I got your messages. I promise to call you back once I've got a spare moment.
Who's Bob, you ask?
Bob is a great guy that I worked with for years. He retired from the company with whom I'm now employed and every so often, he reads my blog. Whenever he senses that I've had it UP TO HERE and am ready to call it quits ... he will call and remind me about the amazing pension and benefits if I can just hang on for a few more years. (Hence the reason he is calling me, now.)
Charlie and I took Bob camping about 10 years ago (before we'd had children) when Bob was on an extended business trip to California. If I can ever find those pictures from our fateful trip to Julian, I promise I'll post them. Bob + Backpacking tent = Funniest thing ever.
In other news ... I am so conflicted.
The question is - what working mother isn't?
On the one hand, I want (sometimes, but not all the time) to stay home with my children.
On the other hand, sometimes (but not when I'm in a toxic situation) I love working.
If I didn't love it as much as I do, I would have pulled the plug long ago. There is an incredible satisfaction that comes from putting your skills to action. And the paycheck, that's just a bonus.
Then again, my children.
They need me.
They need me so much.
What better opportunity to put my skills to work than on my children, the little people that I brought in to this world and will be my greatest legacy long after I'm gone?
Oh but when I'm with them, I sometimes feel like I'm going insane.
Children. Work. Children. Work. Children. Work. Children. Work. Children. Work. Children. Work. Children. Work. Children. Work. Children. Work. Children. Work. Children. Work. Children. Work. Children. Work. Children. Work. Children. Work. Children. Work. Children. Work. Children. Work. Children. Work. Children. Work.
That's what it's like in my brain.
Why must mothers be so guilt ridden? Oh, the THINGS that we second guess ourselves over. When I look at Charlie he never seems to dwell on what he did or didn't do. Honestly, I think a man's "Y" chromosome is for, "Yeah, whatever."
I wonder, if I was with them all the time every day if that would get better?
Would I eventually become immune to that feeling of crazy?
At this moment: life is good here.
Life is great!
Neither Charlie nor I have ANY idea what the future holds and it is incredibly exciting and awesome.
(Someone please remind me of this feeling of elation when it is January and we have no heat and are eating potatoes for the second month straight.)
Last night we had our second annual 'smores fest in the front yard and it was fantastic. The only thing that was missing was my mom and Jim.
(Mom and Jim, next year, OK?)
We had hot apple cider and wine. A raging fire to warm our trick-or-treaters. Plenty of hay bales upon which to sit. Candy. And of course, 'smores. By the end of the night, we had no less than 50 people drop by and stay awhile. Including several people who didn't even have children. They'd heard about our gathering last year, and they didn't want to miss it this year. And that's how traditions are born.
Here are our little trick-or-treaters: a cheerleader, a cowgirl, Spiderman and a zombie clown. (But whatever you do, don't tell him he looks like a clown with a cute little red button nose. He's terribly frightening. Nightmare inducing, even.)
Blink. Blink. Long gone are the days I could dress them in adorably coordinated costumes.
These days they insist on being scary and all grown up.
Too fast, I tell you.
It goes by so darn fast.