I have to start this post with a disclaimer: I absolutely adore my job. In fact, Amélie is snuggled up against me right now and it’s quite nice. We’re sitting on the couch, and she’s drawing and “writing” in her new little Moleskine notebook. Kai is still at school, and we’re taking advantage of the rainy weather to be lazy around the house.
Lately, however, I’ve been starting to relate to the laments of some parents who feel a sort of mental regression because they spend so much time with their children. This is not because I spend so much time with my charges that I don’t have time to socialize with people of my own age; I do have time. It’s not because the parents of my charges exploit my lack of a social life and make me work all the time; they don’t. In fact, I could hardly ask for more respectful and understanding employers. It’s not because I have so much homework that I must chain myself to my textbooks and laptop every night after work; that’s not the case either.
The problem is that, living in my small hometown, it really wouldn’t matter if I had unlimited free time because I have surprisingly few occasions to actually go anywhere.
Sure, I make an effort to spend as much time in a downtown coffee shop as I can, bringing along some homework or the kids, and I indulge in watching a movie or television a couple of times each week. Most of my amusement seems to come from cooking dinner for my family. They are a more than willing audience and of course I love them dearly, but dinner parties with Mama, Papa and Hannah are, well, getting a bit old.
The blurry line I draw between work and pleasure makes me feel like I never really get to experience either. I have trouble focusing on homework because I’m so in need of a bit of fun, and I can’t really unwind because they only places I have in which to do it are in the same locales where I’m likely to be found doing homework or hanging out with the kids.
Even though I often wear skirts and dresses and maybe even a bit of lipstick to work, it’s more of an attempt to make myself feel like I have a legitimate, grown-up job than out of necessity. It’s not like Kai and Amélie notice any difference between when I show up in a silk skirt and cowboy boots and when I wear torn jeans and a tee shirt.
I’m desperate for an occasion that requires wearing a pair of heels and a bit of makeup. I keep telling myself that giving myself a bit of grown-up time might make it easier for me to concentrate on school work when I need to, and it would probably make me a more pleasant person to be around, whether the people I’m spending time with are Kai and Amélie or my family. The only problem is, I don’t have any excuse to go out, or anywhere to go if I did.
But, you know, I’m just complaining. So don’t mind little ol’ me.
