|What I feel like; not what I look like.|
After a decade plus at home mom-ing, and 4 years of piece-meal, odd-jobbing it, this return-to-work mom can officially announce, I have returned.
Since the June plunger incident, I've been hustling 20, 30, 45 hours a week on mom-time, because I am being paid to do so and really, really like what I'm doing. Which is a lot of making it up as I go, but boss lady likes what I'm pretending to know. Add another 5-10 hours for odd jobs and you've got one exhausted mama. Tired. And happy. I feel kinda, somewhat, a little bit important and, um, valued and appreciated and ... okay, enough already with the touchy-feely hallmark card socks-and-sandals shit!
But I miss this.
The ranting about the made-for-tv reality of suburbia.
The general innate absurdity of teenagers.
The insane parent obsession with kids kicking, throwing and/or catching some sort of ball.
And how my rather-attractive-husband still makes my heart all a'flutter, despite my wanting to hold a pillow over his head 49% of the time because – for Chrissake – he breathes so friggin' loudly.
I've waited 47 years to become popular, and apparently, this is it. Been getting emails from readers asking what's up. Twitter too. A few townies say they miss me! A college friend from a million miles away told me she prints out my blog for the teacher's lounge! And damnit, Randall offered to narrate our family reunion!
That's that. I'm getting back on the horse and riding it as long as I can.
Alas, this blog pays nothing, except notoriety in town, and a few rare writing gigs for agencies that 'like my voice.' But I'm going to keep at it, and pledge to "schedule blogging," just like those How-To-Please-Your-Man magazines tell you to schedule sex.
Fingers crossed it goes better than that!