I hate working. That’s really the crux of it. I have never had a successful time in a work place (I have terrible work-ethic, appalling loyalty to any company or corporate ideal, and frankly most people cannot PAY me enough to sit through their tedious, dreary, despicable little “important” jobs)
I’m 30 (in about ten days), and the longest I’ve held down a job is 6 months (and OH GOD it was awful).
So, my husband and I, doing that open communication thing that people are always raving about, discussed our priorities and where they lay and whatnot. We wanted a family young, he was content to follow a career (more content than me, anyway) and I was happy (delighted, thrilled, ecstatic) to stay at home, looking after the kid/house/stuff/minutiae/administration that comes with running a household.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a domestic goddess (the idea is bloody laughable.) I clean when I can be bothered, and my cooking is passable but far from divine. I spend far too much time either in my head or writing fanfic, and my mantra is sadly “I can’t be bothered.” but I try.
However, the thing is I’m there when the roof falls in. I’m there when the appliances break and flood the ktichen. I’m there when my neighbour’s cat gets hit by a car and my neighbour sobs like she’s going to be sick, I’m there when my husband falls off his bike on the way to work and has to go to hospital. I’m there when my kid’s sick and has to be brought home from school.
Don’t get me wrong. It doesn’t make me a better wife/mum/whatever. We just decided it mattered to us for there to always be someone who could be relied upon to keep things running relatively smoothly, and set about making it happen. I quit work one month after I was married (and coincidentally pregnant and Oh so very unwell with morning sickness.) and never looked back.
I’m glad we were able to make the sacrifices, financially speaking, for it to be possible. It’s not that I lack ambition, as I have often been accused. It’s that my ambitions do not align with what is considered socially acceptable.
Being socially acceptable is boring anyway, right?
You know, I’ve spent hours today on the phone with the insurance company, getting meds for my kids, stocking up on groceries, waiting on the call of the landscaper who’s doing some work in the back yard, couple loads of laundry, and pulling together dinner (crockpot, so not too much of a commitment.) I was here when my kid got off the bus at 3:00, and now there’s a handful of boys playing around the yard for whom I’m the adult-on-call.
While being an at-home mom is often sitting around staring at walls wondering “Oh, shit, what should I do so that people don’t think I’m sitting on my ass eating bonbons,” (I have terrible guilt issues.), there are enough things that happen, both predictable and not [one of my neighbor’s kids got bit in the face by a dog last summer, and I was the person who took them to the Children’s Hospital and set up babysitting for all the little dudes we had to leave at home] that I often wonder how anyone manages WITHOUT someone at home. I know they do, and MY HAT’S OFF TO YOU, because it must be as difficult and stressful as fuck.
It’s a real pity that being at home isn’t as viable as having a career. The worst part of it, I think, is that you never get a paycheck or a raise. A paycheck is validation that you’re wanted in this position… YOU… enough so that you’re paid. And the promotions or raises, wow, means you’re doing your job well. The best you can get as a Mom is hugs, or your spouse saying they’re grateful to have you. But that doesn’t translate the same way.
In my opinion staying at home to raise children and take care of the day to day needs of running a household is more like 2 or 3 jobs, hats off to you ladies!
This is like the cutest thing ever. It’s from the gif-set I reblogged.
Taking its first steps, and after successfully doing so, the chick goes “Yay!”
It’s so freaking cute.
Damn I just cut the hell out of the tip of my index finger. There is small chunk missing in the worst possible place for bandaging and I don’t think it’s stitchable though it’s bleeding bad enough. Got out the duct tape and gauze pads for a custom fit bandage but damn it’s throbbing but I have to stop the bleeding and it needs the pressure currently. Agh this blows I was kicking ass making duct tape pens and now I am stuck holding my stupid finger in the air to stop the bleeding. I hate being so accident prone and it actually really hurts! Lovely being how it was in my bed and have to wash my sheets too now. All the curse words may be inserted here.
There is no quota for having disabilities, mental illnesses, and/or chronic illnesses.
You can, in fact, have more than five concurrent issues going on, especially of varying severity.
I don’t understand abled people’s quota thing? Why is this a thing?
I wish it were a thing.
"Op, you’ve hit your limit! No more illnesses for you forever!"