Sunday nights blow around here lately. As I was putting in a load of work clothes and finishing up a dishwasher-full of travel mugs and benefits, I had the clearest thought that I am not looking forward to work. At all. I HATE this feeling. I can usually find my ray of sunshine, but longish weekends make it harder.
I had to bail on work on Friday when a sick, feverish baby threw a wrench in the delicate ballet of pick-up/drop-off/rinse/repeat. Turns out that meant that I could go to Sydney's "feast." It was really fun, and I'm glad I went, but I was definitely the second string parent. The preschool teacher, who's been her teacher for two years, couldn't remember my name.
I also feel like I spend all weekend recovering from the week (cleaning, laundry) and preparing for the week ahead. I mustang get excited about getting up early to spend eight hours in a windowless office. I know, world's tiniest violin. But as I was whining to C, he asked what I'd rather do, besides stay home since that's not a feasible option unless we win the lottery. I came up with some fantastical ideas, but there were actually a couple that could work. Like doing community work or opening a used bookstore :)
So that's where I'm at. If I'm going to miss 40-60 hours of time with my family, I'd prefer that it not suck.