I came across this image the week before I left my job. I didn’t know where those horses were going, but I wanted to find out. I wanted…this.
One year ago, I had a vision, although I couldn’t see it clearly at the time. I really couldn’t see anything clearly at that time…except the exit sign. I was beyond my capacity, and when something had to give, I chose my career. Faced with either watching my life slip away while I kept pace on the treadmill, or pulling the safety key and watching my career come to a grinding halt, I chose to take my life off autopilot. And you know what? It was really scary at first. While the 8-5 (+) keeps you going at a rapid speed, it also gives you structure. For …
What if I headed straight into the clump of trees? (image from usnews.com)
When I left full-time employment seven months ago to stay home with my girls (ages 3.5 and 1.5 now) I knew I’d return to the workplace…someday. I even knew it might not last much more than six months, since our budget is tight. And while we’re very careful (aka stingy) with our money, the “little dips” into our savings are starting to add up. More than I realized. At this point, we’d have to make some major life changes. We’re moving forward with a vehicle downgrade, but selling our house is out of the question. We love our little homestead, and if staying here means me bringing home some bacon, then so be it.
Don’t get me wrong, we’re not in dire straights, but we …
“I apologize, but this just has to be said. “you suck!” can you tell I’m super jealous?!”
This was the comment from a dear friend on a Facebook status I posted this morning. Granted, my original status was a little Pollyannish, “Brr! Cuddling under a blanket and movies are on our agenda. Really loving my job today! ;-)”
You see, I feel like I’ve been complaining quite a bit lately about this SAHM gig. A preschooler who escapes from her carseat and sinks her teeth into your forearm while you’re driving down the road will do that to you. (This was after her cowgirl boots were chucked at my head.) It was a bad day. But they’re not all bad days. Like today, for example. I felt like I needed to share some of the good moments …
No title. No paycheck. Just benefits.
Was it really just six months ago that I walked into my boss’s office, closed the door, and spoke the words I never thought I’d say?
I’m really sorry, but I’m leaving. I’m going to stay home with my girls. It’s just something that I need to do.
I was dreading that encounter, but she was compassionate and understanding. I had to focus on my long-term goals, rather than the short-term awkwardness. Once that was over, I had to tell the girls’ daycare provider. This was perhaps the hardest thing of all. Not only was I taking away a big part of her income, she truly loved the girls. But she understood, too.
Two weeks later, it was just me and the girls (and the occasional babysitter/daycare stay). I don’t think anything …
Every great once in a while, it happens. You have an important client meeting, one that you’d rather not reschedule, and your childcare plans fall through. Now what? You could call and beg and plead with everyone you know to sit on your kid for awhile, but you did that last week, and you’re out of favors. Or, you don’t have any backup resources. So you’re faced with two options: reschedule or bring your offspring along for the ride. I chose the latter.
I strapped my sixteen-month-old into her car seat, and headed into town (her older sister had other arrangements). I was a little apprehensive about how my appointment would go, but I’m glad to report that there were no major glitches. I was productive, she was happy, the client was satisfied. Win-win-win! Now, I …
Soaking in some mommy-daughter time.
For every stay-at-home-mom who’s complaining on her blog about her lack of appreciation (ahem, like me), there’s another mom sitting in a cubicle, dreaming of spending time with her little ones. She glances over at their faces in the 5×7 frame, and counts the hours and minutes until she can ooze into her front door after a long day of work to a chorus of “Mommy! Mommy! We’re so glad you’re home!” She would give anything to be in my shoes, but she can’t. She’s the sole bread winner, or the insurance carrier, or the single parent.
For every hair I pull out of my head while my children are driving me crazy, there’s another mom thousands of miles away, with sand in her hair and her combat boots. It …