I don't like to work. I don't even do it well. But, the truth is my son is right. I work all the time. I work from home....at the kitchen counter, at the dining room table, sitting on my bed, at my desk in my basement office.
My work is never done. I work long after they've all gone to bed. I work in between running errands and making meals. I work before I read a book to him or sit down to play something with him. I work.
To say I have flexibility is a lie. Oh, sure I have the flexibility to compose an email or send a text while making a pb&j sandwich or check the status of something before turning on PBS kids or run a search while running and up and down the stairs checking on dinner or sit at my computer in my pjs all day and night or work every single day for weeks at a time. But who am I kidding; I am not flexible; I am rigid; unbending.
I hate that he thinks that work is what I prefer to do.
What I'd rather be doing is exploring and having adventures with my kids. I'd rather sit and read book after book with them. I'd rather tell stories and listen to their play and soak up the memories of it all.
But I can't. Right now I work because I have to. I work to catch up. I work to break even. I work to pay off. I work to move up.
It hasn't always been this way, but he doesn't remember that. It won't always be this way, but he doesn't know that.
So, I will forge ahead; working myself to the bone; unconvincingly balancing my time as mom and consultant and contractor; doing what I must do, until I can change that scenario once and for all. Over and out...