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I made it through the first week of child care, trying to not say baby sitter as it implies a twelve year old talking on the phone and hoping the kids don’t break anything before their mom comes home. Though, I do hope nothing is broken by nightfall heh.
I think I could really enjoy this with some more kids, moreso have fun. It will not only be necessary financially but it also forces the other kid(s) to be less needy. Her mom was right about her really wanting someone to play with her con-stant-ly. But school starts next week so the limited hours will work just fine.
Can’t believe it’s almost that time of year again.
Many are ugly and they’re posting out of chronological order but I’ll be caught up eventually and hopefully without the need for a psychiatrist.
The road to recovery from Mental Breakdown ‘09 has been littered with disappointments. I felt excited and empowered to take charge of my own future. Sure, I’m not really educated or qualified for many of the things I’d love to do, but I have a few skills in here somewhere and damn if I don’t enjoy making stupid bold moves every so often.
I nearly wept last night at the meeting I’d set for morning with a potential client of two kids. So great and the boost I really needed to make this work.
She cancelled. After reconsidering the drive time. Without even meeting me or even discussing rates. I feel a bit like I’ve been dumped. And not sure how I can make this work financially if I can’t swing the clients.
I may be sentenced to work multiple jobs for life.
It was killing my sister, but she held out a good fifteen minutes in the conversation to ask if I’d been “seeing anyone lately?” Nope, my octogenarian sister, no courting here. Most fellas prefer a sane gal.
I should be grateful, her latest squeeze had to work til eleven so she had to hang out with her old sis. And talk. And talk. And talk. I wish I had some different news for her, she always has the enthusiasm of Christmas morning at the possibility of us going on a double date, really.
She is just a different breed. We are like the way twins are opposite personalities and quite possibly wouldn’t speak if not sharing DNA.
But I love my Elizabeth Wakefield, for all her neurosis. As I hope she loves me.
PS.
I’m very pleased she is growing to understand that a beer doesn’t automatically damn one to hell. Not that she’s tried one, good – yuck, but come 21 I might get to spike her Shirley Temple.
Turns out I love all the things I ran from, and wish I could have. Go figure. I like being home with my kid. Happiest putting away the laundry, making a casserole, baking a pie.
Yes, a pie makes dinner perfect.
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