Life... Sigh...

Whining...

I’ve had it. Just had it. Another day, getting up and leaving in the dark, leaving my family – my kids to the babysitter, my husband to run his business on his own – to drive 45 minutes in traffic to come to a job where people think it appropriate to have a meeting about my work and not include me. I’m tired of working for a boss who doesn’t understand what I do. I’m tired of people who assume that because they had four years of English in high school that they can do what I do as a Technical Writer with a graduate degree and 20 years of experience. That’s it. I. Am. Done.

 

So what are my options? We could starve or lose the house. No health insurance – because frankly, the penalty for not having it is cheaper than having it. Another poor Christmas. Or I could find a job that would allow me to work non-traditional hours and be home when my kids get home – for $15/hr.

 

And I am whining. I know I am. I should be praying, but I am whining instead. Woe is I. I have to live in a nice house on 5 acres with great, healthy kids and a husband who loves me. Boo hoo. I have a decent car, kids in scouts, ballet and gymnastics. I have a good church, my family is in relatively good health. And all I want is more.

 

I want to be home when the kids get home from school. I want to be able to buy them that tablet or video game or nice pair of jeans without having to sell my soul to corporate egotists who insult me to my face and desperately need to buy – and read – a dictionary. I want to be the mom who is excited about the holidays, not dreading them because it’s just so much more to have to do. I don’t necessarily want to be super-wonder-PTO-President-mom, but I want to be able to be there when my kids have their holiday parties, sing the song in their opening assembly, or receive an award for best onomatopoeia in an alliterative verse, or whatever weird honor they’re handing out today.

 

I don’t want my husband to have to do the grocery shopping, a. because he hates it, b. because he stinks at it (probably related to a.) and c. because I want to do the menu planning and comparison shopping and coupon clipping. I want the croutons in the yellow package NOT the green one because they taste better and add a cheesy crunch to my casserole. I want the generic hazelnut spread, not the internationally renowned one, because the generic is much cheaper and almost as good. And I want to be the one trying out some strange new recipe on the family and watching their faces as they choke it down. Instead, we’re reduced, more evenings than not, to either my husband cooking dinner with recipes he isn’t familiar with (and is too tired to clean up after – so that falls to me), or to the frozen pizza aisle. I should own stock in DiGiorno.

 

Maybe I am having a midlife crisis. Maybe I am tired of fighting the good fight, tired of making the tough choices. I am tired of explaining what I do for a living. I'm tired of convincing people of the value in it, and waiting, ever so patiently, for them to have their aha! moment. I'm tired of fighting for my kids at their school. Of getting after them for the 18 millionth time this morning. Of being called a nag. I'm tired of being pulled in a thousand different directions and never making headway in the way that I want to go - whichever direction that may be (which is, let's face it, part of the problem).

 

Then I remember, that this weekend, my daughter will help deliver pillowcases, yes, pillowcases, filled with a few necessities and a toy to a hundred less fortunate children in our area this weekend. I remember that one thing on my to do list is to add a toy to the Toys for Tots box in the lobby. To have some cash ready to go the next time I pass a red bucket and a bell ringer. I remember that my children are here, and healthy, and kind, and intelligent human beings, made by a kind, loving God who seeks me out. I remember that He has given me a job, when so many are without.

I should be thankful for that job - and I am. But, I think more importantly, He has given me a purpose. And because I stray from that purpose, I falter. I stumble and get angry with people who don't understand. And so I say, with new purpose - His purpose - I am done. Time to put the transition plan into place.

Wish me luck.