I could work every day. I could.
I like working. I like having someplace to be at a certain time. I like that I’m forced to get up, get dolled up and be out the door at a certain time.
When I don’t have that, I lose focus. I find myself sitting around my house all morning long, in my jammies, listing my good intentions but never acting on them.
In short – I’m LAZY.
Right now, Kevin is working seven days a week. If he’s not doing the Turbo Tax/Intuit gig, he’s working on clients’ tax returns. He’s rarely home anymore and though I know he’s exhausted and quite ready to slow down and TAKE a day off, I’m a little jealous. Because even though I may grumble, and my body may complain, I think I’d like that.
Whenever it’s time for the weekend, or it’s time for vacation, I groan a little bit inside. Sure. It’s nice to have two days off, but after two days, I’m READY to go back to work.
It’s not so much THIS job that I love going back to, but rather, I enjoy the structure and the satisfaction I get out of producing something and being productive.
This is why I never really enjoyed being a stay-at-home-mom. Because I’m inherently lazy and not having any structure really threw me for a loop. And if you want the God’s awful truth, it sort of depressed me.
Please don’t misunderstand, I’m GRATEFUL that I was able to stay home with the boys all those years. I wouldn’t trade that experience, or that time, for anything. It was my duty, and my pleasure, to be available for them: I made the choice to have children, I made the choice to raise those children.
But I was SO READY to go back to work. To contribute to society – to be useful.
To someone other than children, that is.
Now that the boys are young men and really have no use for me anymore, and Kevin has been so busy with work, and will continue to be crazy busy until the end of April, I find that I have a lot more time on my hands. In some respect, MOMMA LIKES. I can read whenever I want to. I can watch whatever I want to. I can take cat naps whenever I want to. I can put off housework until one hour before Kevin comes home … it’s nice. It’s nice having that freedom. It’s nice not having anyone demand any of my time … my time has become my own once again.
And it’s …. weird. Nice. But weird. I’m savoring this time; it’s balm on my soul and retribution for all those years I didn’t have time to myself when the boys were growing up.
But too much time and I get into too much trouble.
I love working. I love making good use out of my time and I love getting paid for my time.
So yes. I could work seven days a week.
I really could.