Well, Gentle Readers, we made it to the end of week one of self-employment. I wish I could say I had a lot to show for it, but maybe it's more than I think. I was worried that being alone all day would be too weird for words, but I had sick children home with me for three of five days. So while still weird, it wasn't exactly lonely. Who knew I would leave the hospital only to become a full time nurse? I'm happy to report that the patients have improved, even if the patience hasn't. Who are these people, anyway, and why are they so small, and needy?
Every summer, Phillip has the honor of staying home with our children for three months. As an educator, he has the same school vacation schedule as the smallies. So while they have what could be loosely described as a "system", their stay-home experience has not, in my judgment, been long on the "Daily Chores" or "Ambitious Projects" experience. This used to cause me no end of consternation (make your face look surprised here). I never could understand how three bipedal creatures with opposable thumbs could manage 90 days of freedom, without even accidentally cleaning out the garage. I used to come home after a long day at the office, survey the carnage, and demand to know of them all; "But what did you DO all day?"
So far, Phillip has kept the smirking to a respectable minimum. He has even been sympathetic, when I worried that the sick children might put me around the bend. I have the sense he's waiting for the proper Told Ya So moment. Which I have decided I will not begrudge him, when the time comes.
So in answer to the question, which I now have to demand of myself, I did this:
Two sleeves and the lower body of the Catkins Cardigan.
Went to the doctor's office, followed by the pharmacy. Twice.
Waved goodbye to the school bus 5 times (at least one kid went to school every day).
Let my dog take me for a walk.
Made the bed.
Challenged the summit of Mount Washmore.
Took someone's temperature seven million times.
Woke up in the night with small sick people. A lot.
Wondered at the miracle of being Home. Not just for the weekend. Not just for a vacation (previously known as my one-week, office-sanctioned, Annual Housework Interlude). Really home. So little time have I spent here that it doesn't even really seem to be my space. Not like the office was. For all its penitentiary qualities, I felt that my cubicle belonged to me. But here, I feel as if I have have yet to emotionally unpack my bags and move in. Twisted notion, no?
Pretty sure I'm up to the challenge, though.