I love shopping and holidays, so it was a foregone conclusion that I would return to work to continue funding my hobbies. At 4 weeks of age I took my first born to work with me a few days a month, and by 6 months she was in Daycare 3 days a week and I was back in the office part-time.
Having since had twins, the cost of Daycare x3 kids is beyond my meagre earning capacity (oh to have been blessed with the required brain cells to obtain a Law or Medicine degree and earn the big bucks), so I now work Saturday's in an office.
A bit about my job…
I work alone. In a silent office. With a coffee machine. With very little work to do, and a boss who encourages me to read the paper, bring a magazine or a book, surf the net (I feel a bit old to use that term), to basically do whatever I want. As long as there is someone in the office just in case a client comes in or calls. It happens maybe 2-3 times a day, up to 5 on a busy day.
I AM IN HEAVEN. I am NEVER leaving this job, and should they ever have cash flow issues, I will work for free/the love of the coffee machine.
From Sunday I count down the days until I get to go to work again. It is the highlight of my week.
I leave for work with a sadistic smirk on my face, knowing Hubby will be completely frazzled by the time I return, and totally understanding and sympathetic of what my life is like Monday-Friday. Of course he’s conveniently forgotten this by Monday afternoon when he gets home from work and I want to yell “heads-up” and throw “his” kids at him as he walks in the door, because now I’m the one who’s completely exhausted and shattered.
I adore my feral little treasures that little bit more when I get home from work, and my tolerance level is just that bit higher after a day away from the constant noise and mayhem.
I admit that nothing pleases me more than watching hubby struggle with the 3 kids for the day.
I admit I don’t do it for any responsible cause like funding the kids’ higher education in future years (anyone who knows my kids can understand that this is not necessarily a given…).
It is purely for me to pay for shopping and trips to
Bali, but most of all, it’s MY time…sure it’s work and not a Day Spa, but I am getting paid for it.
So should I feel guilty for living for my job and that one day a week where I don’t have to deal with my kids for 7 hours?