I never promised to cook

Holy mother of god today was the PERFECT day for that guy to call me about that job interview. My husband got up early to stalk the Target for a wii fit, and so that entitled him to a late afternoon nap, which is still happening. It’s 7. I should wake him, because I know that a) he hates naps and b) he’ll be up all night now but I’m feeling a perverse sense of pleasure thinking about him bleary eyed and befuddled in the morning when I take TeenHer for a lovely day of outpatient surgery today, thus leaving him on full time kid duty all day tomorrow. Welcome to my world. My every. Single. Day.

And welcome to the reason I submitted a resume for a position with a local jewelry designer who has stores on 2 coastal islands that are too far away for me to commute daily. So when I worked, I’d need to stay over somewhere. Oh, the horrors of having to spend 2 child free nights on a remote island off the coast of Georgia where there aren’t even cars or phones. A place you must get to by boat. Poor, poor me.

Actually this is kind of a poor me story, given that in order to pay day care, plus buy another car (the one store is actually a 45 minute ride by car), plus the loss of our state low cost insurance, plus the tax bump from adding income, plus gas, I’d have to be making about 4.3 million dollars a year. The guy who pre-interviewed me is interested in thinking outside the box though, finding a way for me to serve the company from home some and do only part time in the stores. Awesome! So I can just work that position into my full time caretaker job.

I’m no pessimist by nature, past blog entries to the contrary. But seriously. When your day care and insurance bills total over 1400.00, how do you justify working outside the home? How is that even possible? I am trapped here, doomed to try to create my identity from my shining sink and articulate children and my beautiful flower garden. This is what I am now, at least until my kids are in school. You know the one-it’s right beside the shooting range. I can’t wait for kindergarten!

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I totally hear ya. "Why is working so expensive?" should be the name of your first novel.
Fucking trapppppppppppppppppppppped. It should not have to be this way.