25 years – he deserves to enjoy his life! And what am I doing to help?
I try to be happy as a SAHM (even if that acronym makes me feel like its my CB radio handle) and I tell myself these years are precious and its only temporary. Believe me, every helpful thing you’re thinking right now, I tell myself. And yet I can’t help feeling like if I’m not on the floor doing workbooks and playing dolls all day with my daughter, then why don’t I take my selfish ass into the office and start cold calling and help my husband out?
We have a massive (I mean massive) tax bill due in about 30 days and it all falls on Chris’ shoulders. I know he would like to think that it’s a fair exchange because, you know, I am a Stay! Put! At! Home! Mom! but we both know that he does as much work with the child as I do. So, where is my value add, as we used to say in the biz?
Do you want to buy a basket?