You know, I've had it pretty good for a long time. I've been home with my kids. And they're good kids. They're pleasant (most of the time), they're smart, interested in the world, funny, cute--all that good stuff. My husband is a nice guy--a wonderful man, according to my mother, and even my feminist friends who hate men like him. He's kind, thoughtful, smart, hard-working, goofy. He keeps me nicer than I would otherwise be. And he's made enough money so that we can have a fine life and I can stay home and be a mom.
So why did I go and cock it up by getting a job? I mean, for cryin' out loud, I've got it made here! What was I thinking?! Suddenly I've got deadlines and people expecting me to know what the hell I'm doing and expecting me to do something. I don't do things; I float from task to task in a lovely, leisurely manner and have a little snack in-between.
My kids aren't back in school yet, so I drag them along to my office or, worse, leave them home while Eric tries to work in his little corner of the house. (It's August--babysitters are hiding. They've been so terrorized by their June and July babysitting disasters that they've very inconveniently scheduled themselves beyond any availability.)
Sure, my mind has been on a long recess. So I was happy to use my brain again, happy to be with adults, happy to do something not focused on a family member. I needed those changes. Going back to school and work has been fun and exciting and rewarding, and in a lot of ways, I wish I'd done it years earlier.
But holy buggering barnyard animals. This is going to take some getting used to.
(Speaking of sex with barnyard animals, read the book Farm Boys, by William D. Fellows. There is one section in there that--well, I read it repeatedly. I heard that the book inspired Brokeback Mountain, but I don't know if that's true or not.)