This is an article my childhood friend posted on Facebook today: Brazilian accountant wins right to masturbate at work . I should ad my friend is a very public figure back home and was just saying she is bored with newspapers covering political sagas and will make a point of reading meaningless fluff like that from now on.
Well I clicked because I was curious. I am not politically active and I never read the news. I will not use this article to make a point or sound clever. I was simply a little jealous after reading it. Not about her having to relive herself, silly. It is a medical condition and nobody wants to have that. I was jealous because she had somebody to turn to, somebody to point out her rights to, somebody to sue. Above all, that is what I miss about working.
Like yesterday. We were getting ready to go to the farm so Little J can ride. It was nice and sunny. An hour, three books and tooth brushing later it looked like we were ready. I tell my son to get his boots and come to the garage. I loaded the dog in the minivan and waited. And waited. When I felt like another wrinkle cut into my forehead, I went and made myself coffee. And waited some more. Perhaps my indecisive son was struggling to choose between the wellies with tractors on and the ones with doggies on. Or even worse, he outgrew both pairs while trying to locate them. Finally I went upstairs to investigate.
I found my lovely boy wearing his boots and builders helmet, toolbox beside him, building a pretend house. Somehow finding boots triggered his need to play builder dress up. Because I am cool, this is what followed:
-first I took a picture of him and posted it immediately to both Twitter and Facebook to receive maximum support and appreciation for what I go through everyday
-then I helped him finish the front deck
-once we finally left the house it started pouring down rain
I used to give my poor Husband full report on all of my daily struggles. Which always sound so absurd and irrelevant when you share them with another adult. Not to mention, he is his Dad and should really enjoy little time he gets to spend with him. Instead he would end up telling him off. So I stopped doing that.
I could tell my fellow moms about it, but they will in return tell me about their struggles. Which would cut into precious time I have to gossip with them about Schwarzenegger and the awful nail salon downtown. Ruling that option out.
I suppose my dog could be captive audience, if I can ever catch him awake. My horse spooked today seeing a sparrow fly out of a bush, so he is in no way equipped to deal with my issues and neuroses.
Which leaves me with you. Because you are kind enough to take five minutes of your life to read my blog I will in return confide in you. My son sometimes, as lovely as he is, drives me a little bonkers. On the bright side it keeps me busy from developing real problems like severe anxiety and hypersexuality. It’s for the best really, I cannot even take the time to deal with a common cold and insomnia…
Image courtesy of Wiki Commons.
