Working weekends is not fun.

Working weekends with children at home is torture.

Working Saturdays is soul sucking.

Don’t mind my pity party, just wallowing in the woes of retail hours. I feel like I shouldn’t complain. I love being able to provide for my family. Being able to have built a life for my children that includes a yard, extracurricular activities, food and you know, like clothes is a great feeling. I have worked, clawed and scraped for everything we have. But right now I want to whine. When my oldest was still little it didn’t feel so bad. If I had a Tuesday off, so did she and we got to spend it together. If I had the morning off before my evening shift, so did she and we spent it together. Life has changed dramatically since she started going to school. Now she is on the schedule of “normal” people, she is on business hours. If I work nights and weekends (which I do) I just don’t see her. My only consolation is that hubby is home on the weekends now (he has also worked weekends the last five years so this is a big deal). I feel comforted knowing that they are not in daycare or with babysitters (which are all wonderful people , but it’s just not the same as staying home with mom or dad). He is creating wonderful memories for them. He is doing fun things and making sure their time off from school is filled with joy and adventure. He is loving them to pieces and making sure they feel adored and cherished. And he even manages to do the laundry and dishes and help with life stuff, he’s pretty great.  Today he is taking our mid-west/west coast girls to the mountains to play in the snow (since my 8 year old claims she misses it, she clearly does not understand her statements and must be confused-maybe that’s what happens when you don’t have to shovel the driveway). I hope for pictures. The pictures kill me a little. The pictures bring me peace. I am so jealous. I am happy for them.

Le sigh.

But when all is said and done, I’m lucky to have a job. Right?

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