Are you pimpin' out on me?
You are trying to get me crazy!
- the Kiddo, 4 years old
- the Kiddo, 4 years old
Honestly, I don't know what I did to deserve days of nut-ball issues and a housing adventure that just doesn't end (that would be the selling and buying thing. And unpaid back tax bills). It was like all hope of Monday being pleasant came pounding through the sky in a bolt of lightening to spear me through the heart to taunt me. Or at least jeer me into a early morning conference call, that ended so quickly I was mistakenly disallusioned the day might get better. That is until I set a goal to finish my latest project deadline.
But, hey, enough about work. I might get fired (note timestamp, Internets. It is after-hours. Thankyouverymuch). Not that you find the work stuff that interesting-- no one does. I'm a technical writer. There isn't anything too exciting about that. No matter what way I spin it.
The other part of my angst comes from home upheaval. Aside from moving my ass north a few 30 miles, packing all my belongings, and belaboring the point that I am paying on two mortgages--I am again a stay-at-home-working mom three days a week. Yes, that means, the kiddo--all four years of him--is with me full time three days a week to keep me distracted from the day job. Err, I mean, quietly playing at the kitchen table while I am pining away at my deadlines.
At first I thought this little shift back to the good ole days would be welcome. I'd get to take little excursions to the grocery store, Target, and when the weather breaks a bit build a snowman (or watch from the window). Hell, I daydreamed about getting back to homelife a bit. I'm not too womanly to admit that jumping back into full time work guns a blaring was fine (even glorious) at first. Then, I got homesick (or kid-sick).
But, now, I'm groveling. I'm part-time mom worker and I'm not liking being back at home with the kid. Sure, I love not missing a beat with him--knowing he took his nap and ate his lunch. But having to occupy him all day? I'd rather be at the office.
Sure, I'm exhaggerating some, as it is my blog and I have a right, but the differences from a 2 year old (as he was the first time around when I worked from home) and a 4 year old are tremendous.
First, he can talk a lot. From great big long sentences that entertwine, require me to think of appropriate responses, and almost always request some form of my attention to the fact that he he is independent can make for a bit of a challenging day. The whole I-can-dress-myself-Mom part is wonderful (who would have thought that that the kid can match a Spiderman T-shirt and Superman pants that actually match and are adequately warm for a gusty winter day in Chicagoland). But this is what is killing me--"Mom? What are we going to do today?"
The question seems simple enough--eat breakfast, brush teeth, get dressed, play, watch a bit of television. But then the inevitable happens. The question that has me running haywire through each and every room of my house, "What's next?"
And as every good 4 year old does, he holds me to it--no matter WHAT I tell him. Want to color? Sure, then right after we watch Go Diego Go! we sure as hell better break out the crayons and tablet of paper or hell will break loose. Did I say we might build a Lego bridge? Oh, pardon me for having to take a call from work--or say finish eating my own lunch before 3 in the afternoon.
Two short years ago, I thought I was juggling too much--motherhood, working from home full time, a husband who worked long hours, a wild terror of a dog, two cats (one quite sickly), and a two year old. But the thing is, I had no idea what it was like to do all of the above (without the sick cat. she pulled through), with a four year old. Sure he can take care of himself a bit but when do the universal pointed finger to lips to be quiet sign he's learned it doesn't mean a damn thing. Even when I am mid-sentence with a Vice President of something or other.
Labels: family, kid, motherhood, working, writing life
