And what he has said is, "Quit your complaining!"
Because I tend to be obsessive about certain things, I've been checking the comments on my previous post every 10 minutes for the past four hours for some nugget of wisdom and based on the overwhelming input ... crickets ... I guess most people would have to agree.
I'm healthy. Charlie is healthy. The children are healthy. We have a steady income. A lot of people are a lot worse off. Our 'house' isn't the problem. (At least I don't think it is.)
Heck, I'll stay in a small house forever. It's the working full time and feeling like I am missing out on my children's life, that keeps me up at night. It's the desire that I have to be closer to my family on the east coast. It's the huge job opportunity I received yesterday that would require us to move in the next four to six weeks and have me reporting to an office every day from 8 to 5. It's the feeling like I have very limited options about what to do and if I don't go down this one certain path, I'll crash and burn and take my family with me.
Why am I so afraid?
And how do single parents, or women that work full time handle it all? My God. The kids. The house. The meals. And then I start thinking about school and the homework and the activities and the ....
My head is ready to fall off my shoulders and roll right out the front door.
I'm working. My kids are growing up lightening fast. Suddenly, I feel like I'm missing it all.
All I want to do is sit back and make paper rings with our children.
And then write about it, thereby preserving every memory.
Because wow - that seems so up my alley at this point in life.
Charlie can have the high powered conference calls about petroleum hydrocarbon migration in fractured bedrock. That's what he wants to do, anyway. He is a man. He wants to work. He needs to work. He couldn't be home for two weeks without starting up his own company. Then there's me. I am a woman, I want to stay home and ... MAKE PAPER RINGS WITH MY KIDS.
So what if I have a bachelors and a masters and a highly coveted professional registration and a job that most people in my profession would give their right arm for?
Boo hoo that I absolutely stink at sucking it up and taking one for my family.
(And how dumb am I that I actually tell my boss these very things?!)
Today, when I was working out at the YMCA, I happened to see a woman who had Down's Syndrome. She was flipping through the pages of a magazine and laughing, deliriously. There was something about the Oil of Olay ad that had her in stitches. And then, when she flipped the page and was looking at an advertisement for Gatorade, I thought she'd fall out of the chair. I called Charlie and told him about what I had seen. Here is this woman, laughing about ads in a magazine. From my perspective, she didn't have a care in the world.
When my husband asked what my point was, I told him, "It's the first time in my entire life I'm feeling a little jealous that I don't have an extra chromosome. Seriously. I've never seen Trisomy 21 look like so much fun."
Alright. I'm off to breathe in a paper bag. No more whining. This issue will not be discussed again. Until it is.