I worked ALL day. Pretty non-stop. Not pretty…EXTREMELY…
Not the wake up, hit the snooze, rush to get showered, dressed and out the door, punch in, sit at a desk type work. I’m lucky. I’m not governed by my own alarm clock. In fact, I don’t really know how to work it…but it doesn’t matter.
I am awakened at 6:30 because a kid was screaming for me, I go back to bed only to wake back up for the same kid screaming for me an hour later, brush teeth because I don’t want to kill anyone, get said kid and go downstairs, make a pot of coffee, feed all 5 kids(if they are home at the same time), eventually be ALLOWED to get dressed with a tiny bit of make up and then schlep the brats around.
Today…I was a beck and call bitch. I was all “yessir, may I help you sir”, bend at the waist, don’t make eye contact. I was the go-to girl for every small, medium and big problem. And my day still hasn’t ended. My daughter is still awake and whining, my son is locked in his room playing video games and my dogs are running wild like they have taken some uppers. My husband is peacefully sitting in his man-cave in the dungeon…with my ex-husband (I know, weird.) and I have to stay upstairs to make sure no one wakes up my youngest son…who i KNOW will wake up in the middle of the night because his tooth is about to fall out. Yes, the other top one.
What about me? I have a laptop. But I can’t be where I want to be, doing what I have to do…
I have deadlines. Things due this week. And I’ll probably have to finish them when everyone is asleep. Because tomorrow, I start my real “work” all over again.
My husband doesn’t seem to think that what I do is as important as what he does. And maybe to him and to our bills…it isn’t. But to me, yeah, it’s just as important. Not something to be poo-poo’ed and super eye-rolled.
Today, my husband worked.
He left the house. Without the kids following him. Without having to constantly take the dogs out to do their business.
He left the house…WITHOUT. Because…he is the husband.
He is in the process of trying to get Summer School going. He made tons of phone calls today, in hopes of recruiting failing students of concerned parents. Parents that have a little extra money to pay the tuition that going to Summer School requires.
He called these parents all day. He was met with a combination of parents that don’t give a rat’s ass and those who care deeply but are financially struggling. It’s frustrating to everyone involved. He wants the summer school to work because he desperately wants these kids to have a chance to succeed.
Then, he came home and taught a swim lesson. For an hour.
He gets paid. WAY more than I do. FOR SURE.
But does that make it more important or just more lucrative?
Does that mean a SAHM’s job, because there is little to no money involved, should be discounted, ignored, turn-up-nose uponed?
I. Don’t. Think. So.
I fight my ass off to get some sort of respect and validation from my husband regarding my “little hobby”. The hobby that sent me a spot on the local news, the Free Press and Dr. Phil. A little hobby that is bringing some very interesting and wonderful opportunities my way that would never have happened otherwise.
I work my ass off to make this the best blog I can. And yes, as many of you know, it’s hard work!
He gets praise, respect, high fives, fist bumps, back pats…because he has a noble and honorable career.
And he earns a noble and honorable income.
He has a job.
He deserves to come home, sit on the couch with his hand in his pants, flipping channels.
Because…when I earn as much as he does, THEN I can call it a job.
But I say, when he likes his job as much as I LOVE my “little hobby”…then maybe he’ll appreciate what I do, (besides raising the kids)…just a little more.
Then maybe he won’t be such a dick about it because he’ll get “it”.